Day 213: Games we Play

It was board game night yesterday, and somewhere in between the fun and the games and sharing the comradery among friends, I learn from them. These are the games we play, as I struggled to understand the instructions from time to time. I learned as I cheered from the side of my table. There were chips that were stalled at one end and I would collect and win and lose again. But I realize it was never about the wins and losses , it was sometimes about playing the game. Hence these games we play are about our real life adventures, the things we learn from life as it comes our way.

Games we Play
I wonder about the games we sometimes play
Hard to win at, things that change everyday
But if what I learn is lost and won on a board
Where no one is truly keeping scores

The games we play feel grown up sometimes
They are without restrains on hour, or bedtimes
They are of words and number and much more
Somehow caught in the musings of it all.

My thoughts about the game we play
The things we keep among the ones that change anyways
We roll our dices as I skipped my turn
I will watch the game as it played, in time I will learn

Incomprehensible without instructions sometimes
Such are the games we play in real life
We chase each other in words, we have much to say
We keep learning in every turn, in the games we play

Day 212: As we May

Once in a while things that neatly fold in a rule book go out the window, things that make perfect sense aren't required and yet it can all add up to a great experience. The reality is, be as we may we are not pre-programmed for the obvious things in life, and even less for the unexpected ones. In between conversations about social hydrology, classics and instrumentation, I found wonder in warm company of friends. And to the one who wanted her birthday to be special I hope you got that wish somehow. "As we may" seemed to be the theme of the night or early morning as it ended somewhere and somehow. For the simple readings were written on a napkin we left at the restaurant, among hours that passed away. For now I write, as we may

As we May
We were songs this night, loud as we may
Summaries of hours, and of end of this day
We were restless ones & yet happy for now
Found in empty glasses that were left somehow

You may ask if we write our own stories today
Draw pencil sketches with colors among the gray
We drink in many languages & cheers sometimes
As I wrote some thoughts, close to a glass of wine

Find your way back home on a warm august night
Places where things are yours to keep, never out of sight
Lighter or darker beers, or hippy as they are called
Will be mildly remembered, in stories we recall

Wishes comes as they sometimes may
Wrapped in more than wrapping paper today
In the mystery and awe of finding something new
Wishing we would never have to wish the night adieu

Here's to some memories & things that stay
Even if time changes, I hope we can be "as we may".

Day 211: Dear Sis

Once in a year there is a day that is celebrated in ode of sisters and brothers, the relationship they share. This translates even if they are miles away, somewhere somehow it is important to express that they are there for each other. This poem is more on a personal note, written to my sis on this day, to remind her of our stories being written in different parts of the world. We are pieces that fit together somehow and at moments warm hugs from far away are constant reminders of the fact that we are here for each other. I hope this resonates to all who wrote to there brothers and sisters, letters for now, sent as poems somehow.

Dear Sis
The idea was that we were peas in a pod
We were imperfect and yet never flawed
We could comprehend things our own ways
We were unwritten stories kept some days

Some days we would fight it all
And can't remember why it started big or small
We were in sync and out sometimes
We were parts written separately & yet rhymed.

Growing up reminded me of the simple things
Where we learned how to be, where it all begins
To my sis who remembers when I made it at times
Who doesn't give up even if I might.

We are constant reminders of bonds miles away
Things that reach, even without a single word being said
We will start some things and build stories from scratch
I hope these words reach you dear sis wherever you are at.

Day 210: Gray Scaled

Most of our lives, the world doesn't ask us binary questions with simple yes and no(s). Though we may decide to answer them with just one answer, our answers are gray scales too. This poetry is an exploration while sitting on a computer that is binary(ones and zeros) and allows us to express colors in more than one shade. This is not intended as a complex thought experiment, it is rather a simple story about trial and error in our lives that I wanted to write about. Though this poem may seem to take a darker tone it expresses this idea, that we express colors from these different shades of gray.

Gray Scaled
In between the lines of codes we write
We refuse to be binary, to my own surprise
We express meaning, we get to create on our screen
We are impossible to express in our own extremes

We may be hidden in between what slips away
The instruction book that we don't read anyways
We are gray scales paintings of feelings sometimes
Songs, caught in between the lyrics and the rhyme

We are words & pencil sketches on walls
We are shades and hues of these grand halls
Our gray scaled lives are perceptions we don't hide
In situations we solve,as we fight our fights

We are things in the making, we are expressions undefined
We are story book writings that we have yet to write
We are shades of the day, we are hours into the night
We are colors in the gray, fighting our own fight

Day 209: Remind Me

In between the week we are tempted to look for weekends, towards endings sometimes. Towards the slow passing of hours when you need it to move faster. While all this time we will carry our memory with us , I still find myself forgetting the obvious things. So I ask my calendar, my friends and colleagues to remind me of things sometimes. It is strange that we don't get to choose a priority about the things we can and cannot seem to forget. For me "Remind me" explores this idea of being among lists of things you do want to get reminded about and some that come to you when least expectant. It reaches into the need to remember versus memory that is always present in someway.

Remind Me
Remind me of weekends when I am stuck on weekdays
Remind me of simple reasons & simple ways
And then when the huddled masses have stepped aside
Remind me of their footsteps that they left behind

The blue light and red light and the white that washes my walls
In between fallen roads, & lost pathways, I refuse to fall
I have scaled up and down on the contours of your mind
When you are hardly looking for me, I will be the easiest to find

Remind me of old passages of the book I would read to sleep
Things I keep to myself, and yet I find no reason to weep
I am end of summers sometimes, I am still warm breath in the air
I keep looking for someone to read what I write, we make the perfect pair

There are corners of the day, I will return to as I start again
You will be amazed as I will find sanity among the insane
I will not be pages on your calendar, let me feel alive
When my memory is all I carry with me, as I write.

Day 208: Painted Evenings

Some days in between stealing few hours for work and teaching, time will just fly. As I realized that I needed to come back to my writing, I kept thinking about the little things this time of my year, around me and that which gets to influence me. My late posting are like curated pieces of the hours that have slipped away and in between all of the chaos, somewhere somehow I get to write, I get to summarize. My story tellers and painters and writers of the day, even in odd hours let us simply create. Here's to the painted outside outside my window sill, the glasses are glazed with sunlight that slowly fades. And I string words from memories, the paintings this evening paints.

Painted Evenings
Painted walls and corridor halls
Benches filled with people and this fall
And cloudy skies as though the heaven cries
Reminders of the fading sunlight

For all this is mellow & held together on a page
That seems to pass on but that is never aged
Musings and little things I keep and collect
The things I pay heed to, while some I neglect.

Wind chimes that are tied to my door
And some scattered groceries lay on my floor
I will get to rearrange them tonight
As I make my tea, I will put them out of sight

My late postings of some days
Are captures by hours and held up to be late
Because my own possessions are undefined
For now they are just writing I get to write

Day 207: So I Wrote

It is easy to find quotes that capture the fascination of many, among the need to find inspiration some nights. To find facts that fills the heads and as comfort drifts ourselves into sleep. We are privileged sometimes to find words that builds us to and from where we are. In the challenges some nights that we draw from, my dim lights outside are brighter than my dark room and the darker corners still. And so I write as I wrote in past days, capturing whimsy of the mind, the heart and soul from time to time. I write from the dawn as sunlight slowly creeps into my room.

So I Wrote
So I wrote to men & women who have come & gone
Who speak of something new at the very hour of dawn
I wrote to those who are and who have been inspired
Who have never been left or even fallen behind

And I read like a mad man, every page I swallowed whole
The days had yet to be undone, the hours had yet to unfold
In between the pages where I scoured for the day
I was looking for wise words that time itself has written away.

So I wrote to those who have asked me to write
Who have trusted in some days to fight their fight
Who have not yielded that have only grown strong
But for now I treat them, as though these words were my own

I have been fair most days of which I know
About thoughts in my mind, & the ones I choose to show
I was asked to swim from shore to shore & not simply float
And so in between all that is inspired, I wrote

So I wrote to those who live word to word a day
Who are brave men & women with simple resolves someways
And to those of us who are captured by beauty of a quote
To and from the unfinished parts of me, I simply wrote 

Day 206: Just Come

Today I start to teach a class filled with students, a massive undertaking. Something that prepares you in a wide variety of way for facing many things in life and something for which you can never truly be prepared. These learning moments come as they may and I have learned that some of the best plans sometimes are the ones partially baked. The things we get to change around. "Just come" explores the idea of coming as we may to the table and bringing our best versions, our things we haven't written but which exist in our minds and some poetries that personally I have yet to write.

Just Come
Come walk with me where no would go
Let us ask questions, answers to which we may never know
We may quit some days and start again
But in the end all we want to know, was that; it was never in vain

Come unprepared whenever you can
You don't need to know everything you can hold in your mind & hand
Come unread at best, with a blank paper sometimes
Just come together as you write your very first line

Come like sheets of music which I cannot write
I cannot read how it hits the notes, I can't hear from my eyes
But let nothing stop you from your own humble tries
Everything begins this way, in your own simple strides

Come just a little lost, with no where in mind
Just pack a backpack to places only a few can find
Just come again from places that we create
In between time and moments when inspiration finds an escape.

Day 205: Grand Escapes

I missed out on writing yesterday, for me it was taking a grand escape, taking a break so that I can come back to my writings. I think we all look for these grand escapes whether it is among people and warm company, or whether it is by ourselves in between what we read or lite, our music or lyrics when things don't suffice. The idea of grand escapes came as a realization this week as I struggled to find one for me among those I already know. Among the obvious I seem to look for moments of something new that strikes me and lends some words to my resting pen. For now they are charmed places in our mind, places we have least traveled and places we find when we least expect it. I write this on a Sunday afternoon before a new week and before knowing this one ended, hoping there is much more to return to as I write to my grand escapes.

Grand Escapes
I will write to my grand escapes
To some simple things we could walk away
Some weekends on a long break
When I am yet to find a perfect day

Some days are not about finding mistakes
About knowing how much effort it takes
I have had enough of those to come & go
But I write to things that slip away,
                                I ones I do not know

Some Sunday mornings when my pen lies at rest
And I have summarized things to my very best
I have heard from those around me in quiet moments too
I have taken a break as I kept writing back to you

On some days when I have walked too long
When I hear on repeat some constant songs
My lyrics and words and rhymes of the day
Are the only place where I find my grand escapes

Day 204: Foundations

As the week ends today, I like the idea of finding solid ground. About having a decent sense of nervous beginnings to the next week and expecting things to be different. Between these moments and thoughts that escape you we are tempted to find our foundations. Our simple standing ground, our blue prints and maps alike and sometimes. We create great things when we find our comfort zones and these foundations, and we end up building more than homes, we are building trust, relationships and friendships undefined. Some of my writings dwell in this dual meaning of the role of words and I can't help but notice a similar relationship that I explore in this one. For now let me write to finding foundations, as we end and begin something new. Let us write just me and you and build foundations from scratch, as something new.

Foundations
Let me tell you of all the places where we stand
The way we move the world around just holding hands
Some days are about finding foundations on the ground
About setting the world on mute, till silence is the only sound

Let me write to you about plans that we made
Some we got to execute and some that got away
And the blue prints that remains folded in our mind
Are part of our walks & our memories to find.

Some roads outside my window today
Are drenches in the summer rain
And as the sunlight in so many shades
Washes down the day's remains

Let me tell you of foundations to find
When you are looking for one to stand beside
Your comfort food, tables and chairs
When things have not been misplaced in despair

Find solid grounds where you rarely look
The roads you often thought you mistook
The music that you slowly hum
Are reminders of what you have become

We will build more than just homes
For now, as we build; foundations of our own

Day 203: Shades of Summer

Summer seems to be gracefully fading away as the day transitions between periods of warm sunshine and patches of cloud, they are reminders of some of the transitional time in between. Summers here are never too long, as they transition between the Spring and the fall and they give a little pause when things tend to move slower. As I sit through a longer version of summer that sense of urgency seems delayed briefly between moments.  We experience these shades of summer which are sometimes about relief, about escapes we take , about the smell of grass after a rain and everything else that you experience. This writing explores both the shades of the day and the pause we find in between the many shades of summer and the ones we always wish we get to keep.

Shades of Summer
I am shades of summer kept in a bottle somewhere
Sunlight trapped in glass roof and walls
I am evening breeze that fills the air
I am leaves on trees that for now refuse to welcome fall

I am afterglow of an endless day
I am the shinning bits of myself that is kept somewhere
In closed classrooms and the windows to the outside
I am rain that tells you stories in raindrops by your bedside

I am shades and I am in between, the wind and the rain
I am smiles and moments that I steal, as I walk away from pain
In yesterday's measures of what my world could be
I refuse to live in promises once made & in between subtle realities

I may have changed just a day or two
Become the best of I am while looking for you
I am shades of summer painted on a canvas for now
Captured in the words of the writer somehow.

Day 202: Little Bits

Sometimes the little thinks such as filling your calendars with your appointments, remembering where it begins and the road maps we are so used to drawing in our heads and in our calendars that link our day. Whether we moved about in links between one thing to the next and in between we keep finding these little bits and pieces, these little pauses that we try to beg, borrow or steal from time of the day. Sometimes these are planned beginnings, explorations into what we have become and what we may become over a period of time, and sometimes just humble realizations of what we have collected bit by bit. I know I am late with the post today, but it came to me just bit by bit through the day.

Little Bits
A little bit of anything that holds the day
As I sit on my desk and my hours pass away
I draw upon things, my list of things to do
And stealing time to write my poetry to you

I am faded in and out hours of this day
Planning my syllabus and schedules my own ways
My calendar fills with colors of red & blue
Things pile on, some of which I hope to follow through

Start with just one thing for today, one step a bit slow
Start with knowing nothing at all, in between the ones you know
Blank sheets and papers for now, unscribbled at best
Plan just a bit, we are all hoping for the rest

My poems everyday, my thoughts undefined
They are left somewhere in places for me to find
A little bit of thoughts I borrow, a little bit of extraordinaire
In humble beginnings, I begin my journeys to nowhere

Day 201: Some Places

It is funny where you stumble onto when you don't plan for things, sometimes the best journeys begins with the feeling of being lost. It is in these moments while you rediscover these places, you find walks you would never take, writing along things you wouldn't have thought about. Sometimes these places are found on the rides itself, in spaces of your mind and heart. I find them in between strangers from whom I learn, in writings I would have never written, reading and listening to those who have gone so far. Some places are about finding ground, and are best known in the secrecy that it captured in travels we make. For now these places in my mind, my very own words and these writings are all I can find.

Some Places
In some places far away
Where my words don't know of things to say
When simple things, are writings I cannot decline
Ones that fills pages and fills my mind

We were living in shadows we had cast aside
A world for the taking, we will win this fight
We paint with words & write with colors sometimes
A canvas which fills itself with the night.

Take a step back as you move ahead
Letting go is easy & yet it is easy to remember but hard to forget
It may seem like a story tale written long ago
In places we don't visit anymore & yet yearn to go

My stage is set, are we ready to perform?
We came unprepared sometimes against the norm
In some places where I have found a place to stand
My words will keep coming back, to hold hands

We were worried about places to stand
In my writing from some places, I am what I am.

Day 200: Distilled Thoughts

As we sat there by the slow simmering fire, somehow the warmth of the people was more comforting that anything else at that moment. The red glow that faded in time as the songs grew louder, in many languages and without any need for translations tonight. There are some things that sound familiar, they sound beautiful even without having meanings attached to them in your head. As we read poetry I kept thoughts in head that were distilled over and over again, like bottled wine we poured in glasses. As I write the 200th piece today I feel paying more attention to things around me than when I first started writing. For now I find more to learn as the night slid away in conversations that felt unfinished for now and some thoughts remain, to which I write.

Distilled Thoughts
We sat there with an empty glass just in time
While it was filled by moments that find rhyme
In art and poetry to which we sometimes pay heed
A little warmth we wish for & sometimes need

We are songs being written on the fly
With words that come to our mind,we know not why
Learning from tunes that form somewhere in our mind
If you look for us, we are easy to find.

Between familiar & unknowns, among the old & the new
We found reasons for so much but moments so few
Take a walk down memory lane, among things that don't make sense
Among everything that seems right, where you don't have to pretend

We are distilled thoughts kept in a bottle somewhere
Aged to perfection we only grow more and more rare
We are poetries composed of whimsy and an evening's delight
We are beyond proof values of what you can measure right

I am waiting for sketches here & there, canvases of the night skies to be filled
Sitting and jotting down some poetries, and summaries from my thoughts distilled.

Day 199: Begin Again

The starting of a new week is important and though I can argue the week begins tomorrow, I decide to stick to a more simpler thought process trying to understand this recurrence, this building up of things as we begin again. As the rain pours outside a dim Sunday afternoon and the new week comes closer every hour I am grasped by to do lists, requests and dreams I cannot always seem to remember. The idea of starting from a anew is lucrative, it gives you just a little bit of leverage to combine hope and chances you put along with a lot of efforts. As the new semester, new weeks keep coming to many around, I wish we begin again somewhere, somehow waiting to be found.

Begin Again
Take a step as you begin again
Come back to things that remain unchanged
We are chained memories kept close to the heart
Second chances for someone waiting to hit restart

Begin again with just a little hope
As your troubles disappear, in time they elope
Dream like dreamers with no boundaries today
You get to start where you left off, yesterday.

Some rainy days you feel indoors, some closed ones you unlock
Some footsteps outside so many doors as I hear you knock
Chanced beginnings of a week, Sunday afternoon your way
Are mellow writings kept in my mind, which decided to get away

From time to time as you make a choice, I hope you never give up
You are time that I write about and sometimes pour into a cup
You are diary pages that smell so fresh, with no words thought about
Unwritten, unheard of things sometimes, whispered in a shout

There is always much more, than dreams I remember & some that remain
As day dreamers & writers alike we start from scratch & begin again.

Day 198: Belong

I think one of the greatest comforts we have is the sense of belonging to someplace, to something and sometimes even to ourselves. These connections, directions and fixed markers in our lives change only with time but they are existent somewhere or the other. Today's poetry is actually explorations from a chapter I was reading, it was a random piece I found about this nature of the central figure belonging somewhere. The tone of this poem is set heavy because it comes as reminders that we are still looking for these places, these markers. They are not darker in anyway, we have fallen for people and left imprints on their mind and in our memories some of these things have been left behind. As we find familiarity I hope we find a sense to which we belong.

Belong
When the day fades just a little at a time
When I have changed every definition of what I call mine
The one that you found, the one I used to be
Are fragments of your imagination, that was set free

When the letters have all been written & posted home
Without knowing how or even where you yourself belonged
When the lenses on my cameras can't change what I see
Just bits and pieces of my time trapped somewhere in memories.

Find out places least traveled & yet where you belong
Among those who have refused to simply follow along
Where you have left a mark in hearts ones that you hide
Among the things that have always been on your side

You have fallen at times & others have fallen for you
Among the friends you found and the ones you barely knew
I am carried sometimes from places so strong
Just looking out for road maps in places where I belong

I am imprints on the walls and on the sandy shores I walk
I can reach you only in words, and so in poetry I talk

Day 197: Stay Alive

"Stay Alive" is a metaphor that is used in the context of this writing. While going through the week we are flooded by thoughts and ideas in our heads. Some of these will stay with us for a long time and some will fade away into the less important space. Places where we have decided that we can close and summarize these weeks and set up short term goals which we may or may not achieve. This writing is an exploration of the need to keep some of these ideas, the less important ones alive for a period of time. It is to allow us to grow knowing that we are multi threaded in our brains as we connect and disconnect from thoughts, writing some of them down and hoping that we write even more the next day. It is a call for inspiration at the end of weeks or days alike, and in between the chaos of the world a call for some things to simply stay alive.

Stay Alive
End this week with just hours of the day
Things from which you have never stepped away
Little things that have all added up to be
Things we collect as we write our own summaries

There are times when you will be called upon to lead
To be caught in between places we didn't look for or pay heed
The troubles you may carry over just the same
You have found your solace & sanity, among the seemingly insane.

Some days are about just staying alive,
Doing what you can to know whatever matters & survive
About perfect endings that do not exist
And dreams in your head with which you persist

Some say the longest walks are the ones you take alone
As time flies by and things change; when you are long gone
But quiet thoughts and your very own memories
Stay alive in writings of a day & in between what you need to be.

Day 196: Picture This

I have always felt that story telling is extremely powerful if the beginning is captured by pictures that are painted. This ofcourse is related to the idea that we are better at imagining something once the details have been filled in. So much so that our memories are like snapshots of some things that we tend to remember in great detail. These memories evolve and sometimes things are added or deleted from what we haven't written down. However I still find that drawing from stories and pictures is one of the most effective way of revisiting them. "Picture This" was born from an idea that I discussed with a friend long time back, it was about exploring writing through pictures whether you could tell details of stories from them and I wanted to explore it the other way around about how vivid pictures can be painted with words. Though they both consistently perform well, I wanted to explore what the mind interprets as pictures from words that mean different things to different people. For now "picture this"

Picture This
Picture this, just you and me
We are free with our words in between our poetry
Two writers and readers who are intertwined
Our words are a roaring fire along with vintage wine

Till the dust has not settled on jackets on my books
Till there are places where notes are hidden,
                                     those where I haven't looked
We are chapters that come together time after time
We are unwritten poetry being written & put on rewind

We are incomplete(s) for now with much at hand
Stories in languages which are sometimes hard to understand
We are reminders of past days & those to come
While we get to know more about what we have become

Picture this, we are scattered time from an hour glass
We are sand that pours for now, reminders of hours that pass
While we comprehend what we write or write from a new
Unless our minds and thoughts have been overtaken too

Picture this, just you and me with simple words on the floor
Sitting down and finding meaning, some mine and some yours.

Day 195: If not, Why not

It was a simple question, and like many simple questions the answer was never easy. I was at a meeting of minds yesterday if you will, people from so many fields and domains of interest, from cultures and sub cultures,and from story telling to languages. In between the routine that we follow, it makes you keep coming back to how much more we have to learn and though many may not find a reason for it, I ask myself if not then why not? Though I am not sure as to why we learn, I think my need to do just that seems to only grow as time passes why. I am surrounded by people sometimes who ask me about the things I explore, and I tell them the same "If not, Why not?"

If not, Why not
I learn while walking back between the city light
A fast moving day, follows a slow moving night
Or whether it is the other way around
Evenings follows the morning, without a sound

In between learning everything we can,
I often find myself, away from places I began
In between subjects I learn & the ones I explore
Some that are open books &
           some are sneak peeks behind closed doors.

If not then why not, I ask some days
What have we to lose apart from today
We are endless in thoughts, we write without fear
Without second thoughts in our mind, that we may hold dear

Our meetings with people, our familiar strangers in life
Who have taught us just a little bit more with every stride
With moments that we plan, or leave unplanned some days
We have found new things to learn our own ways

I am relentless sometimes, even about things I didn't know I sought
When I write to the world & when a few ask why, I say "If not, Why not"

Day 194: Planning Inspiration

A few days ago a friend of mine told me "you cannot plan inspiration", the idea being that these things are momentary and come and go as they please. Though the central idea is absolutely true, I like to believe that inspirations aren't all about grand moments but are sometimes cumulative that are combined from the way in which we build our day. In the wee hours of the night as I write, I am inclined to think that planned inspirations are about everyday challenges and the little things in life. Though my friend may be right about the rarity of these moments,I would like to believe that we still get to play out these moments when inspiration hits us, what we do sometimes is who we are and how we are defined. So here's to planning inspiration in our lives, and doing the things that are hard to sometimes find.

Planning Inspiration
Just yesterday when it all fit into a plan
When you knew how it ended before it all began
Planned inspirations that take over your mind
They are directions that a traveler leaves behind

You cannot plan inspiration they say
It comes as it wishes, whenever it may
Beyond need of translations from the undefined
Just footsteps & remnants that you hope to find

We are unplanned most days, building days from scratch
Working from past molds of days that would match
Inspired writings kept on loose sheets in your head
Hoping to find stamps and a mailing address

Planned or unplanned, till the pieces we write
Holds meanings that are close & never kept aside
We are classics read in between the hours we steal
We are stories untold, the ones we haven't revealed

Scratches on the surface of many days
From hours that have gone by & slipped away
I plan for inspiration everyday in poetry
With the help of unplanned bits & pieces of my mind & me.

Day 193: Poetry & Songs

Strangers on a train are like story book beginnings which we sometimes find . Somewhere & somehow we get to communicate, and it is just as exciting as meeting someone anywhere else. I guess it is the time constraint, the fact that you know that the journey ends somewhere which makes these short lived encounters special, and the hope that we will meet again. Yesterday was the same for me, as we spoke about so many different things, we found common ground in poetry. As our midday train ride moved along we spoke about travels we take, languages we speak and the people we meet. She told me about this comparative between poetry & songs and how she was always told that songs could not be thought of as poetry. So I wrote to 'Poetry & Songs', about transitions in between and in the hope that we will get to have this conversation again sometime, catch up right where we left.

Poetry & Songs
I wonder and wander between poetry & songs
About lyrics that we sometimes sing along
Strangers on a train with stories to no end
We are wanderers without maps my friend

As we share a train ride to places well known
I wonder what you read in the book that you hold
And some words that are stranded in my mind
Are lost and found in the conversations we find

We are midday blues on journeys still
We are dreamers who wish of travel diaries to be filled
Till our restless heart finds shelter sometimes
What we call home is far from being defined

As the story unfolds we sat there just for a while
As I wrote words & scribbled; somewhere in my mind
Cloudy skies and sunsets at the end of days
Are like pages of a books I tucked & neatly kept someways

In translations between poetry and a song
Between things others believe don't play along
We will write to the same meanings sometimes
Hoping to somehow find the prefect words & rhyme

Day 192: Remembering Amnesia

On one of my recent flights I met someone who spoke fondly about his wife and how she is dealing with Alzheimer's disease. The memory loss had become more frequent and there were sections of her life she couldn't remember. As I sat there with my head against the plane window and waiting for it to land, my mind wandered about this thought, about losing memory. About remembering that you have amnesia in some sense and finding yourself through others. Through pictures, and things you had once taken & written, through stories others tell you. And though this version of the world seems very real, it is all but external, it is a narration at best. Though I may never get to meet the kind man's wife, I realize that we sometimes forget on purpose, we choose to forget bits & pieces of our lives that we don't like. It is how we cope and as I think of the memories that makes us, I am inclined to wander to the thought of remembering this lack of that something. This one is dedicated to his wife and to those who get to keep the special things with them, that which is always personal.

Remembering Amnesia
I wonder what it would it be
To draw a blank in your memory
To get to know time has cleared out our head
To start fresh, to start again from scratch instead

My imagination fails to think of that troubled soul
The one who can't remember how they grew old
Those who look for scribbled pages in hope for a clue
And write them down somewhere & forget them too

Though I wouldn't trade my memories for the world
I would hope time flows as moments unfurl
And to those who are lost in the fresh supply of thoughts
I hope some things stay with you, the ones you sought

I am lost in remembering my amnesia sometimes
Trying to remember lost things I can claim as mine
And the little bits and pieces of me
That the world retains on behalf of my memory.

Day 191: Song Writer's Dream

This writing comes from thinking about the ways in which songs are born, they are poetry that are written in a form and mixed with music these lyrics take wings , they find their own definition. The idea related to writing in it's basic form how it comes out of dreams, thoughts and idea, How it is born in some moment's in a story teller's , poet's or a song writers dream. It is explored in what he has limited time to express, these are unshaped, unwritten somehow. They are romantic because they are personal, they are quiet thoughts that are written some evening staring at a beautiful sunrise that fills the room. The clouds spread over the thoughts that we paint onto the sky, and for now we are all part of a song writer's dream, and what we get to create from these.

Song Writer's Dream
I wonder about the song writer's  dream
I wonder sometimes where I will go
I wonder about the places where I have been

Fall in love with just one song
It will be found again & again before long
A version of the very best that captures your heart
When you know not where or how to start

We are writers who write in lyrics this time
That you can find in songs that music will slowly bind
And sometimes we are captured in words
In long roads we have taken with meanings to find

A Song writer's dream sometimes finds an escape
It finds it's own word, in music & in meaning it creates
It short memories that he holds, so dear to write
His songs and a dreams are all that survives

I wonder about the thoughts that come in hours unknown
They are hidden in their ways, they are pieces of the mind
They are moments that are written in words, they have grown
As the song writer scours his dreams that are hard to find

Day 190: Our Unfinished Story

This week started out like a story, with one page after the other, with warm memories, blue moons, pieces of the day that somehow created experiences. I like to think we are all these chapters in the writing, we just don't have to fit in anyone else's books, our chapters are who we are, incomplete for now. "Our Unfinished Story" actually translates from a song, which was on repeat when I wrote my first piece this week. As I moved through this week I felt like being called for an encore by life every morning as I wrote more and more. This writing explores the relationship between a perfect story that eludes us in our lives and the need to keep adding to our existing ones in the hope of getting there. I like to believe that thought the obvious things are probably too obvious to be told, we are dreamers by nature, we are risk takers and wanderers and at our very best we are story tellers & writers just the same. I hope it speaks to you in simplicity

Our Unfinished Story
Our stories were unfinished at the end of days
As our best and worst memories would sometimes sway
They are not meant to be kept in bottled jars
They fade somehow, and sometimes they slip away

We are summer days that have escaped the rain
Walked away with no fear, no expectation or pain
And as our favorite songs were kept on repeat
There was little that our world needed for us to pay heed

We got to write & piece together bit by bit
We are not done yet, we are far from calling it quits
Call it a day where ever you are & whenever the hours pass slow
Where ever the heavens meet then earth in horizons we don't know

Our encores that are called for by life,
We have learned to be better maybe just this time.
Wait for me to gauge how much this day weighs,
Wait until some pages have been neatly tucked away.

Our unfinished stories are far from over my friend
We are writing our best bits, we are far from a chapter's end
Our plots, our fictions are too real not to be
Written somewhere in bitter-sweet & some warm memories 

Day 189: Cardboard Boxes

In a next couple of weeks schools and colleges will start, and as I move around to different places of the campus I see people unloading boxes , shifting and moving, saying thank you and goodbyes. These are people with new semesters and classes in schools, some who have moved to far away places and some who have taken a chance in making someplace else their home. As I look at the hopeful nature of the transitioning summer and those who come as a part of it, I feel our memories we carry from home are our own way to bring comfort zones. As we grow we will expand on these, we will have much more to carry back than what we brought. For now we are in between slowly unpacking the things in need. In reality we all carry these unpacked boxes, I believe we all draw just a little bit of what is needed, and sort our memories in the unsealed cardboard boxes. I hope you get to take back some amazing moments, this one is dedicated to some of my friends who are starting new this semester, some old friends who are going back to school and some who are having their last year waiting to pack their boxes again.

Cardboard Boxes
You have got cardboard boxes waiting to go
To places that for now are simply unknown
Packed away with little things that you want to carry along
Like pieces of warm spaces, like the ones you call home

Here's to those who will learn to live from a backpack
Their life will go on, as their boxes will slowly unpack
And classrooms will seem more familiar than their room
You will paint your walls with your own shades & hues

Some who are worried about fitting somewhere
Will know there are many who have shared the same scare
And lived to tell of the stories ahead
You will live to make memories & live in memories instead

My Cardboard box fills and empties every year
I feel the need to both leave and stay
And the only thing constant will be the things you hold dear
The things that you could never simply box & take away

Cardboard boxes of any shape or size, we have packed them with days
And sometimes underneath our beds, the empty boxes as reminders still stay.

Day 188: Find Me

The idea of writing any piece is two steps, one is finding the writing in itself and the second part involves finding the meaning which is left to those who read. The two things are tied with the idea of finding each other in pieces that fit together. "Find me" was inspired by this constant interaction between the known and the unknown when it comes to writing. The idea of creating meaning in your words and then somehow in someone else's mind. It is similar to many life experiences where we try to piece together and narrow the gap between what we look for and find. The idea is explored in a way that as I look for you, you are looking for me, and somehow we find each other, in words and in simple poetry. I hope the meaning finds you as I write them down for now.

Find Me
I find you, as you find me
Together we set our worlds apart free
For the greater good and in reality
You will know about things I want to be

I want to reach you in a few simple words
Help you find me in meanings underneath
For now, this is all my writing could afford
Without letting you know of the words I need

Find me, as I find you
In a transitioning night that fades away too
And as the sunlight walks above my window sill
Time is both paused & restless, just like my own free will

Don't wait too long, take a temporary pause
Moments when you can find your own just cause
The diaries you write & sometimes summaries
In meanings I keep looking for you & as you for me

There are few words that I sometimes nominate
Pull out from thin air & leave for time to create
These are subtle things in deeper waves, underneath the sea
As I look for you and instead you find me.

Day 187: At Once, or Twice

"At once" refers to a sense of urgency, the idea of a deadlines that have come and gone. Though it doesn't refer to the idea of trying just once, this piece was inspired by the notion that urgency isn't a singular event. At once or even twice that we try something which holds meaning to us and in some ways. We are concerned with winnings we get to collect at end of days, these are the summaries we get to play somewhere in our head. The idea of getting back to something again & again is inherent in a few hence this writing explores this relationship of failures, trials and winnings through trying something at once (in urgency) and twice(going back to it again). Whatever be it today, at once or twice or whenever you may, I hope we you keep trying,as I keep writing of ways. I hope the "I" in the poem relates back to you someways, it was never mine to begin with.

At Once, or Twice
I will never do things in ones and two(s)
Take back my winnings back from you
And plan my wins and losses some days
At Once, or Twice or whenever I may

I may have fallen down sometimes,
Somewhere beyond the end of the line
Where no one picks themselves up & walks away
I just told myself, this is not where I would stay

I am chanced mistakes which I sometimes make
These are imperfections, I like to keep
I am moments of the day that I get to create
Soft reminders of days, when I put myself to sleep

At Once, or Twice I got up and got back again
Told myself, somethings are worth more than just one try
And though the whole world may find this insane
I know not of anything better, than finding reasons to why

I am footnotes sometimes, instead of paragraphs
I am meanings stuck in between pages of a book
I am the little kid, who never grows or gives up
Because I are too busy with the steps, which at once,
                                                             or twice I took

Day 186: In the Making

The idea of being "In the Making" is far from meaning unfinished, sometimes it is about refining, about working with this need to be better that whatever we are at this point. While a lot of us will keep working on these incessantly, for a few they want to recreate themselves from scratch at times, define themselves when there is no need for one. While I sat at the balcony watching an almost perfect sky I realized even nature gets to revisit and recreate sometimes, we are paintings in the clouds sometimes , we are in the making. I find comfort in this idea because it gives us time to follow things through, read everything that comes our way & sometime get to make things true. "In the Making" is an exploration of not just the unfinished, but the part of us that we keep working on from time to time, as for now I share near perfect sunrise & sunsets with you from my balcony.

In the Making
I am thunder in the making
I am prelude to rain
I am clouds that fill the skies
I am paintings some days
                   not painted in vain

I am drawn from your balcony
In quiet winds that shift the skies
Which talk through rustlings of leaves
They are languages that are hard to transcribe

I am written about in nature's best
I am far from perfect symmetry
I am not worried about finding the rest
For now all I can find is the best of me

I am hail storms on glass windows on summer days
I am restless as the sound fades
As I sit by the balcony and watch hours fly by
I am memories that even time cannot erase

I am justified in being quiet some days
Some days are meant for the taking
I am not unfinished, just imperfect someways
In footsteps, I trace myself "in the making"

Day 185: My Blue Moon

Blue moons are a rarity, and though rare moments have a charm of their own, sometimes a long drive down trying to meet it half way is what is needed to experience it. Yesterday was one of these blue moons and it kept rising further, we drove further and into the night. In realities the concept of something that is alluring, that is attractive in its way in which it comes to us, at a moment's notice, nothing less and nothing more. While I veered into the night staring at the dark skies, something about the moon lit skies kept calling back and the songs we played on repeat.

My Blue Moon
Some long drives on a slowly ending night
And the things that keeps getting farther from sight
The music played and the winds in my hair
And a quiet night with no worries or care

Come as you may, treat me like an old friend
No questions asked when we meet, as we meet again
Walk with me till we talk without words at time
I kept to keep a piece of the memories I call mine.

In between some spaces and sometimes even time
Our world freezes over, somewhere captured in a rhyme
We write about a world that travels from one night to the next
Till be meet again, we make our last one our very best

To things that are on the horizons somewhere for now
Stories that are unwritten and yet unsettled somehow
My long drive is unending , I wish it doesn't end so soon
I draw pictures out of thin air, staring at my blue moon.