The nuisance.


He was standing on a corner on the road,
The busy traffic as if wouldn’t let him go through.
He seemed lost, looked up, then around, and then into thin air,
Then turned around and started fiddling with his hands.

In some time he smiled to himself,
And then again, seemingly went back to his dream land.
And then as if time had paused,
He just stood there and kept standing there.

After about ten minutes of doing all this,
And then doing nothing but still standing there,
He gave some confused looks, dodged some vehicles,
And tried to jump in the middle of the road in an attempt to cross it.

Seeing the failed attempts and his desperation,
An old man standing there offered to help him,
To which this young man shrugged,
And gave a disgusted, offended look.

Calmly pulling out some headphones from his ears,
The young gentleman crossed the road.
While the old man with the walking stick now stood there,
Debating with himself, the NUISANCE OF THE NEW.

– Stuti

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Responsibly.


That man who came to the restaurant the other day,
Made her think about life.
These little everyday moments,
Actually reflected majors and aggravated her plight.

He came for dinner with family of four,
To this diner not famous for anything really, but plain and old.
He asked his son where he could get water to drink,
Who routinely pointed towards the water cooler in one direction next to the kitchen.

As that seemed something she could easily skip,
She got busy with her food and chat.
But suddenly noticed some further progress
In that story of the son and the dad.

The father filled one glass with water and drank it up,
Then picked up another two,
Filled them up with water,
And started walking towards that table of his crew.

Two minutes later she saw him walk back to the cooler,
And fill yet another two glasses of water.
He took them back to his family’s table and sat back again to join in,
That old man with the greying hair, a son and a daughter.

This man left her amazed and impressed,
She could see what responsibility meant,
Two generations in the same family,
Treated their family in two very different manners without any particular intent.

The old man she saw, took it as his responsibility,
To effortlessly love his loved ones and take care of them.
Despite his age, walked the extra steps so his family didn’t have to wait for water.
She learnt a lesson that day, igniting again a mental mayhem.

To love may be an exercise in itself,
But where love is natural, it is effortless.
Saluting the spirit of those who have genuinely loved somebody,
She hoped she would one day be in love too- unconditionally, effortlessly, RESPONSIBLY.

-Stuti

A painting at the museum


Her inspiration inspired,
She gazed at a painting in the room.
Her imagination ignited,
She observed how the painting was groomed.

There in the painting sat a man with his arms folded,
His eyes at the onlooker, he as if stared at nobody,
She looked back at him and tried to understand the look in his eyes,
Which as if talked to everybody.

She asked him some questions,
None of them he replied.
She told him some stories,
Hoping that all of them he’ll memorize.

Next day she again went back to the museum
To look at the same painting,
Second painting from left it was,
And there it still sat, untouched, unrelenting.

She again told the man some stories,
Asked him questions more,
She stared at him for some time,
And he stared back some more.

This routine, it went on for some days,
And the manager started being amused,
He but chose to ignore the matter,
He started observing the girl bemused.

One day after a month,
A pretty lady in a red dress bought the painting.
That evening when she walked in and did not see the man,
She closed her eyes, prayed, walked away, ran.

The manager went behind to understand this all,
Went behind her and caught up with her around the mall.
She stared at him
Then told him her story at once-

She only hoped the man in the painting,
Would see a beautiful wall in a big drawing room,
And witness stories big and small,
For that she thought was his destiny, a reason for his gloom.
Her stories, she said, were just a practice for him,
For the world was big and scary,
Her questions to him were only a rehersal for him,
For the world was filled with queries.

Confused, the manager walked back to the store,
And saw a little boy talking to a lady in another painting.
He smiled, beemed, and winked at the lady,
For now he hoped he knew the story and the sequence WHOLE.

-Stuti