The Morning Rise

Drink a cup of tea. Better if you can add cardamoms

and a bit of love. Go out in sunlight. Hug. Hug harder.

There’s always going to be shadow in a sunny world.

Rest sometimes. And while you rest, find a pretty

bird and click a photo. Share it with your grandmother or mother or dad

Before its to late 

Before they have left you here

Call them often. Talk. Tell them you look pretty great today.

Ask them how the feel

Visit them n hug them

Whisper. Whisper to yourself when everyone’s loud.

Listen to your inner voice. Express. Express your hopes

and anger. Comfort. Save that person from drowning.

Learn. Learn swimming. Feel. Feel the ocean and its

warmth. Warm your food when it’s cold. Share. Touch

the frosty field outside. Make a snowman. When

he melts, prepare a bed of spring flowers. Pluck a flower

every day and put in your vase. Make a home. Love.

Love unconditionally. Live. Live as if it’s your last chance.

Silence

The pen broke last night

when I asked it to go

wordless.

The night stopped being

scary to hide behind

my colorful dreams.

At the bus stop 

A guy covered his face with

a newspaper that said

Silence is healthy for

noisy souls.

The voice in my head

was tired finally

when I did not give

it anything to chew.

A squirrel wants to 

ignore me to enjoy 

solitude and wild berries.

I want to ignore it too

and breathe in the silence.

Yearning for Love

don’t have to spend time

in the mall, looking for the

perfect candle, and ingredients

of a pot of pasta for two.

You don’t have to buy flowers,

and scribble that unfinished

poem on the pages to show him

before your guitar finds right tune.

You don’t have to re-arrange

your life to bring old humors

that go well with old wine.

Love is not intensified by your

actions or absence anymore. It’s just 

an emoticon, multi-colored, heart-shaped 

and blank, sent in bulk even when you

didn’t deserve it or desire to 

stare at it to find reasons. In modern

world, they don’t sell meanings anymore, 

or dig deeper to match with your spark.

Just Abe Yourself

In a day you want none,

and the time that you 

crave makes a dull face.

You are not fun to be with.

You don’t gossip or say worse

things about better people.

There’s a hard shell that you

wear to protect yourself

from unpleasant weather 

and pleasant intruders, and

sometimes you laugh alone

on the humor of your dry grief.

Know that, people hate that,

you’re unfriended, for now, 

even though you shrunk 

to make enough space for the 

judgmental society that decides

to rotate around your solitude.

Scars and scarred of Love

Does anything 

cut deeper than love?

Like glory, your scars 

envelop your pride.

And the lessons you 

learn are fluffy, left to 

feed hungry philosophers,

and budding poets 

who spend extra words 

to seek meanings.

The Sunset

Some day it’s about the difference

between what I hear and what I see,

the grainy texture on the enlarged reality,

the gray things that sugary anecdotes hide.

Some day it’s about escaping to the ocean,

alone, because the world is preoccupied with

its lies and I’ve limited time for a true sunset.

This Is Why We Are Here

I put my head right in front of the blue light of the desktop screen,
my eyes set on various pages, one where the work is done, one where

the world makes friendship with perfect human beings, one where I secretly note 
down grocery list and things that I have to finish before it’s too late.

The real windows of the room open to a green garden, a few hummingbirds chase 
each other without knowing the world’s favorite words: stress, and to-do list;

for the life of eternity, they just have to be hummingbirds, beautiful 
and carefree. I have been thinking: this is why we should be here. To look beautiful,

and untroubled. To call ourselves carefree, like we all are gifted that way.
On my way back home, I stop my car when a group of happy ducklings cross

the road. Their proud mother looks back and gazes at my mirror where
the shiny evening sun watches its reflection once a day. As if it’s a routine.

Sometimes when I do too many things, please people, nurture words like kindness,
caution, family, I wonder if this is why we are here. To tag along with that routine,

and imitate someone else’s biography. To pay back for everything unwanted given
to us. I think it again, and again while sipping the evening tea, and touching old

photographs from the family album. What I often miss. The genuine love.
A letter.  A kiss on the forehead right before the most difficult question-answer

round where all my answers will be judged. A salty simple curry when my sore throat 
cannot swallow over-dried humors. I want some more, some more of those things.

Like the person who always wants numerous little things to make life a museum. 
Maybe this is why we are here. To fulfill those secret wishes that no one has to notice.

To chase them like hummingbirds. And call them yearnings. We are collecting, striding, 
looking back with our discontented eyes. We belong because of those longings.

My Silence

My silence is not my weakness,
It’s a pause, sometimes too long
when I listen to better songs on the radio.

My silence is not really an answer,
because I have been a seeker,
with a bag-full questions and an urge to wander.

My silence is not ignorance,
It’s around my knowledge, wisdom, breathlessness 
on the last few pages of the thrilling chapter,
and flowing on in this life like a river.

My silence is sound, sound of many things;
song of birds from the moonlit night,
grin of the green tomato on my porch,
music of the metal spoon in my coffee cup 
at five o’clock, whisper of the drizzles.
Sometimes so crisp that they make me dance alone.

My silence is a tale, of words 
from the world less known, of genuine smiles,
free fallen water that crossed miles, wild waves of pacific,
and cities that never learned to sleep.

My silence is a celebration, of colors,
of flowers of the spring,
cheeks that know unconditional love,
handmade embroideries on my grand-ma’s Saree, and 
the crowns of the woodpeckers that make me want
to try harder once again without fears.

My silence is not about leaving,
it’s about being here, brave and conscious,
striving more, embracing some, and knowing it all.

Life the journey

On the way back home
The sun in the rut
A prayer song in the air

At the crossroads
Near my eyes 
Two people in rhythm and love
Holding hands
The open sign on the cafe door
On its dark steps

A little girl 
Drawing a chalky face
First signs of evening bulbs

A curvy moon up above
No hurry to reach 
The ghostly silhouettes of night 
And no red signals to stop.

**

Have a great weekend, friends.