Day 99: Nothing less and Nothing more

Long conversations with friends often seem to alleviate the obvious things to a different status, mundane things sometimes become interesting and sometimes brought to limelight. A long conversation with a friend back home went in multiple directions yesterday, it made me realize how clear and aware we are of our own insecurities and yet how confident we appear to the world about dealing with them. And though we are inclined to ask each other tough questions, we still choose the ones we want to answer. Nothing less and nothing more is expected from oneself and it is in this comfort we share with friends that we find our soul renewed from time to time.

Nothing less and Nothing more
There has been nothing less and nothing more,
Nothing else that hasn't already been told before.
That has given us hope and scared us at times,
And yet the precious glimpses into whatever you call "yours" and I call "mine".

How the world of distant past and insecurities,
Like glimpses of a story we once wrote, and nostalgia in lost memories.
How worlds apart can meet and closer things seem afar,
How we question that which defines us everyday and yet keeps us who we are.

Nothing less and nothing more tonight, this day can slowly unfurl at it's own pace,
We can talk about distant things and plan ahead with no guarantees and bets to place.
We have all grown in someway, I often question how and in which way,
Have we tipped the balance scales, have we refused to ask some questions someday.

In conversations on a Sunday morning, as it finds reasons to reach afternoon,
You will be carried far from troubles and worries that sometimes haunts you too soon.
And yet nothing less is expected my friend, in time we will remain as something more,
We will be the last phone call sometimes, and the last knock on a closed door.

Day 98: In between a Page

I haven't really been saving up for this poetry, it was just me finding it a bit harder to write stuck between so many things. But it is in the relentlessness of the time we chase that we find great insight, inspiration and sometime a topic worth writing.  .... This idea began with my finding an old book with pages stuck together and my friend telling me about her situation with someone where she feels she's stuck somewhere together and yet not making sense to each other. In between a page relates to this complexity we find when two people are stuck together like pages in a book, the only way for you to read them meaningfully is to separate them as individual pieces and yet it makes you think if there's a part of the page that wishes that meaning could come from being stuck together. Though a more anthropomorphic version I feel relatable is anything we can relate too, and hence today and tonight is about great escapes and pages in a book

In between a Page
Here's to the great escape this night, with you and my poetry,
With everything that binds you heart close to home and yet sets you free.
This night is all about troubles that have gone away,
In time you have grown and so have I even with our separate ways

I fear the skies see me, as the clouds part, the stars glisten the night,
I think of most reasons we stop for while, and some reasons for which we put up a fight,
We are broken people at times, we try to fix ourselves at best,
We are a river that flows restlessly and yet never finds rest

Hand me down a story; that has been told many a times,
And I am far from being tired listening to a story that still feels like mine.
When the tired soul keeps coming to find you in a cold walk home,
There is something lost and things that are gained, even if I walk alone

We are in between a page, we are stuck together & we are separated to be read,
Though I know you were wishing you were still stuck in between with some meaning instead
You are moments we know we have changed beyond corned of a page,
And yet I write to you, to me, to everyone who is looking for their great escape.

Day 97: Moment too Far

There are moments when we all welcome something with no complains, when it is passing by and we welcome it with kindness and sometimes even with a little delight. In time we learn to embrace this passing of things in between our lives, these transitional moments; which we may or may not decide to keep. And the more we collect in our memory, the more we live our lives in these moments. We are far from adventurers, but we are seekers, We are far from travelers, we are wanderers and we are far from writers we are doodlers of words. And yet it is in this imperfect self we reminisce , we live and celebrate

Moment too Far
Not a moment too soon , we are the reminisced kind, we are in memories too far,
We have moved beyond the boundaries we dream of, so we wonder who we are
We are wanderers to our own delight, we have traveled back and forth in time,
We have held a light to some memories, and then some that we forget, some that were unkind

Not a moment too soon my fellow wanderer, your maps are drawn but you don't follow anymore,
You have been lost too many a times, to stay on course like every before
You have found out that the rough seas and high tides where we sometimes set sail,
Are gestures we make to ourselves, reminders that some grander things in our minds prevail.

The language may have died with time, the music faded and forgotten still,
But your stories are more than alive, they are beyond memories and fantasies that feeds the will,
In time when we decide to write them down, as I sometimes wish we would do,
I wonder if we could reminisce, recollect or write a few version of our own too?

Moment too far may pass ones mind, after all who decides what is far away?
Who questions that which is forgotten, and who else can access your memories someday?
I may not write to fiction today, though in time the stranger things in life come and go,
Yet a moment too far , is kept in writings who choose to write and some in our shelves are stowed.

Day 96: My Elastic Heart

I write this for a dear friend whose status message for the day and better known song lyrics were "I have a thick skin and an elastic heart". Though it's a simple expression, it sums up feeling far better than sentences and myriad words could put together. The idea of living with a thick skin so that nothing hurts and with an elastic heart that can grow and fit everything we feel. In any case the heart wants what it wants, and even in the weakest moments I find it comforting to write my fears out. Though they are for someone else, I hope my friend you find solace in some way, when it is most needed for now the heart beats.

My Elastic Heart
My elastic heart, beats in leaps and bound,
It breathes itself to life, as it keeps at pace with everyone around.
It pleases no one and yet it tries to please all,
It takes a hit, it stretches at times, it grows to break a fall

There are those who will tell you of easier days,
When you could take the little things, and put it away in your head
When the tired mind would stop as you closed your eyes,
And when the days end could be marked when you put yourself to bed

I have seen those have been fallen down, they fear they feel no more,
They have seen too much pain, they have felt it all as every before.
The thick skinned ones, with an elastic heart still learn to grow, still learn to feel.
Like the picture book when of memories that comes back as dreams

There are those who will find the words twisted at best,
But will still look for the reasons that keeps them awake in moments of unrest.
And for those who can relate to the weary moments for now and to be,
I hope you find comfort at times, a long dream to wake up from and a reason to be free.

You have not been beaten down, or broken away,
You were never meant to be constant, never meant to be bound, to stay this way.
You were meant to be breathing in; the essence of it all this days holds,
And sometimes to find a reason to be patient as the day unfolds.

Day 95: Starlight on my Mind

This topic came out of the blue to me,and though it is the obvious things we often miss, it is hard to miss the obvious when something is so beautiful. It all started with the picture of the southern lights, the starry sky that my friend sent me. It is when we stare to the heavens we feel the minuteness of it all, and yet in the vastness I find bliss, in the picture the night sky paints everyday I find a canvas. And while I like writing longer poems I felt I started a paragraph that needed more work, so I am continuing from there. I am using the picture she sent me and I hope she will not mind me posting it here, it is in great jealousy too that I write, for missing out on it.

Starlight on my Mind
Close your eyes, the stars will fill your mind,
They will keep sparkling in the between the blinks of your eye.
They will fill the world above, they are reminders of heavens we seek,
The stars are all that are yours, close your eyes they are yours to keep

There are starlit nights that draws you closer to home,
That reminds you of somethings that are far from long gone.
When the little kid still sketches at the sides of the book, and you write your day,
I am struck by the little things that brings us close at nights, and the dim lights that remain.

The thin glow of the fainted night, we are whisperers of words,
We have all traveled far into places we know, and some days we are just waiting to be heard,
Does it remind you of story books, of adventures that leads you into the night,
When the starlit sky , grabs you imagination and doesn't let go without a fight

They are nightlights of the sky, they are warm reminders of many homes,
They are as I told you, yours to keep, and after glows of the day long gone.
Tonight when you lay in bed , even if the night sky doesn't let you sleep,
I wish you the fascination the sky shares with you, & the stars are forever yours to keep.

In all of the bitter sweet things that we learn, we have learned to keep things special someway,
We are wanders tonight, and yet we are more than onlookers of a new day. 

Day 94: Cloudy

Cloudy days have been written about in songs and poems alike, they have been romanticized, they have been blamed and sometimes they have just been captured in a picture somewhere. There is someone who once said "open you windows and let the cloudiness come in " , though I am not sure till date what that really meant the idea of being able to capture clouds was fascinating. And as the emptiness of spring break draws to a near end the days feel just a bit more mellow, so I write to the cloudy and the sunshine, I write to the welcoming and the good bye, I write to all but a cloudy sky.

Cloudy
There have been days that are a bit mellowed in their place,

Where listening to raindrops is all I want to do, and the rainbows I let you chase

We have figured out the way a cloudy day should feel,

Wrapped in a blanket staring outside a window, and in secrets we reveal

We are tired souls from time to time, we doze off in between the day,
We are restless ones ,we are dreamer but we only dream as we lay awake
Cloudy days of March end this year, reminders of many things that have changed,
Some have been long forgotten somewhere and then there are few that have rearranged.

I feel mellow in the yesteryear, and yet ends and beginnings of week somehow feel the same,
The anxious mind that goes on endless loops, and shares a drink with a world that feels insane
I feel the windy day roaring for a while and yet resting in the morning hue,
It sleeps for a while, the clouds shifts barely a bit, I look for peeks of blue

I write to the cloudy day outside, and yet to sunshine that grazes me just for while,
I write to all who have looked everywhere, in hope for just a little bit of smile
We are magicians in our own realm, if you can pull a smile out of thin air,
If sunshine is all you need on cloudy days, you will find me when I am needed there.

Day 93: Raisin and Bread

A few days ago before I left for India, a friend of mine baked me bread which had raisins in between them and gave it to me. Though it was late in the night there, we could still meet and bid goodbye. That night that friend of mine told me, "Sam if you find little raisins in the bread, you can make wishes, this is something we believe". As I walked back home, every time I found one, I would ask for things even if it might seem silly to so many. Turns out I found way more than one raisin in the bread, so as greedy as it may sound I asked for more than one wish (not all of them for me). In the past week as I came back and as the Spring break goes by I keep thinking to myself about that loaf of baked bread and the surprises we wish we find in every bite. So here's to the friend who baked me a loaf of wishes and the mystery we find in raisin and bread.

Raisin and Bread
I am kept like wishes , held somewhere in between,
Like bites of a freshly baked day, like all sweet things that lie unseen.
The raisin and bread, the taste of it all must still surprise you at times,
How the simple things are held together, like memories that lie intertwined

Chances are that the simpler things, the breaking of bread and sharing of tea,
Still reminds you of simpler times, as they have always been to me.
And even if time is harder to find some days, in between the running around we may be lost,
We are somehow like memories , we are always there just waiting to be thought.

I wonder if we materialize everyday, like characters of a story we get to write,
We are lead on to play great parts, and then there are some for which we will stride.
I wonder sometimes in the middle of the week about things we chase,
About the little bits and parts of us, that we cannot seem to give up on & neither erase

We are misunderstood ones, we are wanderers of the day, we have been too close,
We have been friends and colleagues and everything else that the world chose.
In between the bites of the day, every time you find your place make a little time for yourself,
Remember the better things, the grander ones, and the bread full of raisin never left on the shelf

Day 92: My Homeless Mind

Every once in a while the world will disappoint you just a little bit. When the world will make you think twice before doing something nice for someone and though you are disheartened only for a little while, it will feel like you have taken a small beating . Today was just one of those days when everything starts out early before the brink of sunlight even reaches your window pane and before you know it, your day just keeps getting busier. There are often times in between all of this when I feel like the homeless man , this thought came to me as we drove across the streets and someone handed us a flyer so I am also writing to include this as a message for him and from him. For now I write to my homeless mind , the one that never feels like coming home.

My Homeless Mind
There are times when my mind and my heart,
Doesn't want to come home at night, doesn't want to hit restart.
They wander along alleyways and thoughts of someone else's mind,
They are lost in the crowd and sometimes harder to find

My homeless mind reminds of places, the spaces of my head I rarely go,
The places I have may have written about in fiction, and in real life I rarely know.
I may have lost many a battles, I may have given up sometimes,
But at the end of the day , with bruises and cuts still I was left with my heart and mind.

There are those will go about their day, who have somehow learned to stand up straight,
Who show no scars no worries, and not even a single fret that lines their face.
There are some who have come from the tired day, taken refuge in gentle smiles,
Who have learned to be home in places with no address, and in whatever places they can find

We have all learned to cheat, even if just a little bit,
We have learned to wait in the back of the line and sometimes to simply take a seat.
My homeless mind wanders day in and day out, it finds no reason to come back home,
Even if it knows where home is for once, it just can't seem to find a place where it belongs.

Here's also the link I was talking about, the inspiration for the first writing this week
https://www.homelessvoice.org/5k/

Day 91: Miami on my Mind

Over the last two years, I have felt that every trip I make to Miami; has in some way influenced the way I think about a memory. And though my first trip down there was a hard one, coming back to it always seems to get easier and easier with time. Miami on my Mind is a quick reference to something I once read at the back of a car, and though I may have changed the reference I feel I have much to learn from these trips. There is often warmth when you least look for it, and in the places least looked

Miami on my Mind
When it is warm outside and yet the day feels too lazy to start,
When the world has been stitched together in conference rooms, before we fly apart
When the stranger and voices seem familiar , like comfort talks from home
As we have stepped outside , and stepped ahead to places that are long gone

I fly back and forth to you my dear, I hold the door open for the sunshine to fill my day,
I have come too far, and too many a times, and yet I have more to learn as I come your way.
Do I fall for the sunset that fills the sky? the blue ocean waves that surrounds you ,
Or the wind that I find but crisp at times, that walks me home but slowly too.

I have not let the walk back home disappoint me, the drinks I share when the day but ends,
When there are more roads to go, more adventures and sometimes just more stories where I don't need to pretend.
I have lived many a lives in the flights back and forth, I have dreamed my way in quite a few,
I have collected the morning sunshine as we fly for a while, and yet keep coming back to you

On my mind are traces of this place, every little thing that has come and gone,
And every time I wanted a story told,about the places where I once thought I didn't belong.
We have made strides, we have learned from each other still,
We have painted a sunset with you on my Mind, and we have left a few for time to fill. 

Day 90: From This and For Now

Though we are fascinated to reminisce in nostalgia of a place , I believe the idea of what we are nostalgic about may have changed . Whether it is a physical place which has changed too much or whether it is contained in the abstract space that we talk about referring mostly to a combination of people and places. My recent trip to Gangtok allowed me some time to rethink what I thought I knew about a place and how it brought back memories in some sense. I no longer believe that the place by itself has significance which transcends time, it is ever changing and every planar, and though it is true that so are people, what we look for in Nostalgia is that sense of familiarity. Our places lies in fiction, in our minds, as do our spaces which follow us around never too far behind. In any case as my journey ends this time , I am pensive about changes I see and wonder if this is a version that I would choose to remember years from now.

From This and For Now
From this and for now, the places will lie still just like the cold winter wind,
The view from the window to the outside world, lay behind the curtain of chance.
For now they are all but known too well and yet they are left untouched, and unseen,
They are wrapped in a warm blanket and often as special as an unfinished dance.

For now there are the insignificant pieces we write, we will write to grand ventures still,
We will reminisce even in journeys that lay incomplete, we are wanderers we are mad men of our will.
For many have written to fictions, we have taken some roads head on,
We have forgotten where we may lead ourselves, and sometimes even where we started from.

From this and and for now we are unburdened , we carry nothing but a backpack on our back,
We are light headed in our own way, we are high on life and yet we look for nostalgia that we had
The cold winter nights wrapped in a blanket lay, the day outside teased through the window panes,
It waited patiently at times, and sometimes sneaked in through the weaves of curtain in thin lines

We have all been attached to the familiar self, whether we look for places or spaces that do not show,
Whether we build a fiction, or is it all in my head I do not know.
We were build by random adventures still, we will revisit you even if you are long gone,
Because we are storytellers in our head, each one of us, from this and for now.

Day 89: What is Rare?

In the last one week, I have moved around from places to places, every day and every night. I have slept at times or moments which I could find and stolen others to remain awake. It is in these rare moments that I have come to realize our strange affliction towards declaring something as rare. We are often surrounded and often obsessed by the idea of finding something rare or unique in our lives. So much so that we are excited about the opportunities that come along that we can declare as such, and as I sit in my hotel room contemplating about such a rare moments among others I feel we may cheat a little bit from time itself and upon how we find them. Hence my writing today focuses on what exactly is this version of rare

What is Rare?
What is rare are not the people, the time or place,
It is not even the moments that we can't erase
What is rare isn't hidden in the fog refusing to come out,
It isn't loud or angry or hurt, no matter what the reason you shout

What is rare aren't the books that are covered in dates,
Neither versions that needed revisions with no changes made.
Neither words that are locked in poetry or free outside in your head,
Not even in the thoughts that you think of when you put yourself to bed

What is rare isn't about people's fights or peaceful talks,
It isn't about the breaks in between our long walks,
What is rare by itself is the rarest thing to find,
When it keeps moving along with you and you look for it in things left behind