self portrait

So there you are,
Nearly twenty-four and feeling like,
a well-thumbed book,
a few forgotten petals in a diary
a map made by an apprentice who has just learnt to hold the pen,
and the peepal* tree barely shooting through the concrete.
But that is what you are,
beautiful, sturdy and brave.
So don’t be afraid if the nib bleeds too much ink or the petals take on the pages
Or the map doesn’t have clear borders
and the peepal is too small.
It’s you.
It’s always been all you.

– a self portrait in words because I suck at art

*peepal – a species of fig, native to the Indian subcontinent. 

Put it to Bed

So put it all to bed, put it all to rest
if need be, drive a stake through them.
Murder them in cold blood,
lest they shall rise again.

The grasp is too tight, and you are too weak
but look closely and you can slip through the cracks.
No, don’t stop. keep on tugging.
I know its scary. Extremely so.
Yes, I know you cant see through the tears.
but keep on tugging.

It needs to be put to sleep,
It was a raging tornado at its peak,
and you were swept along,
but now you can see the wreckage
and you need not look far,
just pick up a mirror and
peer through the crack.

It feeds on you, don’t you know that?
you need all the help you can get
so blow the trumpet and wait for help.
Maybe the call will reach distant ears,
ones that have lain dormant may appear.

But only you can be the slayer,
only you can wield the sword,
because weren’t you the one who pulled it out from the stone?
It felt like Merlin’s magic , yes I know.
But you can either be Arthur or the Lady of Shallott.

Swiftly and surely. strike the blow
hold up the sun and wait for the light to flow.
The mornings are a beauty you need to see,
and the nights have their charm too, you know.
Pull up your socks and pull up your head,
that’s what the Teacher tried to tell.

So let it see what you’ve got,
that it cant hold for long.
Put it to bed, put it all to rest,
clear the clutter, lie down and rest.