Wandering With Words

Random musings of a reckless soul.


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The miracle of everyday!

Miracles are rare
That’s what people say
But did anyone ever care
To look at the sun?

When it bursts in the sky
The morning star fades
The sun prepares to ignite
The horizon breaks

A thin orange slice
Like a newly bloomed daisy
Will burst to life
And light the way for all alike.

It rises and sets everyday
Travelling the world in a spin
Sometimes angry, smug sometimes
A little too bright or a little too dim.

Not just a ball of fire
Not just a source of light
The sun, my friends,
Supports all life

And in the evening again
It’s the masterpiece of the sky
It takes leave in style
A beauty none can deny

Miracles are rare
That’s what people say
Well, look at the sun
Didn’t it make your day?

So when the sun comes up
How will  you greet it?

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Rewind, Unwind.

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              ~ Edgar Allan Poe.

As I read this, the following aria from The Bohemian Girl popped up in my mind :

When other lips and other hearts
Their tales of love shall tell,
In language whose excess imparts
The power they feel so well:
There may, perhaps, in such a scene,
Some recollection be
Of days that have as happy been,
And you’ll remember me!

*We make several friends in our life, some stay along and some carry on. This is for those with whom I have lost touch.*


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Souls on ice.

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I’m a loquacious person by nature. My mouth rarely takes a holiday. But I often fall into the arms of silence when I travel or commute.
Silent, because I’m quieted by that which meets my eyes.

The smile on the face of the child that fell asleep in its mother’s arms.

The couple walking hand in hand in the cold winter night.

The two friends laughing over coffee in the café.

The family of five on a single bike.

The young kid crying for the biggest balloon.

The smell of freshly fried samosas.

Children playing hopscotch in one lane and galli cricket in the other.

The man on the cycle selling cotton candy and kulfi.

Cows and buffaloes crossing the road slowly, very slowly.

Hymns from the temples.

People eating Golgappas.

The crowd that had formed outside the T.V store to watch the cricket match for free.

Rangoli outside houses.

Men pissing on the street. (In my country,kissing on the road is punishable but pissing on the road is allowed!)

Street side salons.

And then, as I stop at the red light, the march of the destitute begin.

The old lady bent double with age.

The man with the crutches.

The little boy with charred hands.

The little girl, selling flowers cheaper than ever.

The old man who says he hadn’t eaten anything since three days.

The light goes green and I move on.
The world changes.
The dark truth meets the eyes. The smile slowly fades.

People sleeping on the pavements, in the cold night. They sleep there season after season, never properly covered.
I wonder how many of them had slept without food.

The drunkard walking home. What problems might he have?

The children making street corners their beds. Would they ever know the comfort of a bed?

The woman scouting the garbage bin for something that she could use. What would she give her children in breakfast?

The old man parking his vegetable wagon at the corner of the road. Did he earn enough to feed his family?

The little huts, which had plastic sheets for roofing. What do those people do during cold nights?

The leper still begging on the street. Did his family abandon him because of the disease?

The young boy, was he a runaway? 

The single tear that ran out was not of sympathy or of pain. It was in gratitude.
Gratitude for everything I have been blessed with.

Isn’t it a blessing? Properly functioning body parts, a presentable face, no fatal disease, three times food, a house to live in and clothes to wear.

If this doesn’t make you feel blessed, and you do not feel a responsibility for the less blessed ones, then, somewhere in you humanity has died.


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Dear me.

Dear twenty-years-ago me,

I am sorry. I have lost everything you had. I was helpless.

You lived the life of a queen, I do not.

I have to look after myself. No one takes care of me anymore. I do my own chores. Nobody changes my clothes anymore. I have to be neat and clean and make sure nothings messy anymore! You may not believe me but I even have to eat by myself! I even cook for myself by myself!

Back then, when I was you, people were of two kind – good and crazy. The kind who gave us chocolates and the other who made faces and pinched our face and stopped us from having fun.

Now, people have become complicated. They say Santa isn’t real. Love hurts. You would not believe how hard it is to survive, without losing most of the innocence we possess as a child. That’s a part of growing up.

But have I grown up? I still do, secretly, enjoy melting chocolate on my fingers and licking it. I still play in rain puddles, sleep sometimes with my shoes on, and try to count stars, eat maggie masala, fight for swings and get scolded for having fun.

They say I need to be responsible. And more civil. They tell me that when I go to parks, I can’t play in the mud. And guess what, school has finally ended! Anndd I miss it!

Well, life has changed. A lot. I can’t tell you how and in how many ways. Dad isn’t around anymore. His princess is no longer a princess. But life isn’t so bad. There’s family, there are friends. Real ones. There are memories and there are adventures waiting ahead. There are aims, there’s hope. There are sunrises and sunsets, there is beach and sand.

But you wouldn’t understand all this. Your world was very different from mine. You loved yours, I love mine. Sometimes I hate it, but then I learn to love it again.

So yeah, when someone tells you that you have a lot to learn, believe them. But when they tell you that it’s a dark world out there, don’t believe them! Remember, you could always be the rainbow in somebody else’s life.

Love,

Me. 🙂