The speck of something.


That speck of something,
A not-so-existent, yet all-time-there, mysterious ‘that’.
When for the first time, she had found it, not by chance,
She was actually made to discover it,
A trait bundled up and hidden so well, eyeing for a release.

She was very proud of it,
They applauded her for it too.
It was a verve, a passion, some say,
A gift, an art, a brainer, everything,
And yet, just a speck of invisible!

She looks for it again, not believing it is gone,
This time probing the world for ideas and leads.
She doesn’t know where to look for it,
Or even what it is that will be the answer,
BUT MAYBE THEY DO?

– Stuti

The blades of her fan


She was the change she wanted to see
She was the change she wanted to be
Her thoughts, her ideas, her zest, her passion,
Her ways, her life, her dream of a handsome.
She thought her life was like the blades of a fan,
Round and round they went and had no beginning, no end.
It’s trajectory defined, its purpose clear,
It still is taken for granted, no matter how well it is steered.
It is manoeuvred by a regulator
And still sometimes out of control,
She could so clearly draw a comparison,
She realised her theory had no hole.
Her own trajectory marked out clear,
She still couldn’t see the way.
Her own regulator she thought well steered,
She still many times lost her way.
All these thoughts and comparisons in her mind,
She went to her room to sleep,
Only to find to her utter shock,
Her fan not working and the room bleak,
Then she looked up at it and saw another connection,
Her life too, she realised, when sometimes refused to budge,
It needed oiling, it needed cleaning
And some scrubbing to make things RE-WORK.

-Stuti