November 💛

This year, November slipped its cool hand into mine,
frost tracing the edge of my fingers,
and the music I’d shut out for years
dropped straight through my ribs
carrying a key to the locked rooms
which I pretend don’t exist anymore.

It rewired my body into an instrument,
each note ricocheting down corridors
I thought were sealed.
The waves of melody- so ancient and knowing-
broke over me softly,
washing out my thoughts,
eclipsing my memory,
until I floated, loosened from gravity.

In it also lived an eager rhythm,
set loose by hands that moved faster than thought—
to rampage through my heart
that hadn’t felt its own thunder
for far too long.

I rose from a deep slumber,
burning gold against the brittle air.
My brain flickered in the strange alchemy-
with bright, mischievous chemicals
repainting every thought,
as the cosmos quietly leaned in
and altered the saturation
of my existence,
pixel by pixel.

I drifted along the pavement
as if it were a cloud woven from winter breath,
weightless and unfaltering—
a silent surrender to that forgotten familiarity,
surging inwards like a tide that finally remembered my name.

Belief came easily.
Hope stood steady.
My smile turned stupid.
The fabric of reality had no place in my awakening.
And somewhere a warm hand rested on the shoulder
of the teenager still pacing inside me,
telling her -
loosen your fists,
breathe,
just stay in this moment.

I lit up like fireworks,
startling the shadows that ruled over me.
Something was resurfacing
after a decade of dormancy,
—a zest for life—
fragile as frost,
wide as nightfall,
soft as a blanket,
undeniably real.

I dismantled the fort I had built
brick by brick,
let it all bubble up,
and, inevitably,
here I am-
still warm
against the December
that is descending around me.

aeroyogi
1/12/2025

The missing child

She was prancing around in full bloom when I last saw her.
Her vitality unmatched and spirit uncrushed.

Her dreams untameable, her thirst unquenchable-

for wisdom, for experiences, for love, for life..

It has been 15 years since. 
Where did she go?

Did I drive her away in shame?

If she saw me now, she'd jump-

"what on earth is the matter with you?"

If I knew the answer, why would I be thinking of her on a day full of gloom?

Because, in all her misgivings about the world, 

in all the ignorance and naiveté,

in all her limited perception of life,

she had the answers-

answers to the most fundamental questions,

and most applied scenarios,

she had the confidence, the tenacity, 

the charm, and the will to find an answer if she didn't already know.

She knew how to deal with failure,

she thrived on rejections,

she tamed her grief,

she knew how to take charge, 

better yet, how to take action.

She had quotes on walls like a teenager in angst,

but it got the job done, cos she never brooded about the past.

She danced, 

she sang, 

she loved,

she hoped,

and above all she gave herself a chance.

She was unbreakable, untameable, 

phenomenal, kind and able. 

I shouldn't be needing her today.

Life should have been sorted out by now.

Yet, all I find are deserts and landmines,

which she would know how to easily cross. 

Where is she?

I can't seem to find her anywhere.

Tell her, I'm looking for her, won't you? Tell her-

I miss her wisdom, 

I miss her resilience,

I miss her fortitude,

I miss her.

I have nothing of what she has,

and I could use her guidance for a bit.

Is this what old age does to one?

There is a missing child,

Please help me find her,

I may foolishly have had her exiled. 

aeroyogi

21/01/2024

Untethered..

Untethered and Unbound..

I'm nylon in the skies,
Happy and free but,
circling like a hungry bird..
Dazed yet flying high,

watching the world speedily float by..
Overwhelmed while being underwhelmed,

for I'm lost between dead ambitions,

scarred desires, looming ends,

and the restlessness that dictates sleep..

Untethered and Unbound
Find me that anchor, quick,
one that I inadvertently ran from..

Untethered and Unbound..
Find me the anchor,
one that can tether me down.

aeroyogi
30/12/2023

Waves..

Something about Dec 31sts reminds me of my blog and here I am in yet another home that isn't mine trying to keep the archive years rolling.. Obviously, this piece needs a lot of work!

_____________________________________________________________________ 

Waves, they rush towards me just as I turn my back, 

angry that I might forget their sun-kissed droplets

that make up the elegant strokes and magnificent curves,

And they encapsulate me with only the most scandalous things ever! 

They tower over my thought bubbles,

Bursting each one as they advance menacingly,

They are right, I do want to stay in the sun,

But they like to toy, like a Casanova in a trance.

They bear down on me like a matron who knows no kindness,

Determined to keep me within the cores of their vortices,

Mere mortal that I am, and a mystic power of nature they are,

I buckle, I swish, I tumble, I shear, totally powerless like a slave.

They spit me out once they see-

that my tears have joined their troupe of droplets,

I gather myself on the wet sand, aching and confused,

Begging for deliverance from this periodic cosmic ride.

I search the winds for that one call of the macaw, 

May be it can listen to my ragged breath? May be, take pity on my plight?

Perhaps it will take me on its wings over the clouds, 

Where I’m free, free from their gravity at last. 

The winds and the skies, silent in union, wait for me to take a hint,

The macaw never existed- screams my receding tears,

At this point, all I want are some dry clothes and some sun,

I stand up and turn to the shore, with stinging feet and a burning heart.

 

They see my back faced to them and roar at me louder,

“How dare you try and ignore us?”, they growl..

They hit me harder this time, sinking my knees into the sand…

Waves.. they never stop,

like memories, 

like my deepest yearning for my unborn macaw. 

aeroyogi

19/1/2022

The mute spectator..

One of those pieces that was started in 2015 and finished in 2021! Read the inspiration behind this piece at the end.. Spoiler alert if you read it before finishing the piece! 

 ____________________________________________________________________________

It was by all means, a very ordinary day. I was at my comfortable viewpoint looking out at the daily ongoings as I normally did. Perched upon the top of a small hill overlooking tens of other houses in the suburbs of a land so beloved to me, I definitely had the vantage point. I could look at the highway, which, over the years had transformed from a dwindling forest with muddy pathways into one of the busiest concrete streets with ever-changing designs of cars that got quieter and faster. It almost seemed unbelievable that an age would dawn when people would stop walking on the streets; fire sticks and lanterns would be replaced with something more brighter, something more fluorescent, that there would be no horse-drawn carriages that were decorated to mirror the opulence and vanity of the people sitting in them. May be the cars of today still spell out the status of the owner. But to an old man like me, virtually non-existent, with a mind that was formulated over a hundred summers ago and wisdom that was built painfully with time, the current society seems far less discriminatory.

I had stopped keeping tally of the days long ago, but nature, very eloquently, signaled the passage of time. I sensed it was a fresh spring morning. I could hear the cold stream gurgling between the rapidly thawing banks. The little yellow yarrows that brought out the scent of the soil had spurted all around my house except on the far left corner of the property where Mr. Pegs' artisan roof cast a long, intense shadow all year long. He was very apologetic about it as it was not his choice, even if it was magnanimous. His son had taken the liberty to design the house for him without his consent. I for one, had everything arranged to my satisfaction much ahead in time, so that nobody could tamper with my dignity and solace that I most desired. I knew I wasn't going to be able to command submissiveness with time but I wasn't going to give up my comfort, especially when it took me a great part of my life to be able to afford it. Being in the front lines of a battlefield had crushed my body, mind, and spirit for a while. But observing human stupidity from afar had made me realize that the inadvertent human actions towards self-destruction canceled out all the beautiful idiosyncrasies we possessed. It was a matter of time that this planet would lose all evidence of survival. Something one old invalid man couldn't control or change at will. Acceptance was a drug that worked miraculously in repairing a broken soul.

The sun had come out of hiding after a long, dull winter, allowing the early morning mist to settle down on the little yarrows by my feet. The morning cars hurried to the mines far down the street. And there seem to be a general lightness in the crisp yet slightly warm air. I was suddenly distracted by a little toddler who came running to my footsteps. She had managed to lose her warden for a few seconds. She looked at me and smiled with innocence that I had long forgotten. Her little fingers clutched the yarrows as roughly as spring air could and pulled them out. She was fascinated by those torn petals all over her fingers and stared hard at them. The young warden caught up with her and rebuked her for spoiling my yarrows. It wasn't necessary. I did not mind the little one's curiosity. Curiosity is after all the reason we survive today. She tottered off with a swing in her arms and a jump in her step. I couldn’t help but smile ruefully at the innocence childhood brings and takes away as it leaves.

The sun rose above the horizon. A young boy whom I had last seen just before the snow set in few months earlier, was getting off his cycle to clean and trim the newly sprouting grass in the neighborhood. You see, the residents in my neighborhood need help. All mute and helpless in our own ways, we need some company even if it is from a detached assistant who couldn't be more apathetic to our solitude. Solitude which stung more cruelly during winters. Few new residents amongst us had children and family visiting from time to time but mostly, for those old forgotten guns like me, these strangers who never talk to us became our family. It becomes more of a necessity than entertainment to watch people. So I was slightly more enthusiastic this week since there were a few I could recognize on the muddy roads that cut through the hill. The boy sneaked a look around to make sure he wouldn't get caught. He slowly took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it amateurishly. He coughed in the smoke that engulfed his head. I shook my head, a little disappointed. Those things aren't meant for young boys. But, I also found myself inadvertently caressing my knuckles where my grandmother's cane had struck eons ago after I was caught doing the exact same thing. I smiled sheepishly. Exploration and stepping out of boundaries is after all essential to understand oneself and the mechanisms of this world. The trick is to recognize the pitfalls and jump over in due time. I hoped that he will manage to jump across in time.

He quickly extinguished it as soon as he heard laughter that grew loud and resumed his work. Two young men were jogging and laughing about something. They whirred past my house without as much a glance in my direction. They had the air of everything going right in their lives. They were followed by a stout girl who bobbled up the hill, stopping short of my house to catch her breath. Atleast she didn't throw up on Mrs. Moldren's Hyacinths like yesterday. Her efforts were taking her a few steps further every day. She looked longingly at those two men who had outpaced her considerably. Was that a hint of disdain in her eyes? Jealousy? Guilt? Or may be all of it. I couldn't say if it was sweat or tears but she wiped her face and stood upright. Her face transformed as if to shun all those other emotions and her brows narrowed. She started running again. Ah! Perseverance. What's a life without some tenacity? Everything substantial I achieved in my life was with it. I smiled proudly. She shall surpass those men some day.

Go on, brave girl!

The morning passed quickly. Around mid-day, just as I began to sink into my early afternoon stupor, an expectant mother walked up with a small child in one of those new age bassinets breaking the mid-morning lull. She paced herself slowly as her husband (I can only assume) joined her with a big furry dog playfully tagging along. He seemed to show affluence through the well polished shoes that he didn't mind flourishing in the mud and a neatly pressed collared shirt. The woman brushed off the twig that was stuck in his well groomed hair. They briefly caught each others eye and smiled like they were aware of the world’s deepest secrets that no one else did. Ah, to have that kind of love in your life.. To have experienced the warmth of that one person who truly cared.. I had it once too, in the form of the maiden who assisted the healers. And I lost it to war. I found it again in the form of my daughter and lost it to time. The next time, I decided to find it within me and not surprisingly, I still have it. I smiled nostalgically.

I would normally take a nap around this time, but today, in between welcoming fresh spring and all that came with it, I missed my usual siesta. And in good measure. I saw little Stella Andrews come by that afternoon. Well, she wasn't little anymore. She leaned a lot more on her umbrella than the last time I saw her. Her father Baldwin Andrews was right down a few houses on the hill that led to my house. She visited him every month, ever since she was the fairest and daintiest maiden of her day. It was always nice when she walked past my place towards her father's. She would always run her fingers on the smooth walls of my house with sort of a concerned detachment. Over the years, her soft fingers had transformed like the petals of a flower do at the end of the day. Her eyes had transformed into these wise shells that seemed to hide several fascinating chapters of her existence. Her legs seemed to totter with every passing year until she couldn't separate herself from her umbrella. Her hair that once reflected the moon beams giving her a radiance hardly matched by anything else, now made her look wise. It often made me wonder how life might have treated her over the years. Of course, it wasn't my place to pry. Just to observe. That bittersweet period of life that is mixed with pride, regret, dwindling hope, and realization of wisdom. When things that matter become very apparent and one is left wondering why they did not understand this very rudimentary fact much earlier in life… I smile with some regret myself.

Chin up, dear Stella. That is the way it goes.

Suddenly, I heard that one sound. Of that one car. It was always the quietest of them all. It signified the arrival of someone new in the neighbourhood. It brought along the sound of muffled sniffles and coughs. The sound of well-polished boots, and of grief-torn relatives. The car stops and the entire party gets off of it. They accompany the newest tenant of our land up the hill. As they walk past behind my house, I catch a glimpse. I lock eyes with the tiny woman being carried by 4 sturdy men. She looked scared but strangely calm. Like she knew this was coming and maybe even looking forward to it. It seemed like she had welcomed this change with open arms but she was still apprehensive about her future from here on. I wanted to tell her that it would be alright. That she had joined a very resilient, immovable part of existence. She had joined the mute spectators of the moving world, where we were free to look, judge, reminisce from the comforts of our own homes. Ofcourse, we were not allowed to interfere with the moving world. This was a place, where wisdom gained because of our stagnant nature of existence was abundant but couldn’t be shared. A world that was presumed to be non-existent by the moving lot. It was a world filled with a strange sense of peace and calm born out of utter helplessness. A place where thousands like me woke up, watched what they could, and went back to sleep every day. Silently. She really wouldn’t have any responsibilities. She would need no food and get no diseases. We had no function, no contribution. Most of our lives lived outside this neighbourhood will be soon forgotten, if it already isn’t. So will hers.

I wasn’t sure she would get a vantage point as good as mine, but I hoped to be able to look at her time and again to reassure her. By the time the old lady settled into her new place about 50 meters to my right, the sun had begun to say his goodbye for the day. A crescent moon was arriving out of the murky clouds ready to take over as the guard of the skies. The sniffling relatives take leave and she is finally alone. She was looking around her new home and getting comfortable in her bed. I did not try to catch her attention again. I have an eternity to do so anyway!

I look around close to me and saw Pegs, Willard, Moldren, Andrews, Ainsley, Eaton all looking at the same new neighbour of ours. I wonder if they saw what I saw earlier in the day too. I wonder if they saw their own living selves in the cast of today’s show. I catch Dr. Eaton’s eye and looks like she had the same question for me.

I smile mutely at my fellow spectator, close my eyes, and settle down for the night in my home, in the shadows, in my so-called grave.

aeroyogi
29 / 04 / 2021

__________________________________________________________________________

So, while I lived in New York, my apartment was right behind a beautiful, age-old cemetery. I often went on walks or unsuccessful runs in this cemetery and built a new habit of reading the names on the tombstones. The names I mention here were from that cemetery. Some of them have been resting there since the 1800s. It was fascinating in a way to think of all the lives led, of all the triumphs, the misses... It felt like they were watching me. (Thanks to YH who was a firm believer in ghosts and said it out loud every time we went for a walk!) Perhaps, if they indeed 'lived', they must have had so many observations and stories to tell.. Just an attempt to capture the milestones of a lifetime through the eyes of one old gentleman. Though I knew the storyline on this one, it took me several attempts to get it through on paper. Still feels like it is missing something. Feedback welcome!

The lives we've lived...

YOU.. a magnificent, ethereal being.. yes, YOU..

a fragment of my imagination, a fraction of my reality,

YOU are a whim, a fancy, a delightfully troublesome emotion,

YOU have taken my soul in those broken fingers of YOURS,

opened its gates and let the light gush in tight;

what I see is a higher dimension

of our eternal bond in suspension,

standing wide in front of our pitiful fight,

moaning to me a song, lovely and quiet,

Wow, oh wow! it is splendid and strong,

I startle myself with this induced insight,

that our souls would be at peace if only we could see each other’s light..

I give in like a wounded hare, unto those healing tunes

that unwind the tales of-

the storms we've passed,

the deserts we've crossed,

the mountains we've climbed,

the oceans we've dived,

the gardens we've destroyed,

the songs we've sung,

the fires we've escaped,

the blood we've spilled,
the grains we've milled, 

the laughter we've stopped,

Oh! my sweet sweet darling..

the many terrible and fascinating lives we've lived....

Perhaps, did YOU already know...

my comrade, my friend, my adversary, my fiend,

that we've been in this cycle from now to then?

The strife we face asks for a debt to be paid,

possibly it is why I seek YOU again in this inexplicable daze..

I know not if the present allows us

to wipe the slate clean and nice,

perhaps the debt lies in our sorry plight,

where neither soul can stop the fight..

Fret not YOU.. ‘cos I have learned,

the beauty of this bond has been unearthed,

it shall show itself and live in the cycles to come,

for the elusive law of the universe has left us a crumb,

to hold on to, to cherish that one fleeting moment,

to the idea of the possible ecstasy in atonement,

to use the pieces of the puzzle in the end,

where we might merge with light and to peace we shall transcend...

aeroyogi

17/01/2020

Allegory - Memory..

Fun fact: I started writing this on December 31st 2013, when I sat in my German apartment room wincing at the fire crackers in action. I did not have a story then yet. So I just wrote the first two paragraphs. But I could never finish this piece any time I tried after that day. Somehow nothing seemed to follow the first two paragraphs and I didn't want to change those two for some reason. Until now, and it is 2020! After a lot of unexpected adventures around the world, I finally ended up in a another German apartment room on a brand new December 31st again. Call it a collective experience of the world I ended up seeing, experiencing, detesting, and learning to enjoy, I finally found a storyline- sort of. May be not the best one. But something that helps me relate to it partially. I am not 100% happy with this story or the writing but it is about time I finished this damn article from 2013! Feedback welcome as always! I reserve the right to change the story of the article at a later point. At this stage, I'm gonna paraphrase the popular saying for academics- "The best article is a finished article".

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She sat upright in the dead of night, panting and clutching her faded blue sweater by the stitch near her chest. The loud bangs outside had mortified her as a child. Growing up didn't change the effect these spontaneous explosions had on her.. Tired from a rather mundane day, she had gone to bed earlier than usual. But it seemed like a night away from solitude was forced upon her. She had forgotten that it was that time of the year; when the rest of the world seemed unnaturally happy for no fathomable human feat. The world was well on its way to being a fast paced car crash and yet, the celebrations unparalleled any other time of the year. The little beads of sweat on her forehead forced her out of bed and to the window. She stood in the dark, her legs twined in the dull colored covers that followed her across the floor. She squirmed every few seconds as the night sky reflected some familiar smells and lights. Flashes of bright light were followed by those dreaded sounds that pulled the starkest of her memories to the fore. How long would she let this influence her? She decided to make a change, something most people swore by during this time of the year. She decided to brave the festive weather, and overcome her daunting memories and her challenging present. Clumsily, she pulled on her jeans and gave purpose to the oddly colored boots that lay haphazard on the floor. The door whined shut behind her as lazily as she tottered on the stairs before steadying herself at the gate. She flinched every time the annoying loud bangs crept up on her.

Not very far out on the streets, the men sold hot little corn cakes dipped in ground sugar in their modest carts that rattled to the chill December winds. The sprawling urban landscape around the church that stood the test of time for four centuries was generously assigned to these vendors who feed the dopamine hungry crowd on such days. Little glass goblins that made funny faces were lit up on every other cart on the street. There were gypsies who sold unusual ornaments while bizarre old women with crooked teeth traded scented scarfs and fried chestnuts. The smell of mulled wine wafted in the air, intensifying as the crowd multiplied. A blur of laughing faces, many inebriated, passed by her. Wish balloons lifted off the same time as another batch of fire crackers lit up the foggy winter sky causing a dust spangled sound storm.

She made her way through the hay-strewn paths that deemed to give a medieval hamlet vibe to the streets that lay in the shadows of a sky train on elevated guide-ways. The festivities extended into the thick of the city carrying bits of cinnamon, cloves and red wine along with it. The little artificial waterfronts carried colored lanterns that recreated a starry sky on the ground. She jostled a few couples who were oblivious to everything beyond themselves. Her face half immersed in her sweater, she eyed those happy faces edgily. No face in the crowd showed any care for a thing that dampened the spirit. She longed to be one of those elated faces drunk with blissful ignorance. How satisfying it must be to remain serene and smile under the dangling lights like one would when a hot cake was taken out of the oven. How supreme it must feel to have a clear mind devoid of anything but hope, love and simple expectations. How liberating must the thought of living and living only in the moment be.. It surprised her how the world was made of hope. Where did they conjure it from? Was there a special store that she was unaware of where one could subscribe it from?

She had tried to be happy. She had tried her best to revive that energetic radiance in her, which once upon a time spread so quickly like an epidemic that it put the most powerful viruses to shame. But all she encountered was thick mist that stopped her like a trained Swiss guard as though she was about to pull the curtains off the Pope’s chamber. Mist not unlike that which engulfed her on the fateful chill December night. She remembered visiting the same shindig almost a year ago. With him. Marooned in his aura, she regaled in his charm, his confidence, and most of all his attention. Until it had abruptly stopped.

Not too long before that, she had unleashed her witty side to him on one fateful day. Oblivious to the fact that it would change her perception of the innate beauty of a man all together. A beauty almost never discussed in trendy magazines, sleepovers, or drunk night-outs. His laughter. The first time she had truly heard it, they were separated by the entire widths of oceans, age-old forests, and billions of people. Yet, it made her feel close enough to him like a mother to her new-born child. She swayed to what seemed like the purest of sounds.

His laughter was like that of a single beautiful ray of sunshine marking the end of the cold winter months in the arctic. It had rung out through his room into the sprawling valley he lived in. The mountains bounced it first amongst themselves, tasting the various hidden flavors of his voice, and then reluctantly pushed it outwards to the sky. A bored satellite somewhere picked up that unfeigned symphony, marveled at the unexpected welcome distraction, and shot it into her little phone doomed in the old parts of a metro that had become a cacophony of all unnatural sounds that man ever conceived. That unique sonata had resonated in her ears, and at that instant everything else around her had muted. She was transported to the land of delightful memories that had long been stored in the depths of the trunk and packed away to an unseen corner of the mind. Funny, how the sound of his laughter could morph into visuals in less than a second. Mysterious are the ways of the human brain. Scenes flit across her eye as if she flipped through an animation book, except with unorganized images...

The gracious annual bloom of the midnight queen in her backyard, the innocence of a toddler sending a paper boat down the muddy stream, the water droplets on the grass after a perfect rain enhancing an intoxicating smell that forces one into a sweet coma, the vulnerability in the eyes of the new born puppy on the street, the swirl of the veil when the celebrated dancer was lost in the rhythm…

His laughter had kindled random memories that lifted the spirit and made it an eclectic treat to the soul. There was a rare element of openness, certain rawness, a kind of depth that is often reserved for the most unique characters of a novel, that which could be compared with wildly grown exotic forests in the remote untouched islands of this pale blue dot. The kind that could dent her stony facial features and bring forth a humane smile. Like the kind that would appear when she saw millions of stars huddling together on a cloudless night.. She became an addict. She wished that, that laugh would chime like an hourly grandfather’s clock. But much to her torment, he found some childish pleasure in being so ungenerous with granting her wish.

Not too long after, that laughter had stopped. It had abruptly disappeared into that unfortunate December night. A night not too different from the one where she stood currently. She still remembered the scent of the mulled wine mixed with his nectarine laughter, sending her into a dizzy trip down a memory lane; that which she roamed in the present. In between all the laughter on an endless night in snow and cold, and the dazzling fireworks that announced themselves as loudly and brazenly as possible, her happiness had known no bounds. She was the elated drunk face. She was blissfully ignorant. She was the spirit of hope that had rung through the night. She was... well, WAS...

Trust humans to make errors in the most sensitive of matters and destroy the purest of nature’s beauty. The same loud bangs that once marked the festivities in the background had set everything into chaos. One mischievous tilt by an apathetic teenager altered the course of that blast. What was supposed to echo from the skies instead took his laughter out. As though it was jealous of him for stealing it’s thunder with his unparalleled melodic treat.

Over time, she had become very well-versed in the art of picking up and moving on. And yet, the rough edges of her heart seemed to mind the mild ruffling of the season’s feathers on her back today. She had grown tired of resenting the world and its machinations. She had grown tired of the garish explosions that did nothing to lift that veil of indifference to the world except just take her to her wits end. Those hateful loud bangs. They never really served anyone any purpose. Did they? If only she could somehow make them bearable. If only that laughter could be interspersed with those explosions. May be they would provide a rhythm to his sorcerous tunes…

It just seemed like too much to ask perhaps. It tore her that she wouldn’t hear his laugh again… But she would have to hear those awful, useless blasts every year, same time, same place.

With her face cut like a glass polyhedron, she stood on the edge of the festivities where the last store selling fruited rum ended and took it all in. It was strange how the memories flooded in like the waves of an ocean at dusk. Picking up pace along with the winds and hitting the shore hard as the day came to an end. How his laughter flushed her at the sound of the very thing that ended it. She stopped cowering low and removed her scarf that had partially covered her ears. She raised her face towards the skies and held her breath while she focused on each of the blasts that went up in the air. And for the thousandth time, she vowed to shake off the wave that hit her for good, not realizing the futility of her efforts.

Waves don’t end. They recede, calm down, and hit back again with just the same intensity whenever they choose. Just like a memory. Just like his laughter.

aeroyogi
31/12/2019

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

The mighty fools

The broken bead of crimson blob,

Recites a twisted tale of a mob,

Of chaos, of dissent, of contempt and malice,

Of poison served in a covetous chalice.

They trust their thought in matters not bare,

Citing a title or an accolade not rare,

Heads in the clouds, trampling the ground,

Walk they do, with stupidity profound.

They scream, they cry, of wars very wry,

Hailing a slayer who painted the sky-

In red, in horror, in repulsion and dismay,

Dispirited are the kin of those who were slayed.

Entitled they feel, certain as a rock,

Imbecilic minds that gather amok,

Mocked are the crusades of the selfless guardians,

Those protectors of the land, those carriers of order.

They cry foul, when logic prevails,

Leaving no room for truth or details,

Spewing disarray like venomous snakes,

Are the others who join with vested stakes.

They accomplish their goal at the cost of the land,

For money, for power, for the thrills so bland,

Creating anarchy, dividing households,

Fare they do like roofs and moulds.

I stand far and watch alarmed,

Lost, alone and feeling disarmed,

With the mighty fools skittering about,

What can I do but pen this with a doubt.

aeroyogi

18-2-2016

To kill or not to kill

We humans definitely think more of ourselves than we ought to. I would like to believe that it is ingrained in us in order to protect our species from extinction, but given that we are an “intelligent” species that is self-aware and there is no immediate threat posed by other species to our dwindling existence, I am forced to think that self protection is not the primary goal here.

I am talking about the eonian debate taking place across the world about death penalty... for humans. I am not referring to any particular case here although the most recent one in India forced me to pen down what has been a big question forever in my head. There are many who opposed the verdict for reasons all too well publicized in the media. One of which was that opposition of death penalty on principle. Some of the justifications given are- every person has a right to live no matter what, we do not have the right to take someone's life because he/she committed a crime, death penalty is totalitarian, barbaric, uncivilized, does not deter crime, an expensive process where innocent can be victimized etc.. All are plausible reasons, I agree. Is awarding death as punishment to humans justified? Well, it depends on the individual case and there are qualified people to argue and decide over it. But those who cry about death penalty being a major hindrance to the “fundamental right to live”, quit the double standards. Innocent lives are being seized on a daily basis by us humans and not many even think of it.

Whether we like it or not, we are a part of the species which collectively hands out unwritten death sentences as we please to innocent or otherwise. It is strange to me that there are several voices against taking the life of another human while all along humans are doing exactly the same to flora, fauna and water bodies brimming with life all around us. The only difference is that these species and resources are defenseless - in a human legal sense. They do not have a written constitution proclaiming their right to live and they never fight back in a way that wakes us up to our uncivilized, barbaric actions. They do not have defense attorneys weaving mercy petitions or supportive media sensationalizing the whole sordid affair. Personally, I am not going to show a holier-than-thou attitude and say I will never hurt another life. If I felt endangered in any small way, I would use all means available to get out alive and unhurt. Self-preservation is key. But that's not what's going around here.

We are there, in a remote corner of a tiny galaxy!*

This attitude basically lies on the premise that human life is somehow more valuable than that of other species. Human comfort is top priority, which, in an evolutionary sense is understandable. But being more capable of understanding the cons of this model better than a garden rat, one would expect a little more caution and forethought from the side of humans. This tiny little planet of ours is the size of a sand grain in a mighty big universe. For some unknown reason, 'life' as we call it has evolved on this planet. Every species that could comb out its competition has thrived on this diminutive blue speck. If they have survived by themselves for so many millennia, even prior to humans, they can't be any less inferior now, can they? Just because one does not know the purpose of a bumblebee's existence, doesn't imply that it has none. Where does this arrogance of being powerful come from? All it takes is one minor cosmic malfunction that sends a decent sized meteorite hurling down upon us and we are essentially sitting ducks. How is it that we as one of the species cohabiting this planet with the others, and in reality will not be able to live without their help, decide the fate of everything around us without facing dire moral dilemma?

We cut down trees by the dozen just to be able to print narcoleptic teenage vampire drama or build that aesthetic wooden floor that we can boast of to our colleagues. We rear animals in our backyard, only to sell their meat for an extra TV in the guest bedroom. And even in our own species, we discriminate and allow a few weaker beings to die in poverty and hunger while being completely capable of creating equal opportunities for everyone. Just because somebody doesn't hit the gavel and send one to the gallows, it doesn't make it any more justifiable. And yet when it comes to weeding out an established threat amongst our own species, the whole roof comes down with the condescending moral and rights flag fluttering on top. This double standard is what I don't get.

I cannot deny or exclude myself from the horrific actions of my species. I am a part of it and in some way a contributor too. Forget fighting for the rights of laboratory animals or the dolphins that we choked by spilling oil into their habitat, I haven't been able to convince my family to opt out of using wooden doors for their new house. I am a mute spectator to all of it without much power to change the ways of 7 billion beings in my species, each who possess a free will. But I do believe that what we do to other species is equivalent to death penalty and I am, as they would like to phrase it, on principle against it. If I cannot change it, I will, at the very least, not be a hypocrite crying for a guy who raped or mass-murdered innocent people and then go home to a slow cooked lamb that was meanwhile slaughtered for dinner without a second thought. I am not going to demand clemency for a brain-washed, revengeful terrorist who killed innocent, hard-working and productive members of our species while I empty my trash can full of plastics in the nearby river. The whole concept is irrational on so many levels that it is plain ridiculous. Every time these compassionate activists take issue with death penalty is only when it is about to be implemented on a criminal, otherwise little attempt is made to change the laws pertaining to it. Humans are hypocritical by nature. I wonder if the same people would show up in protest if they lost their loving pets in a shoot-out.

Why are some in our species so sympathetic to terrorists and eager to grant life to sociopaths but hit the like button on our neighbour’s hunting escapades? Why are we willing to spend a fortune on keeping a serial killer alive but behind locked gates, where he has nothing to lose nor has the inclination to really atone for his sins? The ones asking for abolishing death penalty as a punishment are those who will never face the scum of our species in person in an endangering situation. If taking a life is heinous, it has to be heinous in all senses. Where do a few of us who agitate get off by being selectively ethical?

“This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper”

                                                                         -T.S.Elliot

If there is something that will prove Elliot's verse true, it is by turning a blind eye to our crimes against other species and the ignorance driven feeling of superiority we harbour in us.

aeroyogi

2/8/15

!* Thanks Google images

Allegory- Distorted...

To all those suffering from cognitive distortions and its after-effects. Realise. Repair. Redeem.

The door creaked as it slowly swayed to the winds of the fruiting autumn. The broken glass on the window echoed the final rays of an evening sun and the droplets of rain that had turned brown on the rooftop, trickled down imperceptibly along the sodden brick walls. She gazed across the far slopes of the Alpine sierra that had already pocketed snow in several of its hollows. The shepherds' kids, who still had the light in them, chased the piglets close to the stream that trickled away from her condominium. Looking along the horizon, she saw the towering framework of opulence, disdain and greed that once was a fragment of her socially decorous life. A life not too far in the past that had confounded her into the oblivion. She saw the lights, she heard the noises, all far away, but the stench of a life long lost still followed her much like a shadow of the day.

She dragged long and deep from between her fingers. The smell of her muddy hands combined with the unearthly taste of the reefer lifted her to a trance where she skipped to the beat of the drums beyond the sphere. Her eyes so glazed, reflected the dark of all eternity and flashes of her childhood bounced around . Ridiculed by a mother who only wanted her to be the best and untrusted by her father who only wanted her safe, often were her frolics held on the slippery edge of disappointment and ire. Learning to please her creators, she had checked herself strictly into submission to the point of foolishness. Through her loneliness, she discovered the joy of imagination. She meticulously built an empire of fantasies that filled every dry void in her soul. A place where she changed skin, lived a life so antithetic and prospered like no human could humanely do.  She never recognised that her abyssal craving for compliance had consumed her wholly from within her skull. Every moment she spent in reality begged her to go to that one place where she could reign over, where life wouldn't be so strenuous, where the elements danced to her wishes and where she remained unbeatable. Her fondness for her alternate lives thrived. She eventually detached from the bubble of reality and floated far into a place she deemed better.

The sad part about reality for her was that it never realised her worth. Every time she was pulled back into tangibility, she felt the inadequacies of a mundane life. Nothing could ever be perfect as in her exquisite mind. Not even her. Seeking acceptance from every one became her impetus. As she grew older, she nurtured the giant mirror that always lied.  Every time it spat an image so cruel, that she lost her song in the layers of the shiny silver. Her cognition was tampered with and her view was so braided that she found million shredded pieces of herself in every pixel of a seemingly antagonistic world.

She erred on this earth while she knew not why. She failed a thousand times unwittingly and the count only grew. Her friends called her a fighter but only she saw the rocks burying her beneath. Her guardians were finally pleased with her but she wondered how that ever came to be. People applauded and drew carpets for her while she only saw masked pity. Opportunities she grabbed seemed like a clear case of charity. How could the world elude logic and try to pacify her? She was nowhere near perfection that she was known for, in her other worlds, in those true places. Her brows formed a permanent gorge on her forehead and she had let the insanities of this world flow through it. No matter how many told her otherwise, she imagined that she was the reason for all the wrong in this world. She fell short of her own measure in a far better place and she could not live with it. The guilt of being contemptible could only hold her in reins so long. Her every imagined flaw had turned into an obsessive hound set to kill. She fled from this world to a place where one couldn't bother bringing her back any more.

!*

She slowly blinked in the haze of her present. Her intoxications had given her, her world within the world of apparent chaos, a world devoid of trials to pull her away. The bud had nearly faded in her fingers while her sight cleared from the past. The noises she hated grew louder and the lights brighter. They seemed much closer than she had perceived.The space seemed to have shrunk, with her view now over the mould-ridden walls of her neighbour. She looked around her house that never was a home. She couldn't care less about the loose door or the roof that leaked. Her accolades, all stood there mocking  aloud about the life she had misconceived.  The winds that picked up intensity grazed her bones as her leg slipped into thin air. She peered down the window sill of the urban tower that she was perched upon, to see the little playful piglets beckoning her. The meadows formed behind them and the stream trickled again. The busy metropolitan streets had paled into those green moulds of the south she yearned for, her happy place. She clutched the window and swung her other leg out facing the golden hue of the evening sky.

Her feet danced to the rhythm of the drums that continued to play from beyond. Everything else muted, she could hear herself breathe in tandem with the beats. The breeze whisked those stray locks away from her face and set them free. Her lips parted in a smile as distorted as her view was in the moment she let go of the plank. She sailed across and beyond, nescient of her tumult, gliding towards her one true love, her one true home...

aeroyogi

26/3/2014

!* Courtesy: Google Images