Some old pictures of mine..

...that were sleeping somewhere
under the mattress, hidden
in a home I built from scratch(not really)
forgetting about things I owned in a previous life
with a zest
the mere mention of which
is a tiring thought now
(Young and foolish people have a lot of energy, it seems)

Suddenly I began to miss them
while sitting on a new mattress
the one I own and helped carry
into this new place where I now stay

Why didn't I remember to look for them
as I toured the bedroom one last time
with a relief mixed with pain and joy
satisfied that every trace of me
had been removed from there

I did not know that those pictures lay there
silently whispering about how I never look for them anymore
and did not even care to say goodbye
before I left them forever under the blue mattress
my property secretly held by that (mattress) which was not my property
and hence had to be left behind

Maybe they waited through the night
for me to come back for them
or maybe they just understood
and could read the silence and emptiness of the place

It pains me to think I pained them
with a long negligence
which, I so vehemently believe
is the worst way you can treat someone (who cares) 

I don't know if someone found them
without trying to find them
maybe they were looking under the mattress
finding a good resting place for their memories too

what would they make of them ?
these pictures stuck on a big blue sheet of paper
and of all the people in them
that I wanted to keep in my heart
while I was away from them.

So many rainy winter evenings
I had looked at them longingly
in my moments of quiet loneliness
smiling with confused tears in my eyes

before I moved to the blue mattress room
and had no space to spare for them on the wall
for I thought there would be too much of me 
on display then...

No one likes to lose
things, for that matter
but I am a step ahead
I am the clingy kind
with a tight fist, like a baby's

I think twice even
before I discard a used paper cup
so this is a huge oversight 
something I will remember

I suddenly miss them terribly
and I want to say I am sorry
for having been so busy erasing the folds in the present
creating creases of indifference in them

I secretly wish that they are still there
under the mattress
hoping that I will come for them
to take them tomorrow

I know tonight
I will dream
of that empty house and 
the blue mattress
that holds impressions of the younger sillier me
the one frozen in time, that I lost
taped over a sheet, shabbily
posing for pictures , that I have lost ..

Those old pictures of mine..

all that I think..

I sometimes wonder
If reality is a role play
In a world of rules
Where sanity and convention are over rated
And every action desperately hovers around the should
And there is an eternal bias against the could 

The one without justification motivation
That likes to roam aimlessly rejoicing in thoughts of its own 

What sustains this drama
Is it our fear of the free
Or that sense of blind control
That could never mother happiness
or even invite it for a short sojourn

Somehow there is something
That knows
That inspires
That fights against complacence
Derived from this superficial stability
That is best friends with the fickleness of the mind

What is the edifice, the basis, the root equation
That justifies this conundrum around
Over what I could have found
Had my slate been clean

Some questions are like
Restless resonances or echoes
That are eternal, they never die
Just change forms and their perspective from the precipice
Like clouds

Why don't these clouds
Pour heavily today
Wipe my slate clean
Of the indelible impressions
Of the shoulds ifs buts and because that I could never own
And used only to fool myself and others

I am then hoping for some chalk
That can flow like ink
Add the color of a deep peace and joy
And warmly, clumsily embrace all that I think  

The onion-peeler

There are so many delicate layers

buried deep

joys and dreams carefully nestled

disappointments and lessons I am forced to keep

Such worlds within worlds

each its own kind of semi-conclusion

to a certain strong thought or emotion

its own seat in this congregation of feelings

each sometimes,masquerading as the whole of me

all huddling close for comfort

to escape the vulnerability of the outside

Who knows what they will find out ?

How will they perceive what they find?

So much to avoid being peeled, exposed

And then there is the outer visage

The introduction ; the opening page

That shields so well what lies underneath

In a whirlpool of conflicting emotions

a layered identity struggling to breathe

Why is this tendency to grow in layers

so carefully wrapped and bound

Holding on tightly to those guarded experiences

muted, silent in the everyday sound

A secrecy that refuses to dare

the hows and whys (of me) it will never share

It is something/someone in the making

like an unfinished sculpture or a painting

there are more layers and contours surfacing

continuously everyday

and the history of that making

is often hidden, unread

That which is unsaid in all that was said

that which lurks like an accompanying introvert friend

not saying anything but taking those hidden mental notes

That which we somehow learn to protect fiercely

from judgements or mere perception, we hide it slyly 

sometimes it is because no one cares

and then we get so used to this layering

at other times we are so unsure of acceptance

we work on our presentation skills and stifle that voice that pleads for sharing

but secretly we are all wishing for a peeler

that could ever so gently unveil

and some parts of ourselves from ourselves steal 

and then simplify contemplate and explain

the reason for that innate passion or that confusing season of pain

we hide behind these layers

seeking perfection in this bottled up mode

We care more for that outer papery wrapper

while shutting down the inner abode 

We need one to validate, to understand

to unearth why we are, the way we are

to smile at a guilty pleasure and wince in pain over that old scar

These trifle things,

these experiences that I accumulated

somewhere through a metamorphosis,

into an inseparable part of me, they assimilated

To read me, to really know me, to judge me even a bit

you will need to see the non-conforming, the non-average parts that do not fit

a little layer by layer

with an infinite understanding and all the care

that is how you deal with an onion

when you really cry its tears

carefully reading the memories each layer bears

sharing impressions, being careful not to hurt

Delicately releasing flavor buried deep in the dirt

It is not a mere task or a chore

It is a discovery, like reading a book that hasn't been read before

We all have zoomed out versions that do not reveal

And here you need to deal with lots of onion peel 

There is something sacred about valuing another soul,

Just simple recognition for every little bit and a sincere desire to understand the whole

It is not easy but try to be a healer

Offer the opportunity for a catharsis,

When you find you are an onion-peeler ....

The onion-peeler