Dried Flowers

The flowers have dried between the heavy pages of the mind

Flowers of memories picked up from paths treaded
Thoughts gazed at lovingly
Some that got crushed in proving their existence

There are those that time has made powdery and frail
Some, that have turned to flower dust, unpreservable
Blowing away and scattering around each time the pages open

Dust of soft yellowish brown feelings
Fragile delicate memories
Settling on the hands and body, enveloping me gently for a few moments till
I stand and brush it off
And let it go forever

Some torn reminiscences that I lift my hand to reluctantly discard
But keep them back
For their torn form beautifies them

I smile at the gossamer pieces of brownness
And close the book again

Insecured Freedom

The boat, tied close to the shore. Attached and secure in her being bound. Proud that the storm shall not overcome her. Illusioned and happy to belong to the post she’s tied to. Negligent of the frail rope by which she is bound. Negligent of its straining…the opening up of its swirls.
And then a day when she finds herself loose, untied and unsure. Forced towards the rough unwelcoming sea. Drifting off aimlessly, insecure, susceptible to storms, vulnerable to winds………..

But free
Free to explore
Discovering a freedom that comes of insecurity


Taaruf rog ho jaaye, to us ko bhoolna behtar
Taaluq bojh ban jaaye, to us ko todna accha
Who afsaana jise anjaam tak, laana na ho mumkin
Use ek khoobsurat mod dekar chhodna accha