The 'cloud'..

A cloud of dreamy consciousness floats somewhere in my mind,
lots of staggered patterns of time and space left far behind.

Little droplets..with a little history huddled in each,
secrets of the universe...all within their reach.
Its just the precise pattern of light that must from the heavens glow,
for the disclosure and alignment of the seven colors of the rainbow.
Till then, mostly silence prevails in the inner reaches of the dense ,
Every day leaves it marks somewhere on the outside..each with a subtle reference.

Floating in this continuum of time and space
each moment is a like a frozen bit of realization
Despite the uncertainty, there is a definite grace
with which the cloud assimilates each new agglomeration

I am a distant observer, I do not bring the rain,
I do not form its patterns, I do not cry with it in pain..

We are a disjoint set..yet we seem the same,
Our paths are interestingly arranged, in the grander scheme.

I sometimes wonder...what lies in the reach of this cloud,
Does it try to speak to me...is the outside world too loud?
I also think of all the clouds that have ever been,
Some which 'rain-washed' ignorance, some whose rains were never seen.

What makes the cloud happy..what does it keep on thinking?
In the days of insignificance that it has...what chains of drops does it keep linking?

A perfect crystallization of an abstract thought, could it ever insinuate ?
What of significance and importance in the larger scheme of things..could it ever procreate?

The cloud is innocuous...does it know of possibilities ?
Can it for itself understand its identity...its burden of responsibilities?

What does the cloud think of the 'everyday' drops..and what of the drops of deep thought,
Each one with their own significance, each one sometimes wanted and sought..

I sometimes get so puzzled..that I mumble out aloud..
The eternal mystery of myself..my questions to "the cloud"

The cloud :)

DREAMS OF PAPER..

Dreams of paper

Like looking at floating, crisp little white clouds scattered across a blue sky,
Like the sound of an aeroplane that brings back the childish urge to fly
Like puddles of water after a sudden rain,
Like an old paper napkin with a birthday cake stain

dreams of paper..

grow along as we do..
are cursed birds that never flew

Like poetry never shared or read
Like little disappointments that are never declared
like amateur art being praised by a critic
paper colored in imagination; nonetheless artistic

dreams of paper

keep crawling along...and never find their feet
are secret smiles of victory in defeat

Like a star studded sky covered with clouds of storm
like a gifted brilliance that lacks expression and form
Like music lost in its own silence
like a conviction without defense

dreams of paper

float in little paper boats sometimes
jingle in the random music of wind chimes
wait all through for words to pen them down someday
or blessings of reality to sweep them away


dreams of paper

Like ripples in long stagnant water
like the road from before to after
like a basketful of wishes, packed in style,
not unwrapped too often; too sacred and fragile


The natural smile which a long forgotten nursery rhyme brings
Dreams of paper
are among all things...my most "forever" belongings

Dreams of paper

Through seasons and moods..

"....I realise that I do not understand what or who can fill this inner void..this little voice of dissatisfaction drowns everyday amidst
the so many conversations I have or the day-to-day activities that I engage in ..but nevertheless it is always there, to remind me that somewhere an inner
equilibrium needs to be achieved."



The only leaf on a bare tree ,the last one to leave,
How long is she going to stay, how long can the winter she deceive

A different blend, new shades
to give in to change, the autumn fades

From a quiet autumn , to a quieter winter cold,
From the first step..a continuation to a journey untold..
A change... in every passing moment..of a mysterious flickering light,
Like a silence..disturbed every instant..still pretending to be quiet

Equilibrium is a mirage one can never reach,
The laws of equanimity we unconsciously always breach,
for there is a beautifully insane dynamism that operates,
something striking about the way the conundrum iterates..
Stability is a myth, because there is a constant spur
The winds change direction ...the leaves incoherently murmur..
In this momentum, it is rather difficult to pause and think
To understand the "why" underlying everything, to justify every link
This is an endless mystery..the gradual unfolding of time
Like the unrestrained flow of water ..sans reason or rhyme
Silent spectators and participants we are..in our own sense,
to the many beginnings and unending conclusions that again commence,
Little dreams scattered amidst patterns of reality that form each day
Sometimes lost...sometimes a few manage to find the way..
An inner and outer world coexist in a struggle for harmony..
In weaving our definitions of self..a composition ..a symphony

Sometimes..it becomes difficult to appreciate this constant unrest,
Moods that swing to the negative to its unexplained behest
The inner music that goes out of synchronism
as chaos sometimes maligns this benign dynamism
The seasons seem unreasonable and the winter far too white
The sky too cloudy and mornings no more bright..

But,it must come full circle ..the purpose and the meaning
From a defeated winter with bare trees..to a flower laden spring
An appreciation ,as through a usual day I cruise
Of this unfailing optimism which in spite of everything I amuse,
I try to paint my own picture..I try to gather the hues,
I attempt to achieve a balance..I struggle to shun away the blues..

Of all I grasp, of all I see..
Through seasons and moods..as I continue to be,
I ponder and think..and my eternal questions I address
In all this somewhere..Lies my quest for an 'indefinable happiness'