Day 123: Just Fate

We were locked in a bar tonight as one of the worst thunderstorms just washed by the roads in Bloomington and we made the decision to move inside into smaller groups. Though we did not find a table large enough to fit us all we all had moments on each of our tables, as I moved around sharing the warmth of those who surrounded it. In between all of this chaos I started reading palms just for the fun of it and as it spread from one table to the other I had read everyone's hand , 11 people in total. Though I refuse to believe too that the idea of fate is written somewhere for those moments it was fun learning from people. I was also taught how to twirl today by a friend and a dance with an old friend. I am neither parts of the story, neither a fortune teller and neither a dancer, but then some nights are all about being captured by what it brings. And then some warm bodies and hugs are left behind on a slow ride home, no matter where you live

Just Fate
You are not destined to be anything different tonight,
You are not meant to be read, just in some faded lines
You are more than just someone who gets to write fate,
You are like remnants of the night that are left behind instead

Some nights are about no endings and retreats,
About finding a tune that plays on endless repeat.
And then when we are all captured by the night
We are far too awake to say goodbyes.

Let me tell you of the storm that grazes past my windows sill,
That sounds like the rustling of tress and the painting this night fills
It gets louder every time the night wishes to draw to an end
It thunders in pain, when it can no longer pretend

Mellow endings to some new found things tonight,
We get to keep the best of us, our nostalgia for this night
We are perfect cups of tea or wine or whatever may be,
We raise a toast, that for now; in sleepy eyes we keep.

Day 122: On my Porch

Our need for travel is often related to our incessant need for the new, for a change that must give meaning to whatever we choose to do from time to time. Whether it is sharing a conversation with long lost friends or whether we decide to be in the warm company of so many who have come our way. We are bound to learn from the shared and collective experience we get when people come together, and it is in moments of collective nature that I relate to experiences being born. I shared an evening meal with friends, in warm company yesterday, and though almost all were new , I felt welcomed amidst them . I write to the porch we sat on, as the sunlight faded away

On my Porch
We are often spoken for, when it comes to writing poetry,
Our heart and mind find spaces on a page, somewhere where they can be free
And yet when the tired daylight rests so gently on my porch tonight
I know I have learned to be written down on crumpled pieces of poetry at times

We are structured thoughts that live in few lines,
We have come too far and we have crossed spaces too wide
After all whatever may come from all the meaning you can derive,
Is for you to read, they are thoughts that come alive in your minds

Why carry on with the riddled heart? Why question no one at best?
Have we found all that can be answered, is your mind truly at rest?
Through stained glasses on the porch tonight, the light fades away
And the warmth of long lasting companies keep you company wherever you stay

We are crumpled at best, we don't come with neat folds and lines
But are written down as thoughts in our head, what you call yours and I call mine
I would rather be unknown someday, be about the pieces that makes me whole,
For now I will write poetry in many languages, hoping none of it ever grows old

Day 121: Lost in Colorado

It is often interesting to write from a new place , specially when I am visiting locations for conferences or just trips that are in some way designed to be productive. I don't know whether it is the idea of having something on your mind, or whether it is a way of feeling less guilty and somehow involved with what surrounds you. In any case I always like the idea of being lost in new places, thought not hopelessly lost but in the sense that you get an idea in the sense of something new that will surround you. And if you let it, it will let you meet new people and experience something unique. Thus now matter how troublesome and tiring some journeys are, if they are worth making, make them. They are not to be held in whimsy or dreams, they are lived everyday in real life.

Lost in Colorado
In yesteryear and between spaces in my mind,
I find a dark night and a drunken one that is easy to find
I follow along the sleepy eyes, the empty glasses we don't drink from anymore
We are happy in the randomness that surrounds me like ever before

Lost in Colorado blues, the sunny side or afternoon drizzle on my shoulder,
If the little bits of me find solace, and feels just a little younger
We have walked the streets, from Pearl to streets whose name I seem to forget
But getting lost was easy at times, it is important to go out with no regrets.

We are modelers from the real world, and yet we choose to create versions or reality,
We are scenarios in the open world, we are as real as reality can be
Locked in places where the worlds may change we dream big in hills that surrounds us
And we are part of the mystery that may change a few and a few that shrouds us

From places we come, we meet we depart, we learn from the best, we leave for another day,
We are not lost for a long long time, we are just finding reasons to come back again
In Colorado hues in the morning times we fade in and out of dreams we dream on clean sheets,
We are requiems of another day, for now we are our own dreams looking for things we need.

Day 120: Wandering Goodbyes

An old friend joked with me a few days back whether I would write her a poem when she leaves from the US via New York. And though most of my writings are inspired by thoughts, actions and events sometimes direct request work just as fine. As you read this today or tomorrow as you head off I want you to remember a couple of things which includes the fact that there is a reason I hate saying goodbye, my goodbyes can sometime linger longer than the actual flight time. In any case there are reasons we all do it , we all appreciate friends and sometimes we miss them between all the craziness in the world. And they are our anchors and our sails they get us to stop when we need to and let us move time and time. In any case my dear friend find a warm farewell wrapped in pictures, memories and birthday cakes, in sharing secrets and knowing that nostalgia is just a thought away. If you are leaving somewhere this week , whether flying away someplace to meet people, I say welcome whatever may come with open arms. We rarely get to choose anything more than the flight tickets sometimes, the rest my dear ones are simply unknown, they are wandering goodbyes never gone.

Wandering Goodbyes
To the ramblings and singing on a stage,
To thoughts and memories that not even time can erase
To the improv I shared in time and again,
And a smile and shared each other's pain

Bidding goodbyes are often hard, they seem so real so permanent,
While we keep waiting sometimes, hoping this is all make belief, this is all pretend
When the tray tables are raised on your seat today, and you take wings instead
Fly with warm thoughts and memories that come as carry on in your head.

We are not lost in pictures somewhere, we are not in beginnings where we decide to meet,
We are in long hours walk, we are hours of talk and sometimes simple just standing on our feet
Do I often glimpse a part of me, when I wish you goodbye when I wish thee farewell
Will I challenge myself forever more, even if you are not here who will tell me tells

Dear wanderer of the night sky, as you take wings just look outside,
Am I standing somewhere on the ground? wishing you a safe journey & waving you goodbye?
We will be neighbors on the phone, on texts till the time we get to keep touch and write,
And even if we are lost just for a little bit, remember; we are just where we hit pause tonight.

P.S : Stay safe and wander further along

Day 119: Long Walk Home

Yesterday night was unlike most nights, a very old friend visited me. Probably after a year and as we stood there hoping that some things had actually changed and some hadn't, we laughed and took a walk together. We talked about what has changed in each others lives, while learning not be pushed back into back into the ugly bits of things. We have all learned much from friendships and relationships, from gain and loss and from certainty and knowing some things will disappear without a trace. We are often used to ideas of farewell and yet I still find something wrong actually bidding one. I summarize this in what I write today, it was a long overdue walk and an open hearted one. Somethings I know are chanced repetitions in life, we just don't get to choose when.

Long Walk Home
Sometimes all it takes is a long walk leading home,
When all seems like a second chance to nothing , just somethings long gone.
We are shadows who love to avoid the dark,
We are mysteries with changed lives, finding places to start

Sometimes we are a phone call away, sometimes in email replies,
We are no where if not somewhere, and yet we are not easy to find
Some will choose to disappear at will, a reason is not important sometimes
Because a reason begs a question that is left unanswered it is left behind.

We are yesterday at best, we like to think of ourselves as good memories,
We put times to things we can't control, watch it change as it could be
We jot down a date sometimes, when we feel much time has passed,
And I keep thinking to myself, do we get to know the right questions to ask?

A long walk home is all we need sometimes, whether yours or mine it matters no more,
It has changed not a single bit, and yet it doesn't feel like it used to before
We have changed quite a bit, we give reasons to make ourselves feel better again,
And the long walks we once took, are lost in random chance, in finding sanity in the insane

Day 118: Fail Better

Over the last couple of weeks the hardest things I know people have gone through, were tested in time. Sometimes it is important to know that you can fail and not see it as a sign of weakness, not consider it as something wrong. I have been reading thoughts from random places and the one thing that stuck with me while thinking of today's piece was a quote "Try again, fail again, fail better". We have all had our moments in the sun, we have all been too tired to even begin from time to time, but more often the best part of us will tell us to get back and to try again, fail again and indeed fail better this time. You never know what will surprise you, because by definition it is a surprise, it will come to you when you least expect it. This is for all those who have had this hard time over the last week, month or year, I want you to know we have all felt the same, we have all been worried, and we have all had regrets, all I want you to do is try again.

Fail better
I take steps ahead and fall behind,
To know something in your heart, and yet never make up your mind.
We are dreamers who were wide awake, we refuse to close our eyes,
Till the point something inside gives and makes you want to survive.

We have failed many a times, I want you to fail better today,
I want you to wipe off the smudges that may have marred your way.
Feel the roads disappear and make it back to you,
Till the point all you can think about is a reason to follow through.

Fail with pride sometimes, you have tried it every other way,
You have kept a straight face when it mattered most, never let it get away.
In your eyes I see that which you question every time,
Whether it is a part of you that makes it home, I will never find.

I see the world obsessed with success sometimes while too much has changed,
We have been lost in the obsession of it all, till the unrecognizable has remained.
Fail again my dear friend,for we have tried and tried,
We are walking ahead and stepping behind, just learn to fail better every single time. 

Day 117: Overtones

Sometimes writing poetry is trying to listen to the lyrics when the music is too loud, when there is a distinct departure of what you hear over the loudest sounds, the overtones. And the most important part is trying to make sense to them when we begin to write. This idea came to me when I was trying to listen to a song while having a conversation with a friend, I realized soon enough that though my ears could capture both my mind made sense to only what it chose to hear. The overtones , the defining moments and the choices we make when we decide to write. What must come to you feeble must sometimes stand as giants, and be louder than the loudest voice. Sometimes the overtones can be the hidden meaning we aspire to capture so here's to the overtones

Overtones
I can hear you loud, over the overtones,
In the music that shrouds me and some that surrounds
The reasons we have and have not begun to listen,
Why we have forgotten the roads we have circled around.

Tunes in my head, conversations that I couldn't get out of my mind,
And when "we" as we were, was left somewhere far behind
I walk in streets and doors that have been shut out some days.
People have moved along and some have moved away.

And yet the growing longing remains,
To hear that voice just one more time, and time again.
We are whisperers to the voiceless, we write with words we cannot say,
We have been blessed with just this much, with a pen and paper & whatever may

The street signs tell me to slow down from time to time,
They are familiar and yet I feel lost in my mind.
The reason we know we begin again,
I listen to the not just the song, but the overtones in my head

Day 116: In Plain Sight

Today morning started with a thought about how we use often use words to disguise ourselves. The moments in our lives that are written down somewhere are but versions of  our experiences captured in keystrokes somewhere if not on pen and paper. Nevertheless the disguise from this world comes with a price, it keeps our true self still hidden somewhere , it allows us to grow sometimes and to be able to conform our world to what we think . Though a lot of these acts of random writings happen in disguise whether it is about bringing a smile to someone's face or making sense of a mad world, the most attractive thing is the disguise that lets us hide in plain sight. It is with this intention that I write to the idea of having thoughts and writings in plain sight and yet disguised in someway.

In Plain Sight
Sometimes we hide in our own disguise,
Places we have built in our head to our own surprise.
Where the things we cannot express lies hidden in words somewhere,
Where the world seems like a large game of hard truth or dare.

In our own disguise we find solace sometimes,
We become the best and most of what we can be.
We are drawn to things that only change within,
And yet all of the things that we hope sets us free.

We are hidden somewhere in the shallow lakes, in reflections wherever you can find,
Trapped in between the places I wish to go, and where the places I am somewhere on my mind
In between just all of this, when I will write you a song,
When I write with words that mean nothing to some, and yet will remind you of where you belong

Sometimes tonight when I lie in bed and you will close your eyes,
I will fall asleep and yet you will dream, even if I share this thought from a thousand miles.
I am destiny's child or no one's yet, I still speak of whatever comes to my mind,
The world keeps looking for the real me, while I will always hide in plain sight.

Day 115: Thoughts Misplaced

Yesterday night was about two very distinct realizations, one was the idea of saying something in written words when people attach a voice and tone to what is written and the warmth of sharing a staircase with friends, when it feels no time is too late and no tone can mar what the moment held. They are related because I realize how we assume tones with thoughts that are poured out in words. We assume roles if we know the other person or we must attach a tone in our head when we read it and in this chaos sometimes I feel the written thoughts are misplaced. We are better at finding that which is unknown and unheard of than spending time in knowing what comes as familiar to us sometimes. Is it the idea of being loud in our heads? Is it the slow readings we read when the dusk settles for a while, or whether it is the mellowed one when we are nostalgic. For now I leave my misplaced thoughts for you to find a tone to

Thoughts Misplaced
I have been asked to be careful sometimes,
To choose words that are someone else are a few that are mine
To be careful that I get them right, to sound perfect in written words,
And even though you can't hear me let me read you a verse

We are thoughts that have been misplaced, we are finding our way home,
We are meaningful when you are around, and meaningless when all alone
We are words in our heads that ramble on and on some days
Like the things we put on endless repeat, till they are memorized someways.

We are thoughts as we are, we are reminiscent of things and yet we come and go,
We are untraceable , untouchable and yet we are too real to be unknown
I have lost many a things, they have come and gone like hours of the day,
And yet some things have stuck around, they have changed me as they may

We are misplaced at times by others, we are forgotten beyond our wildest belief,
We weren't looking for promises, in warm memories we found what we need.
Don't worry about what it all means , conversations on the sides of stairs that lead nowhere,
For now we need for our thoughts misplaces , hoping they are somewhere right here. 

Day 114: Finite Me

Every once in a while we are faced with an unending need to make everyone happy in our lives, be this infinite of ourselves that keeps consistently believing in things. And though the infinite nature of our being is attractive, it is the finite self that keeps us grounded to who we are and makes us humble. It is within the measured self that I find that all limitations are lost. I am writing to a few of my friends whom I see struggling with this tendency, including myself and though we are often tempted to be these best version of ourselves we have learned to live our own lives first. Many who may look at this as a limit, I hope you find meaning in the finite, it is not that which cannot be measured that is large and beautiful, often that can only be felt even if for small moments sometimes. Here's to the finite me

Finite Me
We are finite and yet beyond measure most days,
We are lost somewhere in between looking for our own place
We are thoughtful in our head & yet hard to comprehend,
We are partials that are left in the sand,sometimes just remnants

It is true that most days you we will ponder for a while,
You will look at night lights as they fade and morning hues on a smile
I can't remember the last time we said goodbye,
You were lost in the little things in the back of your head and so was I.

I have thought about it from time to time,
Given up on things that I would raise a glass to, and said things were fine.
We are not measure by leaps and bounds we take,
You were written in words that I wrote , when I stared outside as I lay awake

The finite me from time to time, still draws from stories we write,
We are colors of paintings and etchings on a wall & sometimes scribbles on pages left white
We are wanderers, we are footsteps, we know not where to reappear,
We are limitless in our own ways, for now we are beginnings we know not how to disappear.

Day 113: Simply Shared

I was reminded today about something we often take for granted most days. The beauty of a conversation and a bench I shared . It is while thinking about it that I realized something which may be obvious to quite a few. It is the idea of shared moments and experience, something that does not have the value we attach with it individually but is more meaningful when shared with someone. With it is a conversation with a trusted friend, or whether it is opening up to someone new the moment inherits a quality by the virtue of being shared between two or more people. And so I write to these acts of kindness if you allow me to, these shared benches and conversations alike and some shared moments that we write to from time to time

Simply Shared
We are edges of a bench we shared,
We are like conversations about which the world didn't care
And yet we were written down like a sleepy morning tale which finds no sleep,
Among stories that puts you to bed, and a restless night dark and deep

In places far, far away and times long, long ago,
We all had some places to be, and we all had places to go.
We were busy with building bits and pieces of a memory that holds,
Some that maybe be faded in time, but stays as we grow old.

We have revisited some places someday, benches and chairs in the library lay still,
They are reminders of warm memories at times, and sometimes just of empty spaces to fill.
Do you write with me , with colors we can all see,
Do you paint with me within the lines, and yet seem to write perfect poetry

To the shared moments I write tonight or today,
To the music we listen to as we hit rewind and replay
We are constant changes in our own head at times,
We are simply shared with no reason and sometimes with no rhyme.

Day 112: Storytellers' Nostalgia

Sometimes morning writings are valuable in their own way, because they make you think about the transitioning night. Over the last couple of days as the semester finally ends today I have been faced with people who are disappointed with things, people or situations in general. People who have lost hope in more than one way and those who have looked at wallowing away from disappointments. Some who have had the hardest times making decisions, some who have been lost in misunderstanding and anger somewhere and some who have just failed to communicate. Whatever be the reason I have reason to think we have all been at places where we wouldn't want to be and couldn't help being. And no matter who helped you whether a family or a friend you choose to include in your lives or even if you are just waiting for the phone to ring there are more reasons to be Storytellers than to be quiet. So get writing today, write about your anguish and pain, about losses with no restrain.

Storytellers' Nostalgia
Oh writers of the night, the call for nostalgia in the morning blue,
The dawn and dusk of the fairy tale ending, and of some things that I write to you
Warm hugs from a thousand miles seems untethered for a little while,
The hand that touches no one, just it knows not of anything else, but to write

Four fifteen in the morning time, the unending riddles keep coming back to me,
We have been fighting for a long time now, we keep remnants of little things that sets us free
We are lost in between the first and the last, we have been good to so many in time,
That we have changed in bits and pieces as of yet, till very little of us was left behind.

We have chosen families sometimes, we got to keep the friends,
We are the little happiness you found in school, when we were kids and there was still recess
You would jump up to me and we could remember so much and so little at times,
And yet most of what we kept was just between ourselves, the world was on the other side

Write to your anger tonight, to your disappointments that didn't come through,
That went on like long chapters with no end and grammars that needs to be edited too
Write about your anguish your pain, your open heart will fill pages when you don't even know,
Because you are more than sum of parts, you are the best of yourself which you don't show.