Forced to be forgotten?


Of times simpler,
Of moments lighter,
And wishes smaller,
When all that was possible.

Of roads less travelled,
Of discoveries waiting to be made,
And inventions made but forgotten,
Wondering what went wrong.

Of subtle joys,
Of lows higher than low,
And details minute,
Mind wanders those roads.

Of jokes that made no sense,
Of science backed by all reason,
And still many theories conflicting,
Yet all co-existing, even though overlapping.

A moment of truth,
A period of silence,
A patch of broken road,
All there, but existence denied.

Many leads,
Nothing to tie them up and string them together,
So leaving them here as stories told often,
But forced to be FORGOTTEN.

-Stuti

Judging it all..


She questioned the importance of everything,
People called her inquisitive,
He didn’t want to judge her.

She checked and cross checked everything twice,
People called her obsessively compulsively disordered,
He didn’t judge her.

She smiled when she danced,
People called her happy,
He didn’t want to judge her.

And then she fell in love one day,
People stopped judging her altogether,
And now he judges her the MOST 😉

-Stuti

Sand and a question.


Sometimes I feel time slipping away through the holes between the fingers in my hand. So then I attempt to stop it from falling, by pouring some water in the sand, dampening the whole of it, and making it stay where it is. In the process, I do freeze the sand for a while. I prevent it from falling through for roughly 30 minutes (if I exaggerate!). But post this stall, the sand is back to its flowing state, ready to fall even if I sneeze. So now I wrap both my hands around the sand, in an attempt to prevent it from falling. I protect it. I prevent the fall out. But eventually I begin to tire.

After some time, I start wondering why at all is this little bit of sand alone so important to me? Why did I not think of letting this bit fall away and pick up something more convenient and durable, lets say a pebble? So I question my choice, my attempts, my efforts AND my techniques.

I imagine sitting down and letting the sand go. And then I wonder and ponder over why did I imagine letting the sand go if at all. Shouldn’t I have imagined of trying harder to keep it? Save it? Not letting it fall?

I draw an analogy to life here. We as humans with at least some degree of emotional quotient, tend to hold onto things and situations. We forget that maybe the sand we are holding onto also needs its time and space. It needs to breathe. Maybe it was the desire of the sand to fall and not be held tight and be protected. Of course it would have been easier if the sand could talk and I could explain and we could together weigh the odds. But now that one party is mute, I so doubt a simple uncomplicated solution!

So what do we do? I am out of solutions, and I’m looking for some apt answers to this query. I invite my readers to spill their hearts out with solutions to themselves. You could be on my side, think as me, and suggest, or you could simply be sympathetic with to the sand.

Hoping my readers will deliberate on this…

Thanks.

Expression-ist (Stuti)

(P.S. My take on this (Yes I do have one!) – I should hold onto the sand because for whatever it is worth, I have invested quality time and brain on this, and maybe the sand also wants to stay!! 😉

Maimed today.


Her throat raw with the practice,
She shouted and sang till she dropped.
Her mind numb with the calculation,
Many numbers still here and there pop.

As if hit by a hurricane, she felt jolted,
As if in the middle of a revolution, her soul revolted.
Her wires little loose, she tried to make sense,
Tried to take account of this nonsense intense.

She danced, she sang, she did it all at once,
She cried, she laughed, her soul as if scathed.
She sat, then stood up randomly,
Unsure, uneasy, undecided, unattached.

She looked at the sky, then around her,
She turned around, could feel some uneasy around her.
She feels maimed today, although everything may be the best,
She feels maimed today, although she has passed all her TESTS.

-Stuti

Peace.


A five letter word
With meaning beyond a measure.
A small little word
But meaning deeper than ever.

They want peace
Peace at the border.
I want peace,
Peace with my neighbor.

She wants peace
A peace her own but not too different really.
She yearns for peace,
Peace of love, her soul, her identity.

Peace of living
Peace of being free
A free mind, peaceful as ever,
No disturbance, no mirage, only crystal clarity.

So she builds her story,
With fiction and drama in it.
She builds her world of peace in this story,
And piece by piece, she hopes to nail this peace at least.

-Stuti

A situation.


In a situation,

As a poet, I see the cuteness of it. I see how I can knot the situation in words. I try to back stab the bad of the situation, I look at it and be good to it. I rhyme it with my experience of words. I wrap it in beautiful words and lace it with elegance. I enjoy it all.

As a person but, I am mean once a situation hits me. I try to get back at it with full force. I want to give its bad back to it. I cry once in every while because I’m an easy target. I curse, I’m loud, sometimes I keep mum too, all in my moments of anguish and uneasiness.

As her, I’m lost. I’m betrayed. I’m not a winner. I feel scared. I could do better.

So why discuss this here? Because I draw an analogy.. we all have a bad something, we all do things differently. But then we all also have that one thing we can nonetheless do when we don’t want to be angry. We write, we sing, we dance, we EXPRESS, or some just don’t. So I urge that my readers re- discover, or for first timers, discover their thing. Maybe it will help you bring yourself out of your shell at least for that one bit.

All the best!!

-Stuti