On tenderness

what is tenderness, I wonder

Is it

Moons altruism from afar 

to guide us with its poetic presence 

as we suffer the gentle retreat 
of the luminous energy..

the skins way to yield softly  

by graciously drooping
to let us palliate through  
the indignance of aging .. 

or tears helping us allay  

the unendurable pain

by rolling in at the very moment 

so we embrace our vulnerabilities 

the hearts way 

of playing dress up with life

by making allowances with a smile

despite previous bruises 

 

if not 

a sense of surrender to life 

or 

a palate to hold us through the rough times 

even

guileless presence to lighten our paths 

and 

laughter to unburden the heaviness within? 

What is tenderness, I wonder!  

 

Fragments and Secrets

 

                                            --- Where's Waldo? (& why waldo?)

A treasure box
of gold coins

is it special 

for refuging the radiance?
or rather pitiable 

for suffering the lifelong sentence 

of guarding these shimmers? 

Hide and seek 

is it for the hiders or the seekers? 

isn't game over already

just as the countdown begins? 

if I am seeking to be found

why did I hide in the first place? 

Maybe there is a renewed me 

upon being found by the other... 

Do we secretly believe  

that by seeking out 

our reclusive parts

we would be able to mend 

our own brokenness...

Speaking of treasure and hiding 

what purpose does this bias serve 

to shield one thing  

with sanctity and diligence 

and cast the rest as mundane 

Isn't it only truly hidden, 

if it is unknown to the self? 

This passage of time

 

I asked her

in anticipation of her foresight 
how would they see this time 
a century from now.. ?

My friend, she is quiet 
and dreamy.. 
her eyes slowly drooping 
she told me 
they may deem this irreparable damage...

but then she snapped her fingers 
and said maybe these are stories of mayhem
not very different from the century before...
yet again she cracked her knuckles 
to tell me they will see this as an era of loss 
of lost time and dreams and love and lives 

she tilted her neck leftward and mulled
 if this would be the 'battle of vanity and deceit'
and pursed her lips sooner to imply 
that it was the age of aligning with the ancient wisdom 
of relentless kinship and dedication 

but she wrapped her arms together and mused
if this was a stage show of common mans patience?
teary eyed 
she declared this as the ultimate performative resilience...

sighed and gathered 
she glanced at me and urged
"what would you call this forgotten time?" 

The Plea from Mother Earth

 

I  whisper loudly my thoughts

some caressed with  agony 

some coiled with my desires 

My hands move parallelly 

to convey these emotions 

to  mother earth....

my fingers pressed tighter 

when a painful musing passes by 

and she moulds herself to it..

she bends again 

when the fingers twirl 

to a joyous memory...

My earthly fingers 

unite with her earthly surrender 

and in this to and fro 

she whispers back to me 

to pause 

and let tenderness take over 

requesting me to soften the force 

between our exchange 

As my movements become gentler 

and eyes transfixed on her texture

I realize the thoughts have withered away 

leaving between us 

some empty space....

she is now able to tune in 

to my breathing in 

and breathing out … 

My time/Your time

 

what is my time? –

 

is it the cackling up with the vessels

or mimicking mum’s homemaking

or chuckling with books

or listening to people’s stories...

 

is it the endless scrolling through screens

or giggling away with a distant friend

or beaming over those emails

or awaiting that message...

 

is it the grandma's frail and tender touch

or gentle exchanges with the milkman

or attending to the bird songs

or tending to one’s body and breath...

 

is it the hours arrested daydreaming

or spent in the fear of unknown

or consumed by the past regrets

or reviving from the cacophony of self - doubt...

 

can time be owned?

does it really stay mine

or transfigures itself

when others partake in it?

Grounding

 

                                                    Lonely corner of an enchanted building 

A strange catapulted wing 

Striding from one petal to another 

On days beaming with pride 

yet besieged by the night time snide

The fleeting gratifying lightness 

but the doubt ever so consuming 

which of the two is real 

the gliding sorrow or the gleeful blooming? 

Torn apart under this giant paradox 

clambers the lonely hidden self 

perpetually chasing for its patented tag 

is it the mighty valor or the worn out slag ?

gently emerges a space, devoid of such duality 

the momentary is-ness, withholding no entity 

how does one cave in to this humbling presence 

of a life without any real essence? 

 

Ladder stories

Two ardent players
pitting against each other
Gambling away the fates
with figments of desirous states

This ladder hauls one atop
And another towards gravity
when the former beams with pride
the latter scorns the stingy bite

fervently moving forward
the former hopes to be 'there'
at a distant space full of learnings
loading it with mirthful yearnings

The latter aches to be where the former is
bartering away its initial dreams
for what is out there
but with immense trepidation and care

When the two unite at an unlikely juncture
Latter asks former, "how is it up there?"
"Jittery, and reclusive "
"What about you?" .. asks the former
"inhibited and wretched"

"I wish to break free,
and flirt with the apex of your affairs.."
daringly adds the latter
"I wish to embrace your rootedness
with no fear of further falling"
wistfully mumbles the former.

Both make a compelling case
longing for the known and the unknown
with their only respite being the reciprocal uncertainty
of the happenings henceforth
Juggling to sustain the essence of a 'here' or a 'there'...



PC: -  https://www.123rf.com/photo_56918100_stock-vector-snakes-and-ladders-board-game-cartoon-illustration.html