In conversation with- Time.


Some say that time flies. Some have no time at all. And there’s this other lot of people who like to while their time away. I interestingly, was in conversation with time yesterday.

I had this peculiar dream last night, where as unrealistic and funny it may seem, I was in conversation with ‘time’! Nothing fancy, we talked about this and that, and then it suddenly decided to, like in most other cases, run away! Now while we were at it, Mr. Time, narrated how it experienced so many different characters in it’s course everyday, and that tonight it intended to interview me to no end, with only one question and wanted me to answer it in full detail, not leaving until it was satisfied with the explanation. The question was a pretty simple one, with no frills, and open ends for an elaborate answer- ‘Tell me dear, what does the concept of ‘time’ mean to you?’

Now to be very frank, this question left me baffled! For, in this world of twisted conversations, nobody had asked me such a simple and straight question in the longest time ;) So after thinking about this for a few minutes, I put my answer on the table with decent ease. Rather calmly, and with a confident smile, I said, ‘Time is magic, and that will explain it all!’. Satisfied, Mr. Time left with no further questions.

Interestingly, this conversation was not as simple as it seems here. It left me overjoyed with the realisation that magic is everywhere and that time truly is magical! I wouldn’t say that time is a commodity. Neither is it a virtue or a quality. Rather, it is an elastic concept which accommodates all- the past, the present, and the future too. When in love, and in company of loved ones, time would fly. When in pain, time would pause, and when in a rush, time would hurry too. Adaptive as it is, time wonderfully aligns all to a schedule like no other. All in all, time is a beautifully crafted, personalised, yet the most practical gift of magic to mankind.

The conversation last night left me happy as I thanked my stars for the gift of time, and the choice of being blessed by magic too. It is ‘time’ that bonds one to others, and it is ‘time’ that detaches some due to space.

The tick-tocks I thank,
For they chose me to make me smile.
The hands of time as if chosen to play from me-
A rhythm of life, a lifetime of tunes, some magic, some trysts, SOME TRIALS!

– Stuti

P.s. Time stops for none, and still patiently waits for you to find that special one ;)

 

A twinkle in her eyes.


She picked her suitcase,
And walked some miles.
Memories packed in there,
Some music, some smiles.

When at the airport, as she opened her diary to write,
Her pen refused to scribble, her words seemingly in a block.
She closed her eyes for some time,
Light tears in her eyes, time taking stock.

He walked to her and asked if all was okay,
She stared at him, as his eyes made her shy.
She opened her mouth to answer that question,
And shut it the next second, wondering about the stranger and his why.

She walked away with her luggage and her book all too suddenly,
Leaving him with his question and bewilderment.
That man with his concerns and genuineness,
That lady with her suspicions, and a TWINKLE IN HER EYES ;)

– Stuti

Her pinks and blues.


Humbled, she lowered her head involuntary,
A zillion thoughts running up there,
She took out time to smile at each.

Drained, she sunk into the nearest couch,
Not one moment feeling tired,
In fact enjoying the tickling pain, as if it was music.

Dazed, she saw something shine in a distance,
Thinking it was a star somewhere far,
Hoping it was a beautiful future though.

Amused, she played with every bit of it all,
Sometimes tired, jolted sometimes,
Juggling with time, space and emotions et al.

She walks the miles, and sails through some stretches,
And gallops through some bits too.
Her adventures, her experiences,
As she collects the material to pen her PINKS AND BLUES ;)

– Stuti

So many questions.


So many questions running in her head,
She smiles at the possibility of answers.
She questions the questions, and questions the answers,
She answers the answers to her questions too.

She shuts them up, and mums them down,
And then counts them, and re- counts to re- check the count.
She laughs at them, and cries for them too,
She seems confused at the questions now, too simple to be true.

They count their blessings, she counts her questions,
They check their smiles, her smiles question questions.
Her reasons to question, their reason to answer,
Her answers to their questions, only their SILENCE IN COUNTER.

– Stuti

Like crosswords.


She blinks because she must,
But only with a silent little prayer each time. 
She speaks to mean well,
And with that little hope every time.

There has been too much constant around, 
And then suddenly a flux.
And too much activity around,
But then sudden funny lull too.

The zig- zags of every thing,
The tic-tac-toes of every other,
The smiles of those who matter,
Like crosswords with hints on EVERY NUMBER?

– Stuti

A day in history.


That day in history,
When all that was around was shaken,
And all that was not around, seemed shook up too.

That day in history,
When she was a part of the day,
But she herself knew that she wasn’t there and then.

That day in history,
When the clock didn’t show any time,
Because, someone had reported the hands of time stolen!

That day in history,
When somehow it became clear that,
Only the present will be the future now, and that is pretty too.

That blessed day in history, when love lost a battle fighting love, but it was love that won too,
Where someplace else, love found true love and never called it a war,
Re-affirming the triumph of unwritten yet pre- decided,
Whims of destiny, which KNOWS IT ALL!

– Stuti

 

Festival time.


Snowy Christmas,
Air crisply laden with cold and frost.
Lips red, red dress,
Santa Ho- Ho, trees with a glossy gloss.

Ringing bells, reindeers in dreams,
Blood red tomatoes, leafy green greens.
Too much to celebrate, and so many smiles around,
Festivities galore in the air, more than ever seen.

She puts on her dress and smacks on some lipstick,
And steps out to be a part of the celebrations.
Dreams in her eyes, a wishing wand in her hand,
She is busy weaving her dreams into stories, some mute, SOME WITH UNPRECEDENTED ANIMATION.

– Stuti

A winter love.


That year as the winters approached,
It became cold like it always did.
Sweaters were out, mufflers galore,
Winds loud and chilled.

The fog made it white and bland,
Even if beautiful because of the blur.
The stars all fought for attention,
For the fog hid them from the pretty sighing girl.

There but seemed to be a warmth around,
It was different, new and nice.
A glow in the eyes, a red blush on the cheeks,
They seemed to be competing, those age old rivals- THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE AND WINTERS OF THE WISE!

– Stuti