Day 234: In Rain

Sometimes writing something is far closer to painting a picture. It is about writing the obscure and hoping that the one who reads finds an innate sense of familiarity. It is not knowing how things change and yet writing about that very change, threading together stories that are yet to happen. Some days these simple stories must come from simple things, for now it is the rain that follows me from morning till the end of hours this night. They are clinging on to the damp air, the smell that fills the wind, the rustling of the trees grows louder from time to time. As I pour myself a moment and share a glass with you, I write to simple things this rain.

In Rain
The lights outside my windows, lights outside my door
And the few raindrops that sneaked in as they drop on my floor
Quiet and patient wind blows on, with nothing to chase
And the things that resonate in memories, even time can't erase

The rain drops they have fallen throughout the day
They have added on to other streams flow where ever they may
Like unstructured words, they keep adding on and on
They are written with no purpose in mind & yet they sound like a song.

The wet roads, my pathways that lead me home
Some that have stayed with me, as I walked on my own
The rain washes the day, and yet pieces of summer remain
While I question if I am losing my mind, among the sane

The quiet walks I enjoy sometimes, trust my footsteps know the way
They walk again, and again as though in distance they have much to say
My rainy day outside my window today, the one I can feel & touch
They wash the remainder of the day, for now written in just this much.

Day 233: The White Knight

There are moments where the perfect thing to do is to acknowledge that we may be in the business of acting as a white knight. That there are those who are obsessed with the idea that anything and everything that can be saved must be saved. Though this concept of white knight applies mostly to people I feel we all practice it in some way or the other, whether it applies to not wanting to give up on something good, or about finding a reason worth fighting for something, for saving something over a long run. These white knights are our own alter egos sometimes apart from those who influence us, inspire us and sometimes do just enough to make a difference.

The White Knight
We are somewhere in the finest hours of days
We are playing ourselves as the white knight
We are somewhere in between the change
We are making amends, we are fighting our own fights

The shadows that haunt us from time to time
We live in the fear of being uninspired
We are words who have lost their way to rhyme
We walk endlessly in circles, we refuse to be tired.

The white knight as I blend into the day
I find corners that are untouched & pick up things to save
From walls to heart, my writings are felt in time apart
Where you may lose the part of me, in between hitting restart

My simple realities that challenge me
Am I playing a part for the world; to set myself free?
Do I keep pondering about the things left on the side?
For this night, the changes come as the white knight rides.

Oh change not for fame, neither give yourself away
Inspiration is all you can offer to the uninspired,
                                            the ones earmarked for today.
The legend of the white knight resides in our head
He is a dreamer's dream, as we put ourselves to bed.

Day 232: If it all

What would you do, if the familiar things you don't miss anymore came back to you? Would you hold on to those that are your now or would you go back to your past. Would you draw inspiration of what you have been able to change or find the old colors that are beneath the walls and your window pane. Our understanding of something that has changed are like sketches we keep painting, some that we have you have put behind. It is nice to be nice sometimes, we are not in the business of endless second chance we are just used to being there. Our greatest strength and weakness are all but the same, that we do the same things over and over wishing something to change. This one is not about coming back but asking what if it did? "if it all"

If it all
If it all came back to you,
How would things change? What would you do?
Would you come running back to the past
To things that moved away, the ones that didn't last

If the things that you have carefully changed
Was lost from your sight and somehow rearranged
Would you call from the places that are quiet for now
Lost in stories we tell ourselves, someplace & somehow.

What would you do if memories came back?
Would you move close or far away from things you can track
Would you follow along stories we get to write
Between all the feelings that are gone & some that survive

If it all came back, even if just for a while
Would you gather up the pieces, would you put up a smile
Come, write with me, a story at beginning or at day's end
We are waking up from long dreams, following lost friends.

Day 231: Follow

Some days are about finding the restless trapped in walks to nowhere. There are contexts without a goal, they are journeys without destinations in our mind. We follow these thoughts that are misplaced somewhere, kept on pages that are held somewhere, in unbound books, pages or even walls posted. This sense of following something is rooted with the gut feelings we have. Even if we end up being stranded with no shelter, we are risk takers and makers of fate, we are storytellers who are not afraid of capturing changes on a page. We follow feelings we pour every day, who are we to be afraid?

Follow
Come to me like a morning dream
One where I remember what I have seen
Where the things I do are the things I know
Come, walk with me, simply follow

Come, ask me questions, ask me about right & wrong
I will not count the days, or remind you of time so long
For we are renamed hours that change feelings in the day
Some that dissolve and yet some that are here to stay.

Follow through the little things, you may be some days
Looking for comfort in every possible way
When walk back home are longest hours somehow
There are packages unwrapped on my door, waiting to be returned somehow

Come, be indifferent and yet just the same
Somehow stuck in time, as though nothing has changed
There are some things I keep too close among the ones I show
I read endless poetry and in some meanings you follow.

Day 230: Sometimes

Sometimes the most random acts make more sense than everything else that has been planned for, the notion that meaning must come from things we expect changes at these times. They are strong moments as they make you think of and realize how much changes without doing a single thing. I feel like these moments, are like components, and pieces we need from time to time. The bare earth truth about how our writings are sometimes what follows you for a long time as meanings is what encircles me for a while today. I leave you with words and hope for the best.

Sometimes
Sometimes all we can be, are band-aids
We are without judgement over mistakes
Without worries of what has been undone
We are freshly brewed day which has only begun

Sometimes all we can be; are random sticky notes
We don't take sides at all, and yet somehow manage to vote
We care between that which passes as a day
Because the rest is memory that is paused & played

Sometimes the evening summaries are simply about home
About places, we begin new & yet those where we belong
In many languages that we do not speak & yet communicate
We love the warm hugs and sometimes work with handshakes

Someday when things have been translated in more than a plan
We are what we are what we can be and I am what I am
Wish you could see this day end, as the sunlight mellows
As I walk beside you in my words & the meanings they follow.

Day 229: False Sugar

It is rare to get ideas from pure inanimate objects without a context. Yet once in a while we are inclined towards finding such meanings where there are none. Today's idea came from sugar packets that lay on my table, added sweeteners and things that could change the taste of what I was having. At some point as I sat there swirling my tea bag around, I kept thinking about moments when we add the same to our lives. These packets of short term and long term things that often come with an aftertaste we remember so well. This false sugar since they were not natural in anyways led me to write today's piece and though it may be inspired from the simplicity of having a taste packed somewhere, it is inclined more towards an undying need not be blended with everything that comes our way.

False Sugar
False sugar packets on my table they say
Remind me of sweet things as they dissolve away
They swirl in my morning tea or late at night
As my sweet toothed self, looks for memories in sight

We are all sweetened just a little bit some days
From smiles that don't give much away
Because we are not contained in packets up for grabs
Neither dissolved or diluted in the time that we had.

The false sugar packets on my table still lay
I am not adding them to my long gone day
For some bitter-sweet tastes in the back of my head
Are warm reminders of who I am & could be instead

The real tastes of the things that come & go,
Some that we get to keep & some we never show
I blend my tea into a warm cup of water, my tea bags sway
I refuse to change my taste for now, as the sugar packets lay.

Day 228: Pause & Play

I have missed out on writing for the past two days, and while I could contemplate about the lack of free time and the reasons of their own nature I feel much more time needs to be spent getting back. I am reminders of hours that got away, and in between some phrases somewhere in my head. I feel like I am on rewind like old records and sheets of music that I can pause and play. This writing explores this idea of taking a deep breath, hitting pause and play in between the fast pace and hours that will inherently slip away.

Pause & Play
I am not gone, just paused for a while
Hidden somewhere in between a smile
I am music that resonates in your mind some days
I am reminiscent of things we pause & play

Keep up my friend, don't walk too slow
You might miss the part of me, that I rarely show
You may live in disbelief of whatever has changed
And keep coming back to a life that has rearranged

I am music on old records, that we read on covers tonight
That lies on loops, on endless repeat for a while
I am the final touches to the lyrics of a song
Find me some music and a place where I belong.

I am kept in between moments, when you think of a thought
When you wish for things that slip away, some that you sought
For now I keep writing about what is heard of even if unsaid
As you hit rewind on time, and I hit pause and play.

Day 227: Of Travels & Travelers

"It is not so often the destination but the travels that will be of interest" she said, I had heard that quite often in between fortune cookies and between quotes I find randomly posted on sides of whatever we may read. It is often the simple things that stay with you, though, the common things and not the details that we sometimes remember. So much that they seem like something new every other time. On some nights when we wish to capture the closing calls, the closing hours of the night some things are louder than others. Whether they are conversations with friends or the obvious realizations we forget so often. This one is written about the dynamics between these two components, the travel and the travelers instead of the road & the destination.

Of Travels & Travelers
Yes I am on sides of the maps you carry, folded on days
Kept between drinks in our hands, as time slips away
Hours vanish between the darkness of the night
And walk back home, no matter if we lost or won the fight

In not so strong memories, I write so that we stay
In moments, that may change and fade, but never wash away
Like reminders of beaches and places from home
About destinations that are far away & yet never long gone.

Of travels my dear traveler, this night that we write
We take our chances with the things clear in our sight
Yet plan for the next day, after a warm night's sleep
And some scribbles on a napkin page that you get to keep

For better more than worse my friend, we write undefined
We sing & write poetry, with no purpose in our mind
We disappear back to where we begin every single day
As the traveler, we keep traveling, we were never meant to stay.

Day 226: Between Lines

I was teaching a class about maps and lines today and at the end it all I kept thinking about these lines that don't touch each other, they never meet. They contain so much and control so much on these beautiful maps. I kept going back to the analogy of these lines in our real lives where are concerned about drawing within the lines, fitting within contexts. Even coloring where we know we should and leaving the rest. I asked myself about this imaginary lines in real life sometimes, our fears and strengths alike, our connections and disconnections alike. For whatever may keep us going places, I am hoping we get to draw and scribble somewhere outside our lines.

Between Lines
We are somewhere, right here, in between the lines
We are in between remains of what is left behind
Holding hand in hand, but colors don't fit anymore
We are songs that we try to sing again, just like before

Don't hold me so tight, don't color within the lines
Just look for whatever you wish for & some that you hope to find
I have seen reminders of  crisp warm air in my summer blues
As I write of stories that I hope you will follow through

Tell me at odd times about the places where we go
Words that were left in the back of our head, some that we borrow
I am writing of songs, deconstructed on a page
Left incomplete, without music sheets and not even a date

Have you thought who I am in between hours of the day
I can only write so much, as you read more of me away
As my whimsy sets itself free, it writes its own rhyme
Are you still looking for me, in meanings between the lines?

Day 225: Unplanned

A long time ago I was suggested to write about the unplanned nature of things. The idea that we like to believe that certainty is present in the attempts we make and yet the reality that randomness is always present. This unplanned nature of things is always present though we can choose components that fit together the outcomes are sometimes harder to predict. For someone who loves to plan details when he travels, I still feel that uncertainty and the unplanned bits make the journey interesting. It is sometimes a conversation with a stranger we remember with the same fondness as that of reading an old book. The eventuality of events, this fascination with the planned and unplanned is what I write about today.

Unplanned
Let us not worry about plans tonight
Let us not decide on who wins the fight
Whether you or I, whoever it might
Not chose to make amends, but make things right

Unplanned my days at the edges of this shore
Am I sailing out or am I homeward bound as before
Kept in small doses of pure nostalgia in warm tea
Spellbound in books of magic as I sip from my memory.

Some of the best of trips are meant to be unplanned
Where we can move ahead even without holding hands
Where there are no regrets about the journeys we take
Where we all get to make, our very own mistakes

Unplanned are my troubles, sometimes undefined
My writing that hasn't been written down & hence hard to find
Let me find a wall unscribbled, with colors to fill
For now just choose the shades, be unplanned at will.

Day 224: Someday

Some days writing about the past is more than reminiscing in between the passive nature of what has passed, it is about being comfortable about it. It is finding a rational compromise between what we choose to remember clearly and what may seem a little hazy in our memory. In between all of this I feel the need to make new memories is still strong. As I see it our memory (the new ones) grow younger as we make more of them and time as it passes away grows older. It is a constant balance between the two that keeps us wishing for some days, the ones that we do remember. The ones that we write, cherish and hold dear sometimes. 

Someday

Someday I too will fade, like sunset on your shoulders

I will be written in shades over & under the clouds
I will not be kept closed in neat pages and in between folders
I will be hidden somewhere underneath the day's shroud

There are some who will change reality,
In the only way they know and in the only way they could be
And between paintings on my walls that survive
I will find a corner to scribble on, one that remains both yours & mine.

Someday I too will get drunk, on bottled words in conversations at night
I too will stand on the edge and somehow forget how to decide
In pleasure and pain as I write sometimes with no disguise
I feel the best of things are poured on papers & walls, hidden in plain sight

Someday I too will come back to a friend
To places where the road leads me, ones with no end
I will find comfort and warmth with a cherished soul
As new memory will get younger and as time will grow old

Day 223: At Summer's End

Even though it is almost impossible to predict sometimes the easy thing to do is to draw attention to summer's end. Is it when it drizzles outside all day, or when you pull down on your t-shirts just a little bit hoping for a little warmth. Is it at times when we still mellow over cups of ice as we buy umbrellas from stores, we welcome the gentle breeze and the long walk home sometimes. We are kept in between changing seasons somehow, and sometimes in text messages, thoughts and in the topics to which we choose to write.

At Summer's End
Do I call you a summer's end?
Or are you rain that for now only pretends
That swallows whole the night, the warmth of the day
That in little drizzles is here to stay

Travel home safe my friend, at end of summer night
The trickles of water on my window pane is to what I write
We will travel far even if we are tried somehow
Keep coming back to the places, that are stored in memory for now

We will make plans of travel, to places in good company
And in thoughts that find a place for tonight as I let them be
I fall to the depth of deep waters and as I sometimes soar high
I know not how to reason, without wings I simply try to fly

I understand who I am in the closings of a well planned day
In the few hours that might have slipped away
The young summer breeze will still blow from time to time
I will write chapters, about you and me, & whatever I call mine

Day 222: Time Unbound

Today's topic was a simple one suggested by a friend which explored this fear that a lot of us face as we grow older. We try to question the feasibility of things, we question how much time and when and why, and about all the things of which we sometimes try. I think of all those who are taking chances some days, who have added on numbers but have refused to age. Even in the prelude as I write and somehow manage to rhyme, I write to bottled time and to perfection in aged wine.

Time Unbound
We are years and counts misplaced
We are timelines, left without a trace
Aged wine trapped in a bottle somewhere
We are spirits of the night & of fresh air

To those who worry about numbers on a wall
About things that make them or break their fall
Who are determined souls just wishing for hope
They are daredevils, who with dreams elope.

Celebrate as you grow older some days
In the mind or heart, however you may
For the chanced beginnings have only begun
We are not going anywhere, as you add plus one

I write with warm reminders some days
To tell the world of experience that never ages away
And to those who decided to take the first step
We are not number, just moments written & well kept

Day 221: Imperfect Summaries

While looking for perfect summaries is an old habit, they are probably one of the rarest things to find. They are transitional because they change based on the urgency and time frame of the writing. As I write this one with 3 minutes of the day on the clock I am inclined towards finding a prelude that doesn't need to be perfect or even complete in some ways.

Imperfect Summaries
Quick summaries in final minutes of the day
Kept in between hours that have moved away
Kept in between long distance calls back home
Where even familiar voices sound left alone

Quick end of things as we sometimes pass
Things kept on display behind thick glass
Our own summaries in words that sometimes race
As we write day after day to find our own pace

Eight final minutes as meanings draw to a close
When we are done shopping for the words we chose
Preludes may be left at home tonight
Because we were writing to final rounds of some fights

We are five minutes in between yesterday & now
Kept locked in what is written somewhere & somehow
The perfect days to which we may wish to write
Are sometimes found in the imperfect summaries of this night

Day 220: I am

The idea of writing to self is like an exercise in introspection only inside out. The idea that we can write to ourselves instead of just reflecting upon things is fascinating because it treats "you" the mind which is writing separate from the one that is reading and interpreting. The difference being the time between which you read it over again to yourself and the meanings will change. I am my own choices, wrapped somewhere in the days I let go by and at this moment I am what I decided to write about. This duality is explored and I hope it relates differently , with new meaning every time you read it.

I am
I am there till the voice in your head
Decides it's own way to go, to get ahead
Don't let your hours, be so finely defined
Be coarse sometimes, be harder to find

I am here till the restless thoughts have settled down
Till the city maps have led me to unknown places of this town
You don't have to always know, where you want to go
Just carry along this way, find your own pitch black road

I am faces of a coin, a puzzle in a tool shop slowly being made
I am cloudy skies on a hot summer afternoon when you look for shade
Try the things that don't always add up anyways
Chances are you will get the answers in between some that got away

I am still the resolve you promise to yourself
Places you have been and wherever your mind dwells
I am there till the sandbox games have yet all been played
Being written on sides of imagination, when a lot more has to be said

Day 219: The Nice Guy

I never understood the concept of a nice guy, mostly because it was linked to both positive and negative connotations. It made me wonder whether it was about fairly playing those negative and positive sides or whether it was simply about being "nice" and nothing more and nothing less. The day flickered between the evening hours as weekends closed its doors, but this feeling was important to be written about somehow. I drew from those who have come and gone and learned how to either have glanced upon or who have in time become this nice. So I kept this one simple transitioning between two days a mellow weekend and a brand new week.

The Nice Guy

I felt time flee the scene

As memories faded of what had once been
Inspired writings lay bare of rhyme
Hoping for a day's escape where ever they could find

So I settled for the best of things
I took flight as a mortal with no wings
My cherished days & passing nights
And finding some days where I could rejoice

I was lost between good company even if I never tried
I was a traveler at best who glanced at things that pass by
Come bring me close to chapters that write themselves
Be folded pages of the book that never rested on bookshelves

My tea rests as it calms after a long summer brew & in colors so deep

I find inspiration in thoughts that lay in weary eyes that couldn't sleep

I travel with just a little bit of magic held in my heart and mind

Because the hardest thing to do sometimes, is being the nice guy

Day 218: Truth Is

The truth is often elusive, it is both simple and complex to those who can and cannot understand it. It is often this nature of reality and truth itself that lets us keep running towards it. The "truth is" looks into this fascination of versions of truth that we keep reverting towards and from in time. The absolutes that we admire so much and the relative ones we tell differently to different people. It keeps coming back to what is apparent and what is sometimes hidden in plain sight. So here's to exploring whatever that might involve.

Truth Is
Truth is what you want it to be
Hidden in plain sight waiting to set you free
Truth is I know not how or why
But I have also written about true lies

My roads some days are about correcting mistakes
Go back to where we can rewind and let the scene retake
The truth is we are captured in whimsies of the day
And musing that lets us relentlessly write away

Be brave this once, go where no one calls for a plan
Where you aren't anxious to know where it began
Be perfect as you have always wanted to be
Unchecked like a breath of fresh air you breathe

Truth is I have always written about
Things that come to me quietly between some shouts
We will be captured in thoughts & in some minds
If you look for it we will be the easy ones to find

Day 217: Settle In

I will leave you with this idea of settling into something today. For some peculiar reason settling in to me refers to finding a more comfortable place, find a place to simply be. In between moving around so much during the day I often feel the need to find a space and a moment to simply settle in, be in sync with my thoughts and ideas and make sense of how things have been changing around me. I have realized that I had been chaotic with my work over the last couple of weeks and as the new semester goes ahead, I feel the need to settle in more and more. I hope you find your comfort zones too. Hence today is about this ubiquitous and yet simple feeling.

Settle In
Let me Settle in your home and heart
Two worlds that are never apart
While I sit by the waiting room outside your door
And with my thoughts scattered on the floor

Let me unpack a little burdens today
I have them a very long way
For I have known how to listen & rarely talk
I have learned how to be company on a long walk

Let me travel just a little bit more
I have moved along from shore to shore
I write to the thoughts that rise to the top
That tumble and fall in scribbles & an ink drop

Let me be invisible in between hours of the day
Planning & choosing the things that stay
I am momentarily plans only for moments that begin
I am writing more as I let my thoughts settle in.

The wheels on my car are off the ground for now
They rest unhooked, unhinged, kept somewhere in time
While the rest of the world travels still
I find comfort in knowing my words can settle in.

Day 216: Best of Both Worlds

Take me as I am, the imperfect bits and pieces of me, the best of both of my worlds, the right and wrong, the good and bad makes us interesting. This concept comes revolving back to the idea of sometimes wanting to cherry pick what we want from things, the idea of finding meaning in chaos is elegant and yet highly elusive. The best of both worlds refers to our world that is composed of these two elements, ones we work upon and improve every single day. The ones we are inspired to change and the few that we are motivated to keep. Our musings are captured by these as we write to the same wonder.

Best of Both Worlds
The best of both worlds that we write about
The good & bad, the right & wrong, turned inside out
We feature some of these every single day
We keep coming back to them in our own little ways

In places where thoughts are brewed in coffee cups
Where words are sparks & smoke that rises up
We have written stories that are fair and true
Revisited by many trapped in both worlds built by you

Words that come remind me of imperfections that I miss
That spelling mistkaes and scribbles at the end of a page
Where we still find thought that have not amiss
Where we have written to things that never even age

The best of both worlds are captured in poetries
In poems that were never chained but in words set free
We bring a little bit from just this much
The imperfect bits & pieces, of which we never lose touch

Day 215: Bottled Days

A friend of mine spoke to me about bottled perfumes today and as I asked about individual scents and smells, I couldn't help and think how difficult it must be to pick something that represents you. Get bits and pieces of you when you are happy and mellow, when you are upset and hopeful about situations and when you are confident and yet keep looking for something to make things just right, just perfect. We all aspire to be that comprehensible sometimes and yet remain free from being captured in a single stroke of a pen and captured in essences that are bottled in days.

Bottled Days
We are kept in perfume bottles some days
Remnants & reminders of some simple ways
Like old stories; kept stored in glass
Like the time itself, trapped in an hourglass

We are bottled hours and moments to no end
Trials and error beginnings of things we no longer pretend
We write because we know of no other way
To capture the many things that seem to slip away.

We are long walks to nowhere, we just know how to begin
We get lost over and over again, back to places where we have been
The little things that add up, give you hope today
Our inspirations and promises that were kept for a rainy day

We are restless winds captured somehow
We were meant to find reasons to be free
So I write to the meanings for now
Some how they are written by both you and me

Day 214: Whisperer

Finding a prelude sometimes, is like hearing a whisper from a faint voice while a noisy room surrounds you. If you listen long and hard enough you will know what to write about and sometimes, all you can get are words which may or may not make sense. Whisper was an idea that came to me as I looked at an album art while listening to music, and though I don't remember the album name I feel the idea of a whisper was still somewhat special.

Whisperer
Whisper my dear passenger
I will take you from place to place
Talk to me my dear whisperer
Till we find new things to chase

I think of us like stories on hold
They are written as time unfolds
Swept away in emotions that play
Things we write & some that we say

Whisper my friend into the wind
Wish again of all the things unseen
Just for today, we will take a chance
Find priorities between our day's romance

Wins & loses between the bets we place
And some moments that time tries to erase
My whisperer, my traveler at end of days
My ride along as summer fades away