Aligning a confusion.

Four lines drawn haywire on a paper,
With also some arrows sprewed in.
Like a confused diagram almost,
But still a recipe written to win.

The lines were the rules,
The arrows directions.
But most intentfully not put together,
The lines, the arrows, some punctuations.

This seemed to be real life photograph,
Of life first hand.
An amateur had thrown in the raws,
Only to in fact make it look grand.

He had but missed the existing lines
Or did he want to play them all together?
And now as she strutted along in the picture,
She brought in her own circles, some lines and mixed them with the others.

So now what this paper was full of-
Were a mix of his shapes, her circles, their lines
And together they sat down,
To align these, and make a better sense of all these SIGNS.

– Stuti


No less.

When I wrote this, I didn’t realise that I was somewhere being inspired by the great Rabindra Nath Tagore, but then when I did read it up after I was done, I realised it starts somewhere where his thoughts also quite significantly have wandered and been expressed. So, i guess taking a cue from there, here goes mine :

Where the head is held high,
And freedom of thought and mind exists.
Where there is no uncertainty,
And my own decisions I can take.

Where confusion does not mar any action,
And where actions are not based on questions.
There and there alone shall my heart find peace,
There alone will solitude exist, and heart will find release.

Up and until then I will look and not get tired,
Before that I shall not let my emotions be fired.
I will try to be there and reach there before anybody else,
‘Coz life may be tough but I am NO LESS.


The rose in the book.

She picked up a book at the library
It was yellow and crumpling.
Its dog eared ends spake a story
Its water hardened pages defined its end.
She loved the smell, the aura of an old
She loved the feel, the touch of it whole.
And just as she began to read the book,
Her eyes lighted up.
For there in the pages there was,
A dry red rose parked and telling a story of a lover old.
She picked up the flower
It crumpled like it melted
Threw it away and instead planted,
Another rose but this time pink
For her story this was, and it was a little jinxed.
She read the book and let the flower be
Then returned the book to the library.
20 years thence she re-issued the book in her name
Only to find her pink rose gone
For another reader had now put there,
A red red rose with a big big thorn
She pricked herself with it
and immediately realised
That leaving a pink rose was not wise
By doing that she had left behind,
Hatred and confusion for the next in line.
For the pink flower had to be thrown away
Because it had turned dirty pink black,
Coz pink is confusion,
Coz pink is everything the red one could never have LACKED.