Somethings are always meant to be,
Assuredly afloat amidst life’s roiling sea,
Nudged by cupid and then forced to flee,
Could second chances hold the key?
Hesitant, wary, unsure, we were all three,
Astonishingly, once united, we were set free,
Riling the other with love, such are we,
I wonder if you know, that you mean the world to me?

-

|She Is, She Was|

I sit and reflect on all that we had,
Love, laughter and all things mad,
When mere hours apart made us sad,
And the briefest glimpse made our hearts glad.

I remember our fights, those short-lived fads,
Tears, hurt and dollops of remorse to add,
Markers of passion and humour clad,
None of them able to shake the love that we had.

Today as I doodle a new name on a notepad,
And churn out poetry which I know to be bad,
Have I betrayed that lone, last comrade?
Only for you was this pen earlier unclad.

-

1 Pandemic | 2 Indias

Calendar invites fly to and fro,
Out pours the rhetoric as I strive to grow,
Vexed over spreadsheets, onwards I plough,
Inundated with worries, I flex my brow.
Delayed promotion has me unable to crow,
1 friend starts making substantially more dough,
9 Tinder matches I've had to let go.

Calloused hands outstretched they hold,
On pavements and platforms, out in the cold,
Veterans of suffering, this time they're bowled,
Illness, unemployment and death unfold.
Discarded like carcasses once their votes were polled,
1 square meal they are unable to hold,
9 to a grave, they're fodder for mold.

-

Sickroom

Roses bloom in a lonesome vase,
Petals dewy yet lacking grace,
It's presence amiss, it's colour out of place,
Like stray stitching on intricate lace.

Books atop the monitor keeping pace,
Thrillers with plotlines as erratic as below trace,
They speak of adventures this heart can no longer chase,
Staring as it is at death's solemn face.

On the wall an outline, an empty space,
A missing photograph of an absent face,
The dust will encroach and reclaim it's place,
Her breath to never again tickle this face.

Once a witness to life's upbeat pace,
Now a coffin disguised as a familiar space,
The room where he once initiated the chase,
He now quietly waits to be taken out of the race.

-

All That Has Gone

Where have they gone?
Those dreams which assailed childhood dawns.
Grand schemes scrawled on pages torn,
Adventures and quests to which we were sworn,
Back when reality was met with scorn.

Why have they gone?
That easy confidence with which fates were drawn,
That fearlessness born of belief and not brawn,
When rules and regimen were met with yawns.

Will they ever return?
Those tenets of childhood we've had to unlearn.
Faced with life and it's lessons stern,
Toiling daily to live and earn,
We search for that youthful fire which once burnt.

-

Hello Late Twenties

There are always those early signs,
Waistline expanding with deepening lines,
Engrossed in work yet within confines,
Neither the lead nor on the sidelines,
Tinder & Bumble becoming stale wines,
You're hitting 27, get ready to whine.

Solemn, even somber as it might sound,
Eventually we all tend to come around,
Victories await and new people to be found,
Everlasting love as well if you're so wound,
Not to mention the drinks yet to be downed!

-

A Burgled Heart

Lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling,
You come to mind amidst the fan's persistent squealing.
It's early still for the wounds to begin healing,
But impatient fingers fly on Tinder in endless dealing.
Between those restive swipes, arises a feeling,
One of self-loathing which leaves me reeling.
Each swipe uncovers possibilities, potentially appealing,
Invariably ending with me being cold and unfeeling.
In this world laid bare, there is no concealing,
There's been nothing left to give since you've finished stealing.

-

Mother Mine

Many are the roles which you play
Onerous are the troubles that you keep at bay.
Thoughtful and considerate, you hold sway,
Home and hearth, you keep from going astray.
Ever smiling, you make our day,
Rallying around whenever we need help in the fray.

Mother Mine, you've raised me to be what I am today
Inching ahead on life's causeway.
Now and always, you're my shining ray,
Ever watchful as you light the way.

-

Your hair like a silken glove envelopes my face,
Our tongues meet in torrid embrace,
My hands cup those bulbous domes of ethereal grace,
As your's trace the stem and face,
In the end it boils down to a race,
In which mutual victory is preferred to haste.

-

| Shifting Gears - In Life & On the Road |

Gnashing of gears - it plagues the best of drivers. The momentary slip in concentration, the slightly mistimed swoop of the hand and the result is immediate - a grating cacophony ensues as metal meets metal in a jostling embrace and the car shudders, expressing disquiet. It's not an error, much less a blunder, it's simply a quirk of destiny, quite inevitable.

The same can be said about life itself. We strive to our utmost, plan as far ahead as our myopic vision allows and try to build certainty into something which is inherently fickle. Again as while driving, a small, involuntary aberration, one which no safeguard could have prevented, and the carefully crafted tidiness of our existence lies shattered.

The misalignment of the gears, be it those of a car or those of life, that's a foregone eventuality. It leads to tremors which are momentary and bearable.

What bothers us however is the unseemly racket. It triggers irritation and breeds conflict. Next thing you know, you're flustered and committing avoidable blunders.

So cruise along comfortably and ignore those silly bumps, life's a home stretch, you just have to know how to drive.

-