Mirror mirror on the wall..

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
I stand before you loud and tall,
Be true and show me my face,
Am I a high born maiden-
or a slave in the maze?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
my mind tries to discern the call,
from the two worlds that lie far apart,
piercing through the wind-
like a strongly-willed dart.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
do you see my doubt no small?
A face I came with onto this marble,
and the one that I shed-
for the freedom of choice and trouble.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
tell me on which land do I fall-
Is there grace in comfort and a life adventurous
or is there solace in the ordinary-
and responsibility so cautious?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
tell me on whose court do I dribble the ball-
of love, of hope, of success,
and where do I fit-
in worlds that don’t coalesce?

“Why must you choose at all?”
Asks the mirror on the wall-
“Is it not a chance to embrace them all?
Is it not a privilege to adorn each mask,
that fits and unfits as per your toss?
How many could bend their mind
and transform their soul-
to see more than a single view
to hear more than a single thought
to smell more than a single flower
to feel more than a single love
to fight more than a single system
to live more than a single life
to accept everything and nothing at once?”

I pause, to reflect, on the mirror’s proffer,
Why do I find it hard to counteroffer?
Is it that easy to belong everywhere-
and perhaps nowhere all at once?
Perhaps there is merit to the mirror’s wisdom
Perhaps a life that unique could entail-
many lives within the one given
and who could question the ways of life
as if there is only one way to sharpen a knife?

“So”, chimes the mirror on the wall,
“Who do you see in my gleaming ball?”
I look closely in the reflecting wall,
the faces, the lores, the experiences of all,
the rides, the sunsets, the fights, the kisses,
the guilt, the triumphs, the hits and the misses,
the mountains, the beaches, the deserts, the plateaus,
the sun, the hail, the snow, the flowers,
the kind, the unsavory, and the downright monsters,
the sharks, the poodles, the love struck otters,
they all shine in the gleam of the mirror- across the room,
in my eyes, in my mind, in every fiber...
“Hmm.. perhaps...”, I decide in the glorious light,
“It is all me...”
...and the mirror smiles “Alright!”

aeroyogi
19/09/2019

Fickle

Fickle thing, this mind when it wanders,
craving for treats while committing blunders,
overpowering rationale, and seeking the unknown,
it goes around and round the meadows alone.

Over the highs and below the lows,
Stumbling over the ledges of throes,
Seeking that one macaw that evades my sight,
Does my mind take off again in a futile flight.

Free-will supposes that the macaw exists,
Trying to soft-land the mind as it insists,
But relentless in its pursuit to brazenly crash,
does my mind defy the will in utmost brash.

Am I really in charge? I ask again,
a thousand times in wretched pain,
What happens, if the macaw is never meant to be?
Will I again survive the rough winds of the sea?

What is this force that pulls me so tight?
Tugging me towards it with all its might;
if the macaw is a myth- as true as this rhyme
then, why can't I stop to save my own time?

What is this belief, that transcends beyond-
the past, the present, and the future bond,
Utterly surreal, and possibly improbable,
should the mind not see the boldly implausible?

I'm afraid to crash, to burn, to char,
as I have done in the past not so far,
O dear mind, please stay still, and hear me out,
this ominous cycle must end without a doubt.

aeroyogi
25/10/2018

Untangle

The eastern sun spills into the fluorescent lit room,
and the pile of emails double for every blink of the eye, 

the winds lie still in a deathly stare,
and the spine moans of invisible thorns
that twist around like a widow's song.

I search for a lyric, for a thought, for a dream,
Perhaps, memories of joy, of laughter, of snow,
Or metaphors that could lay my heart out bare,
But all I find is a distant glare.

I remember, I once had an affair with words,
They danced in my head from dusk to dawn,
Vivid nights of passionate beats,
sweaty expressions and intense duets,
often turned to lines, verses, and songs -
of longing to meet a goal no small,
of failure to recognize my every fall,
of searing pain wrapped in grit,
of envying a remorseless love that bit,
of fortitude in flying unprepared,
of pride in success that no one cared,
of kindness, of concern for this pale blue dot,
of idiocy that all seemed like a ruthless plot.

I commanded them like a matron of the yore,
slashed them like a whip to the floor,
now they all twist around my head to toe,
like an angered snake that wouldn't forgive,
they squeeze me in and devour me whole.

Anger? Guilt? Remorse? Pity?
I lament like a child lost in a city,
a city I can no longer call my home,
parsed lanes that I once used to roam.

I see faces in this search for words,
of responsibilities, duties, and priorities in herds,
A high, a low, and distant glows,
this heart's desire ebbs and flows,
peace, love, and squashed hopes,
stumble together down the slopes.

Untangle, dear thoughts of mine,
for words shall mean when you confine,
I'm desperate for the winds to chime,
before I whimper out of my prime.

aeroyogi
1/8/2018

Tick tock

Tick tock tick tock,
the clock does its usual trick,
The deep minds ignore the sorcerous lores
and continue ploughing their endless moors.
Why can't I?, asks a tiny voice,
desperation reeking more than the noise
The blank paper fills not itself,
The writing finger moves not alone.
Inspire, between the clicking tocks,
oh dear needle, this psyche unknown.

aeroyogi
21/4/2017

This is the end

"This is the end!", growled the monster on the road,
Breathing fire with its head half-bowed,
The vehement eyes made it extremely clear,
that the path ahead would be laden with fear.
That should I go where no one has gone,
I would never bathe in the crisp of the dawn,
That should I try to redeem my soul,
I would char, black as coal,
That should I choose to pick up my fallen grit,
my purpose would be shunned into a bottomless pit,
That should I, till the end, stubbornly endure,
I would fall, bruise, and perish unsecure.

"Choose not this path, why, this is the end,
There is no mercy beyond the bend,
Rotten bones on a dried up land,
Countless like the grains of sand.
Not many try and very few succeed,
Reaching your throne is no ordinary feat,
The men who dreamt of glory and gold,
In face of my trial, were never so bold.
Be warned!" roared the monster, "away you go!
to a life of order, ignorance, and glow,
I am the sweltering heat and the sinking snow,
I humour not, be wary of the impending woe."

I stood at the gate, daunted by the beast,
that had in its belly a splendid feast,
of all the qualities that I needed to thrive,
on the trail of adventure, wisdom, and drive.
There was only one definite way out,
claimed the past heroes without a doubt,
"Slay the demon and claim your prize,
relish the feast and like a phoenix you shall rise."
I looked up at the beast, quivering yet strong,
Said loudly, "I want no gold, no glory, no song;
But I must, if nothing, try my might,
while I am an explorer, a thinker, a beacon of light."

"So you choose solitude, admonition, and unease",
hollered the demon, its lips in a deathly crease,
"I am the guardian of the untrodden and unknown,
You shall, for this foolishness, atone."

I breathe in deep and draw out my sword,
I face the steely claws of stone,
"You haven't known a woman's valor", I cry,
"This is her fight, forged in fire."

aeroyogi
3/4/2017

Those heads!

What's with the dunderheads?
those war mongering  puppet heads,
dancing to the call of shrunken heads,
that create chaos  just to get ahead!

Then there are those being endlessly fed,
of the same vile disguised as french bread,
They gulp and bobble their misguided egghead,
And their friends join, who are equally unread.

I sigh and shake my round-damn-head,
Am I the one, the mistaken deadhead?
Should I take my worries to bed?
May be I'll just vent here instead.

aeroyogi
31/3/2017

The 90's dad..

Short and dark, ordinary as all,
he wiped his brow, as if he had a fall;
He knew more work awaits,
even as he approached the gates-
of the little square of brick and mould,
that was his household.

The engine of the mighty Explorer,
rumbled as he slowed down,
The mumble so familiar, always drew me out,
dropping the pencil, knocking everything about.

I darted to the gates without a frown,
every single time, like a seasoned clown.

He saw I was prepared, to not let him in,
despite the beads of sweat on his chin,
I pester him for my daily ride 'round the town,
atleast a mile on the dusty roads brown.

His ear lobes stopped his wide, wide smile,
he said with a thump, 'let's explore, more than a mile!'.

Stalls of icecreams, pickled mangoes, and corn,
Fighter jets, temples, and policemen with a scorn,
theaters, bridges, fairy lights, and towers,
parks, playgrounds, the markets full of flowers.

He talked about buildings that he engineered,
we circled around the skyscrapers that leered,
he told me the tales of the great ancestors,
of the minister, the artist and the court jester.

Always a shout-out, always a cheer,
to the man at the petrol bunk so near;
atleast a humble toast at the bakery,
never went home without something savoury.

Two decades later, I sit in an office,
missing this man, and everything he offered,
especially on his birthday so esteem,
I reminisce the 90's like no other dream.

I feel the air that tried to untie my hair,
The dangling feet that reached nowhere,
my arms wrapped tight around his waist,
on the bike of a glorious era with no haste.

I have no treats, only poor rhymes,
I call briefly like a summer's wind-chimes,
His smile still spans beyond his face,
Happy birthday, dear appa,
You are my saving grace.

aeroyogi
25/3/2017

A line or two...

A rainy day stirs my eyes
away from reality's fire and ice;
the steady droplets hammer my thoughts
that crumble into benign little knots.

Many a men, many a women,
wield their sword, dagger, and pen;
envy, lust, contempt, and awe,
punch a crater in my jaw.

I know no art, no science, no law,
can count in myself, a hundred flaws;
but one thing in the end might change alright,
if I stirred my spirit day and night.

For it shan't last, for it can't last,
the failure, shame and ignorance so vast;
every week, you shall see a line or two,
from the psyche unknown, in a different hue.

aeroyogi
24/3/2017

Have mercy!

So it's that time of the year again,

When I typically mislay my rein,

I fumble and tumble in the horrid rain,

I do plead, receiving nothing in gain.

I blame it on the source,

The life, the giver of gifts of course,

No, not the man all believe, hidden in the cloud,

The one beyond who is wrapped in a shroud.

Indeed the sun; why does he hide?

Doesn't he know that he is my guide,

I'm lost under the clouds with no time to bide,

Darkness soaks me like a ruthless giant tide.

How can I think when -

a single thought doesn't stick,

Millions of them fired with every passing tick,

In what earthly conscience do I pick?

How can I breathe when-

the air is so slick and,

rushing in all directions;

I may as well be hit by a brick.

Come out of the shadows, oh dear sun,

Let my words of yesterday be undone,

Brighten my soul and warm up my skin,

The light around is really too thin.

Toying with my mind,

are things not so kind.

I need you not to turn blind,

In my moment of need-

-don't leave me behind.

Force the dark clouds away from the crowds,

For I tend to linger amongst the trouts,

Lifeless and mindless, I stagger in my strut,

Have mercy, before my dreams are forced shut.

Stir me tight and steer me right,

With those sorcerous, warm rays of might,

Have you no compassion towards my plight?

What must I slay to win this fight?

aeroyogi

17/10/2016

The broken arrow

The mind wandered like a broken arrow,

Desire crept in with its tendrils narrow,

Twining with the present and pulling me away

far, far from the still winds of May.

Away from the sun, close to the haze,

There laid out, was a deathly maze

of traps so brazen, I shuddered to enter,

Unwilling to meet again, the tormentor.

The breath intensified as the heart pounded,

The transgressed arrow deliriously floundered,

Picking up the pieces, I find myself thick

in the garden of snares and fences that trick.

I edged past an exploding shell,

Dodged a bullet running through hell,

While from a distance, I hear an alluring call,

Unaware, I scarper in hope towards my fall.

The oasis I sought was an illusion of dew,

Glamored by the melody and the pitch so new,

The psyche unknown had staggered through,

Reviving the foolish old wounds, not so few.

The broken arrow never finds the mark,

Or so I'm reminded by the tormentor very stark,

The mirror, the light, the shadows and sense,

together sing the insistent tale sans pretense.

I try to patch the arrow in time,

Before the dew disappears amidst the chimes

of a clock that sprints but never bends,

Only to realize that a broken arrow never mends.

aeroyogi

11/10/2016