Another of my several attempts to sketch...

 

.........meet.............. Christian... Bale :P

The Depths

I never felt the need to try to understand the vicissitudes of life because I was always surrounded by people who I knew would handle if there ever was fallout. A sense of tacit security, a blanket of unconditional assurance that I needn't worry, prevailed. But, life is a good teacher; it teaches all that you ought to learn. I am only twenty-one, and not old enough to say that I have experienced all that life has to offer. But, I will still say what I have seen, understood and imbibed of life --

When there are new sights, sounds and feelings every day; you say life is an adventure. Whenever, there is a betrayal and only one question comes to your mind- "Why is this happening to me?”; life seems a conspiracy cooked up by a Higher Power. When someone you spent more than half your life with, someone you loved, suddenly departs never to return; life becomes a joke. When events unfold quite unlike expectations; you come to believe that life is nothing, but an illusion. When every venture you undertake is a success; life is a party. When whatever you do is not enough; life is a struggle. When you look around and see a competitor in every person; life is a race. When you can sense someone not telling the truth; life is a drama. 

These are a few shades of life. Life is an art. We are the artists. We may not have the freedom to choose colours but, beautiful picture can still be painted.

CHILDREN, ye have not lived, to you it seems Life is a lovely stalactite of dreams, Or carnival of careless joys that leap About your hearts like billows on the deep In flames of amber and of amethyst. Children, ye have not lived, ye but exist Till some resistless hour shall rise and move Your hearts to wake and hunger after love, And thirst with passionate longing for the things That burn your brows with blood-red sufferings. Till ye have battled with great grief and fears, And borne the conflict of dream-shattering years, Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife, Children, ye have not lived: for this is life. Sarojini Naidu

A Bumpy Road

The road on which the wheels of our relationship turn,
Has been a bumpy one.
Lots of ups and downs;
At one time it’s high-spirits
And in another collisions.


Every time I begin to feel that I understand you,
That there is not an iota of detail I am unaware of;
You somehow manage to surprise,
How you do it or where it comes from,
I surmise.

That is Your Specialty

Things that could be expressed simply,

Were woven into an intricate web of words.

Took long for the meaning to surface,

The world had moved,

Was too late to reply.

That is your specialty, my dear friend.

You took all the bullets shot at you,

Silently, never uttering a single curse,

Without an option,

Had to do it for the one you loved.

That is your specialty, my dear friend.

The truth about myself,

Was so gently spilled into my ears,

My eyes open,

Now, I can see clearer.

Again, your specialty, my dear friend.

You embraced me,

When everyone had turned faces away,

That is your virtue, my dear friend.

Unaware

Climbing up the Rope of Life,
My grip grew stronger as I progressed.
All those memories behind,
Were left to crumble down,
Disappear.

Signs of you,
Were in my thoughts no more...
But, the feeling,
Still,
Survived.

"Now, I have a firm hold on it."
I said.
No more damage can be done,
You can shake me?
No, not anymore.

And just when I say this,
Why do I lose my grip, again?
Why can't the hollow you created be filled?
Why does it affect me still?


Why does the pain not go?
Yet, no one to answer my pleas,

And you lie somewhere,
Absolutely Unaware!

The World of Oblivion

A gust of wind had hit her face as she was lying comfortably on her bed, when she opened her eyes. Her bed was placed right in front of the window. It had rained throughout the day but things had settled down now and all was peaceful. The night-sky was rubicund (for all the rain). There was no trace of stars. A pleasant breeze made the night more enjoyable. The clouds sailed by just the way waves of music float in the air. These clouds were not like the thunderstorm-clouds which one is scared of, but were the tranquil ones that one has always fancied touching. It was so serene.

She wanted to go away from all the madness just for a little while. This made her climb up on the window sill and jump high to catch the tail of a passing cloud. She wanted to fly away with it. The cloud was moving at great speed and her body hung to it, dangling. She grappled but managed to reach the top of the cloud. Every step that she took got buried into the cool, cottony substance. The wind was stronger. If it were not for the clouds holding her feet, she would have found it difficult to maintain balance. She had to wade through it.

She felt the clouds, the wind and the whisper of the wind blowing. The world seemed beautiful from here. No madness. She now stood in front of a mountain-sized puff of cloud. It was so high, that she could not perceive where the top was. She sat down with her back against it. The clouds were carrying her away, somewhere, and the thought of going back did not pass her mind. Her thoughts moved from one subject to another.... all random.....all muddled up. She got transported to her dream world, the world of oblivion.

Black

It was a cold and windy day, the kind of weather that can extirpate all one's strength, if one were to stay out for some time. The old woman's demeanor did not suggest that she could bear to be outside in such a harsh weather and yet she sat, with her head down, on the wooden bench in the park, without complaining, without a groan. She was dressed in black all over: black shoes, black trousers, black shirt, black overcoat and a black hat.  It was a gloomy day, not a soul in sight, as if all life had been wiped out from the face of the earth. Her presence added to the day's obscurity and her black attire to the effect created by the dark clouds.

Every now and then, my thoughts went back to the wizened old woman. Maybe she was waiting for someone. Maybe she will go back when she can take no more. What was she thinking? Why was she alone? Is there something I can do for her? What had caused her to look so shriveled?

Was it old age?  

Maybe she had nowhere to go.....