On Inspiration: A Note

When you get to see someone chase their dreams, hear their voice brim with joy or the moments of resignations, you know it’s real, both the person and the dream.

You can almost catch the rhythm of happiness and failure, the moments of pauses in between.

You know how one could love something so real that their blood gushes in it. And you’d come to know that you too are that person – with a different set of dreams that were perhaps put on halt out of fear, shame, or doubt.

You realize if the same red blood can rush into someone else’s veins, then it could flow into you too. Dreams can come pouring out of your eyes, too.

It’s doable. Far from great, but doable.

That to see someone love something so much reminds you how much you love something as much. 

Things I Want To Tell You | A Poem

I want to tell you
that today
there were more vehicles
on the street than yesterday
or the day before,
maybe five or six.

The asphalt wasn’t
made for the silence,
but it poses quite well
for the houses to see.

I want to tell you
that my neighbour across
has a hanging garden
full of purple flowers blooming.

Do they know that every day
I marvel at their flowers
and layered terrace with
an arch that has leaves growing?

I went up to the terrace
and wanted to tell you just these
mundane things.

Growing Up #18: A Storm Wave

There are days, aren’t there, when you feel as if the entire universe is imploding inside of you. They say our bones have composition of the stars, so indeed the universe does exist inside of us. We are all made of stardust. And this very stardust begins to ache from every corner for reasons we cannot yet decipher.

The crippling anxiety of growing up has become like a dance of the expanding universe, it keeps spreading away, stretching with it a part of us. It hurts, as it did when our bones expanded when we were younger. We were at least assured that we are going to be two inches taller soon. But the expansion of life feels rather unsure. What will become of it, what roads do they meet with, what are the realities and realms it will pass through? Nobody knows an answer, and all the answers are vastly different from one another.

Admitting we are unique, one of a kind, comes with the burden of accepting that our roads are bound to be very different. And yet we inch closer towards the crossroads of comparison. Isn’t it injustice? But wait, isn’t that just what we have been doing our whole lives, maybe even deriving some hidden pleasure out of it.

It is much more convoluted than what meets the eye. The heart is so very capable of feeling circumstances our minds will, perhaps, never be able to lay out on the table and segregate piece for piece; jumping from the apogee of a happy day to the nadirs of despair, the stomach turning itself inside out in its imaginary yet painful process. How capable is the heart and mind on their own, disobeying the commands of the master they have been given to.

What can we do then, when hit by a storm wave of thoughts that have no beginning and seem to have no end. They come, unannounced invited by the lyric of a song, the words of someone around, a memory both distant and close, circumstances we couldn’t alter. And they leave dilapidating the house we have so closely guarded our soul in.

This too shall pass, they say. Maybe it will.


A weekly blog on Growing Up – every Saturday because Saturdays are perfect for overthinking.