The Chasm

For the times the world lit up like a
Magic lantern, when the sun glowed like a
Blanket of fireflies and embers, covering the
Past, present, and future in a sheet of light.
For the times the water stayed still like a
Seven-year old’s unassuming conscience.
For the times the air whispered words of
Magic and misadventure, luring people into
Its arms, until they swayed with the sound of the
Breeze, sideways, upwards, and into the earth,
Into the deep chasms of the dry land.



“Where do your words come from?”, she asked, as we
Discussed the evolution and devolution of language.
“Where do your words come from?”, she asked, as I
Opened the dictionary at the local library.

“My words come from the soft nuances of
Childhood”, I told her, “From the sizzle of the
Pan as my mother cooked breakfast, from the
Loud footsteps of my father, as he stumbled down the
Stairs. From the way my grandmother told me about
Her childhood friends who now hesitate to
Communicate with her.”

“My words come from my travels through
Time and space”, I told her, “From the coloured houses of
Uruguay to the crowded roads of Bombay. From the
Harsh symphonies of traffic to the eerie silence on
Empty train rides on window seats.”

And as I went home, that day, I could feel the
Snap-crushes of spices that reverberated through my house.
I could feel the crowds as I tried to navigate through
Abandoned buildings and new coffee-shops. And for the
First time, I could trace my words back to a map of
Human experience.


Living With Yourself

If your soul is a white rabbit,
Let it travel through the stars and
The skies and let it reach the
Gilded gates of Wonderland.
If your soul is a wolf, let your
Hair loose, let your mind
Escape itself, and let it
Howl until the moon disappears beneath
Honeyed clouds and silver linings.
If your soul is a faraway planet,
Do not try and restrict it to
Your orbit, but instead, let it
Revolve in its own right, beyond your
Modest ideas of revolution.