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?