silent conversations

Twilight. it is windy yes. and cold too. we climb up and sit on the ground. i feel the wetness on my feet. my legs are no longer aching from the climb.i lean my back on your shoulder. i amnot facing you. you are looking somewhere. so am i.

i see the city from atop the hill. it is a lot more easier to look at it from here than from within it. the noises wouldn't have let me look anyway. the lights from the vehicles wouldn't have made me listen to the sounds of the city anyway. but from here i could see, i could listen. it was harmless, this city, as long as i was not in it. i snuggle a bit more into you. you shift your arm so that i fit in perfectly. i hear you snap a blade of grass. i smile. i know you would bite it now. and yes you do. i can hear the faint sound of your teeth sinking in the grass.i smile again.

a leaf is sticking to my sole. crushed and bruised. "did i do that to you?"
"my life was well lived"
yellow, sodden and dead, the leaf refused to leave my feet. i let it be...i wonder how it is to be a leaf. to dance in the wind, to be green, then yellow, and then perhaps brown, and then fly away...into another life, perhaps to an after life within the pages of a book...must be nice..to hang so high up and feel the breeze...
there is a tree in the distance...its leaves were a vibrant green...when will you be yellow?
"we are still too young"

still too young! am i? i don't know. i don't think so. 20 is not too young. it is young certainly. but too young? i don't want to be old. nor do i want to be too young. young is fine. its perfect. makes me feel nice to be young. don't ask me why. i don't know.

why are you breathing hard? cold? oh yes it is. i hadn't noticed the goosebumps on my hands too. and i know you love the cold. but you like my warmth too don't you? i pull your arms around me. they lie comfortably on my shoulders.i love your hands, for the reason that mine fit into yours so smugly. of course they must..they were made for me..what are you thinking of now? i wonder..are you thinking of where we'll be this time tomorrow?or are you thinking about how the night has fallen since we've sat here? are you thinking of going back? or are you thinking of what i am thinking? or are you thinking about me? are you thinking at all?

u pick a small ant and place it on my arm. i now it wont bite. i trust you. if you expect me to scream you are wrong. i watch the ant explore the back of my arm. and then climb up as if on a mission.you suddenly flick it away. i snicker silently. i foiled your mission. i dint scream.

wind again in my hair. i love the sound that it makes...but i don't know what sound it is. it is your sound isn't it? the one only you can make?i don't want to reproduce it. i just want to listen and to feel you on my cheeks. you are really cold today. i shiver a bit...

its night. i see the white stars above me. its cloudy. and the moon has gone hiding.i cant find it. i feel your touch on my palm. i look at you. i brush off the mud and leaves from my skirt as best as i can, not that i try too hard.. and pull myself up. you stand up and stretch your legs.

we start on our way downhill....

paths

this is the path that leads outwards

how will it be

the path

that leads inwards???

autobiography of a pen..

i am a pen.red and shiny i am, but i have always written in blue..royally. she used to fondle me, kiss me, take me on her sojourns, through people, places and events...i have travelled so much...through pages and pages of her writing...her lucky pen she used to call me...

i remember her crying when she put me down accidentally one day, and dented my nib...(i still have a dented nib..and she reckons i write better that way..)and i so wanted to console her,write 'am OK. really!' on the white sheet of paper she had before her. but alas i couldn't. coz even though they call us mightier than the sword,we don't have a stand on our own. we cant stand up. nor can we express what we feel. we can write what our owners feel, what they want us to...nothing else...

i enjoyed running over pages, telling about all that she felt. ..made me cry sometimes,reading what she wrote. that's when i bled...and she went berserk at that coz bleed is what good pens are not supposed to do...if only she understood why i bled

i loved being with her. lucky pen she used to call me...and proud i was of that status...

i am on the wait now...for her to pick me up...and give me some exercise. i miss reading into her mind. i miss being the first person to know what she felt. i miss her. she never comes to me these days..i see her fingers flying over black and white keys, her eyes fixed on a flickering white screen...they are her friends now..and i am neglected. they print what she says...but they will never smell her hand, nor see her beautiful writing...they will never bleed for her...nor will they think for her...

i stay in her pen stand...waiting to taken in her arms again...drink in ink once more and spill it all out for her...but i guess i wait in vain...

pen!

days...

everyday seems to be the same...mundane doing things which make no sense to me. even if they do, they just don't register.books, texts, assignments...they make no sense to me..is this where i wanted to end up? i don't know...am not sure anymore..

incompetence is getting to me...i who never ever bothered about anything...at least nothing academically find myself in a group where people speak and talk about things that never ever mattered to me...when they should perhaps have...i find myself trying to come out of my comfort zone-the easy world.but then again i do not want to. for what do i achieve when i come out?

am not sure what i want. i am not sure where i want to be....

its frustrating when you know you have to work, and you do, but nothing ever seems enough...nothing..and while you are it, this voice nags from somewhere..this is not what you wanted..this is not where you wanted to be..and i counter it..if not this,then what?but this doesnt help...the voices in my head..screeching,bellowing,hollereing, all at once....it just doesnt help...

its frustrating when you cannot really tell anyone about what you are going through, coz for one thing you are clueless yourself...and for another you just dont want to tell it out lest you prove yourself weak...and yet another reason, you just dont want to let anyone down by narrating your feelings..

and yet i put them all on a public page like this...dint i tell you a short while ago that i dont know what i want...i just dont know...

writing

a screen...
white flickering white
a mind...
blank dull confused
thoughts...
muddled wild irrational

i sit
cold alone aloof
i hear
voices sounds noises
i see
everything and nothing

fingers move
on letters black
of thoughts unclear
impressions form
slowly, deliberately
testimony to thoughts?

i look around
am cold
am aloof
i dream of warmth

alter ego?alterd ego?

does everyone have an alter ego? is the 'other ' in me, which I've conveniently named 'Anamika'-the unnamed, my alter ego? i don't know. i had not even thought on such terms until about a few days ago when a friend f mine asked me that question. i consider Anamika to be the 'real' me. the one who does not have to wear a mask, or put up acts just to a part of this world, to blend in smoothly..differently yes, but not too conspicuously. Anamika is the unaffected me-the one who lives in contradictions, the one who is a child, yet so big, the one who craves for affection, yet oozes them to people who are dear...Anamika is genuine.

Anamika is subdued, yet wild, she knows not to hide, to cover up.Anamika is invisible-she chooses to be. even to vrinda, she is invisible often. yet again, she chooses persons whom she allows a glimpse of her. but has never bared herself completely to all. never willingly, only to the one who came in one day, clasped her hand and pulled her out of darkness, and unearthed her.

i ask myself. who am i? vrinda or anamika? vrinda lives, so does anamika...together hand in hand. is it vrinda in anamika or anamika in vrinda? who do I(the arbitrary I) love more? vrinda? anamika? if i love anamika more, why does the vrinda in me not allow her to be seen?

who am i scared of? that i keep anamika hidden? or is she so powerful as to remain hidden even when i want her to be seen?

does 'I' hold any value at all, if am unsure as to who i am....am i anamika? or am i Vrinda?