Ants on a hill

You’ve got everything they say.
Look around you; you’re blessed in every way.
I take them up on what they say,
I look around; up close and far away.

I see exactly what they see.
I hear them out and what they feel.
But what about my heart and me?
What do I really want for me?

I see them as little ants on a hill,
Walking and working to their fill.
If by doing the same I can cheer them up,
I’ll do the drill; slog up that hill.

But what is the end I ask myself,
Will they get me to where I want to be?
If I fall down, they won’t stop to help.
Heck, they won’t even turn to see.

Get me somewhere o’ crazy rhymes,
I despise walking these ruled out lines.
Let’s break the mould and draw our own,
I’m hoping these ants will change their minds.

An open book

This funny little girl I’ve known,
Since long before we could walk.
I thought I knew her inside out,
Until one day we sat down to talk.

I thought her life was perfect,
She had no fears or cares.
And then she told me the story,
Since after we had parted ways.

I’m an open book she says,
But someone tore a page.
And with that page the binding broke
That pain will never fade.

The colour crimson left my life,
I don’t think I will see it again.
I’m not sure if I even want to,
But you know..life has it’s ways.

That little girl left me that night,
Struggling with that little thought.
I sat up until the morning light,
Startled me out of my thoughts.

I was an open book I thought,
And someone had torn a page.
And with that page my binding broke,
but it no longer felt so strange.

The colour crimson had left our lives,
I was certain we’d see it again.
And at that time we both would know,
That the rainbow only follows the rain.

The musings of an ambivalent

These decisions are to big for me;
much bigger than myself.
Whoever do I want to be?
I'll never be able to guess!


Life seemed simple when I was young
even a month ago.
Now I feel tired and old, without a hint
as to where I want to go.


Who will I be in life
what will I have to do
I want to end this mental strife
I just need a clue.


Nobody here to hold my hand,
nobody to decide.
It's me who needs to take a stand
it can no longer bide the time.

And after all this encouraging talk I feel
I've over-worked myself.
Now it's time to take a break
and put my feet up on the desk!

Oliver

Black spots on white like snow
his tiny pink paws and wet little nose
big brown eyes and sharp little claws
he's the bundle of joy we all adore.

We chose him from among five other pups
it should've been the other way, but I think he chose us.
he checked me out with his liquid gaze
and I knew him at once, I'm still quite amazed.

Now he is all we talk about at home,
we watch and follow how he has grown.
He has taught us to watch where we walk,
nothing profound, this is literal talk.

Where the love is lost

I wonder where the love is lost
Somewhere on the way to here
from the place where we began.
We lost the thing we cherished most
the love for which this journey began.

In this mad race of life
You ran too fast and left me behind
I waited for you to turn back for me
You never did, never realized.

For some distance I could see your back
As you ran, to win god knows what
Not once did you look back
never gave me a single thought.

And now the love is forever lost
nothing will ever be the same
You won your race at the cost of love
And I'm no longer even in the frame.

A friend in silence

Silence is my only friend
I chanced upon him at yet another bend
It took no time at all to tell
that this friend here would stay till the end.

We walked in silence, along life's road
sometimes warm, at others cold.
He kept up with me all the while
without a word,stood silently by.

When night's became too dark to see
and the days blindingly bright
My silent friend walked ahead of me
taking my hand and acting the guide.

Now all alone in this din,
where noise seems to have no end
I stand in a corner, waiting for him
My only hope, my silent friend.

III

There was still time until curfew. I drove up to my favorite coffee shop. It was at the very top of a little hillock called ‘Rajpur’; the oldest habitation in town. Mostly occupied by Tibetans now, it also housed some of the oldest residents of Dehradun. I parked right outside the coffee shop. It was a difficult place to park as it was a steep gradient. I left my car in gear and put a rock under the tire to prevent it from tumbling down the slope. I was greeted warmly by the Mr. and Mrs. Jansen. They were one of the two families of foreign immigrants in the area, who had been here since before independence. Karl and Ingrid had worked with the Red Cross in India during World War II. Once it ended, they decided to stay on.
Karl had told me his story, one evening, when I was still in school. That evening, all my friends had left ahead of me. I had stayed back; I needed to think some things through. Karl, who usually never spoke much to anyone, was sitting in a corner playing his old Harp. I had watched him play a few times before, every time mesmerized by it’s most beautifully unique notes. Away from my rowdy school friends, the musician in me decided to talk to this undiscovered prodigy. We hit it off immediately. It started off with our music. He brought out his old guitar and watched as I plucked the amateur notes.
I ended up telling him about my petty teenage issues, while he ended up sharing his World War experiences with me.
Since then, I became the only person my age, with whom Karl shared an unspoken bond. It made Ingrid happy to watch us singing and talking together. I know that for a fact because she told me so. The summer after my finals of school ended, Karl offered me a part time job at the café. I waiteressed for about two months. It never felt like work to me. I liked being there. In fact, I had been spending so much time at the cafe and had told my parents so much about the Jansen’s, that my parents invited them over for dinner. It went off beautifully. The Jansen’s had the nicest things to say about me (which left my mom beaming). And finally they were satisfied as to the kind of people I was working for.
Nothing had changed. I went straight behind the counter, to where Karl made some lattes and Ingrid grilled sandwiches. I hugged them both and started to clear the dishes from the counter. I picked up a rag from under the counter and cleaned the counter top. Karl grumbled at me, “Stop doing that! You don’t work here anymore!” I smiled and continued what I was doing. Once everything was done and every customer had been served, I sat across the counter from him. “You are not going to be able to make your curfew now. You know that right?” he asked looking serious. “Have I ever?” I smiled.
“So what now? College is over…what are you planning on doing?” he asked. “I’m in a complete fix about it myself. Mom asks me that question at every meal. I might just stop eating altogether, just so I can avoid answering it.” I replied. “Well, my advice would be that you keep doing something or the other. Keep learning. It will all help you sometime in life. You don’t necessarily have to know what you’re going to be doing when you’re fifty. You should think about what you want to do right now.” He said, trying to help me through my predicament. Somehow, he always made sense to me. “I’m still going to need some time getting my thoughts together. When college began and ended, I have no idea.” I said.
At that moment, we were joined by Ingrid. She was all smiles and as usual carried a tray of some baked good or the other that she could press me to eat. The rest of my hour passed as I shared my experiences from college with them. They enjoyed every bit, even the ones where my mother would have been uncomfortable. They accompanied me to the car. “You’ve grown so much; it’s so hard to believe.” Ingrid remarked, as she saw me get into the car. I waved goodbye to them with a promise that I would return as soon as i had the chance.
I reached home a little later than my curfew, but I knew dad would say nothing; It was just my second day home and besides, when I told my parents that I went to see the Jansen’s, they had no problem. After dinner that night, I went up to my room, turned my phone off, turned the music on and went crazy with the paints. I’m not an excellent artist, just an amateur, but sometimes, even the most artistic people, need to let go. I did just that; took the paints and just created a mess of color. By the time I was done, I felt much lighter and at ease.