A world waiting to be explored

And I'd wonder again

Sometimes, one of these days when it rains,
I want to sit by the window sill,
And read her my favourite book,
And watch her wonder at the rain drops

But before there were rains,
There had been a summer,
Never the same, but this,
Not quite like any other

Sure not like her first
When she’d crawl more and walk less,
Garble more and talk less,
Yet each time her lips parted,
She brought me a feeling uncharted.
A myriad, not one, I’ll always be swarmed
She’ll giggle away and I’ll be disarmed

In summers to follow,
She’d put on her school dress,
Wave out to me
Like a sun in her prowess,
Then there was a period when she sketched,
That was also the time she started caring for her tress

Season changed, and cold was common again,
To give her company, I too would feign a pain,
She had started dancing now,
Sometimes I’d shake a leg too,
Solving her math problems,
I’d learn some math too
But there were lessons,
A little few on hope too
Because that’s how I kept up,
I could’ve given up too

And then came the last summer,
The one that was unlike none,
We drove around a lot,
And stopovers for lemonades were fun

Last summer, our car broke down a lot too,
Fixing it was hard, but fixing it was what we had to

Soon, she took to a habit,
That of me fixing it for her,
So, when doctors took her to the Operating unit,
She said, my daddy would fix me sir

Who was to say what Daddy could do?
He was no doctor, had only hope to cling on to
The hope that he had taught her,
Today was Daddy’s test,
One he couldn’t falter

So that’s what I have been telling you,
Now you tell me something too,

Sometimes one of these days when it rains,
Should I not want to sit by the window sill?
And read her my favourite book?
Should I or should I not?

Want to watch her wonder at the rain drops again.

His Girl

We will be 9 again,
she will play the bride again,
Again, he will don the groom,
I, again, will pronounce them man and wife,
and there would be an omen this time,
one to announce a doom

Like the one not around,
when she ran through the gates,
Ran into his arms,
told tales of her days,
or whine about her grades,
or of setting her hair straight,
he'll make things alright,
slip her a candy,
sometimes take her to the trades

And soon I'll see,
how things are meant to be
Because while she spoke of stars,
he only spoke of her,
and as she fell asleep,
he only fell for her

So next there had to be season of the rains,
just like that, summers and winters too came,
but what didn't spring was an omen to tell
how mad and fierce
in love he fell

She'd still run to him,
and tell tales of her days,
only days were dates now,
of course he had to be at bay

I would question his ways,
curious, what made him stay?
He'd just smile and say,
there have been reasons each day

Then one night she sought him out,
Amidst black clouds asked questions all grey,
whether to marry or not was one of many,
though not for him to answer, but for her date to elate

Still, his eyes didn't budge,
his heart stayed the place
To watch over her dreams,
his own could wait

Yet, all I could tell him was,
how some things are meant to be
And you know what he said?
What is not meant to be, will never be,
So what if we can have our way
Can we not pretend just another day?

Through waters too troubled,
my heart weeps at the shore,
but he was a man,
a man more than the most

As he let go what wasn't his to keep,
I wondered how much more his heart could dare to hold
He, who played her groom once,
today stood broken at his very core,
while walking her down the aisle,
his girl wasn't his anymore.

The Forgotten Storyteller!

Beneath hovering dust and unfinished structures,
stood a three-legged stool,
the refuge of an 8-year-old,
who holds a worn pencil,
and a torn notebook,
like sacred books of yore.

His hands move, but mind faster,
and with his wandering heart, wanders mine too,
to a decade back,
when I stood outside the same room,
the wall of which I'd been leaning against.

My study, which holds worlds,
camouflaged as books,
finished, unfinished,
and the ones that left me broken,
pulls me in, despite, 
but at its doorstep, I must keep caution,
I must not enter again,
for in times of calling,
a promise had been made.

So as it goes,
I have kept my word,
but seems they have failed,
tip-toeing in my dreams,
queried and complained,
why did I leave, just like that?
one fine morning, and an abandoned hat?

And I wonder, do they not know?
That lay beside them,
a tiny little shelf too?
Next to myriad universes, waiting for my universe too?

The shelf stays still, like an empty lifeless canvas,
just as it was in the rains of '04,
just as it was in the winters of '05.

And yet all this while, 
the one promise I have kept,
the promise is of betrayal,
that I will delude,
and be disloyal.

I shift with discomfort,
and so does my sight,
the storyteller's out there,
his world alike.

These 6 short stories will make your Teachers' Day

From what started in a classroom was no longer limited to one. Across time and over periods, life moved on and so did we, falling, rising, crawling, running and at times flying too.

Here's to all who help us along, in their own solemn ways, to make a leaf in our book in the making.
Happy Teachers' Day.







Between the hops!

One tall tower to the next,
one country touch, a hop to the next,
region to region,
landscapes alike,
he gazed like an eagle,
at what still remained at bay,
much like me,
a guarding shore, I say,
which soaked in a bit of what lay in between his hops

For I vowed,
he'd climb the stairs,
and I'd count them,
he'd sing to his tune,
and I'd record them

In the milieu,
that is today,
and was then,
with the falling leaves and flowing winds,
some compressed feelings,
a burgeoning heart,
mine, not his,
for he only saw a silhouette,
and one tall tower

I took to the silhouette too,
for that won't change,
much, I wish,
but my heart still wrinkles,
still crinkles,
at the very thought,
what if,
my world is that of an adverse scenario

But he'd move on,
and so would I,
to see what lies beyond the tallest tower,
may be me?,
the stretched heart's calling,
not floating to the surface,
but just beneath,

So when he'll be atop the tallest tower,
I'll take him back,
I'll have him back,
through a journey,
to a journey,
to a land,
he was,
I was,
and wasn't there,
hop step trance.
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