Chance and me

I gave you an opportunity

Said Chance to me

A million and more times over

But I didn’t need it then

I petulantly cried

And you always come when you’re not needed

But Chance is adamant

And doesn’t like being slighted

After all it what is its purpose

if people don’t take him on?

Every single one of them

You squandered, rejected or ignored

And you expect me to forget?

said Chance incredulously.

Ok! I admit I screwed up

I was blind, proud and lazy

But can’t you see I need you now

I sobbed terrified at being left alone.

Chance and I continued to squabble

The conversation was getting nowhere

Or so we thought

But the more we talked

The more we realized

that Chance needed me as much as I needed it.

I need assistance.

He needed validation.

I needed reassurance.

He needed utility.

So now we’ve come to this partial truce

To give each other one more break

I take the chances that he provides

and Chance makes sure that he arrives when needed.

How to catch a fleeting thought

Of the zillion things buzzing in my head

One takes more precedence

For only a moment before it is lost

Replaced by a new thought

That I struggle to hold on to

Thoughts flee my mind

Like bees disturbed

A torrent is sometimes unleashed

That my hand finds hard to match

At times it’s a bog

Sucking in everything, never to be heard of again

How to recover fleeting moments

Pause. Stop. Hold. Grab.

Now only if they would stay still

A butterfly catcher has his net

I keep notes

Little pieces of paper

Scattered everywhere

Jottings of vague ideas

Barely making sense

But vital to my being

Ideas, questions, thoughts, answers

Seeking acknowledgement

Pick me, choose me

The thoughts seem to say

A bizarre dance of competition

I never asked to be part of

Away

I don’t know who I am

I don’t see me anywhere

I’m the loser whichever way you look

I’m the one who has to back down

I don’t know if I can stand another blow

I don’t know if I have the strength to face the truth

I’m the one left standing alone

I’m not where I used to be

You stand where I used to

Confident, articulate, steady

I’ve been reduced to something I can’t recognise

A quivering, emotional wreck

I wonder if life will be kind to you

And spare you the pain I was put through

It was a minor loss of fidelity

I chose to ignore the signs

Never one to forgive and forget

I’m still paying the price

Invisible

My voice screams out

The crowd moves on

I’m tugging and pulling

But no one sees me

I’m invisible

To all

I call out some more

My hands and legs flail about

If it hits someone

I don’t know

No one seems to feel me

I’m crushed

Lost

Time and again

The sequence repeats itself

The voice still cries out

Feebler now

I’m part of the crowd

Still unseen

I’ve no more strength

I let it be

The voice dies

I fade within

Silence, silently embracing

Oblivion

the look

I'm not sure if I even wrote this :) but nevertheless I'm posting it here

your hand touches my hair

and time seems to slow down

i look in your eyes and

follow the sounds of your voice

every word coming out seems like a song

every look melts me from inside

i'm standing straight but only just

i'm breathless, i'm dizzy, i'm in love

for the very first time i feel

that i am coming alive

that i can fly, or leap, or dive

or do anything that i want

your hand brushes mine

and a thousand sparks light me up

i blush, i smile and catch your eye

they tell me that i am special

they make me feel loved

If only

Going through my stuff a few months ago, I found this little notebook that I used to carry around with me almost a decade ago. Stashed within and on the pages were hundreds of observations, newspaper clippings, little to-do notes and lists, numbers and email ids (when I din't have one and the rest of the world was catching up with Mr Internet), drawings and doodles, a few notes from my PR orientation class in XIC and a whole lot of assorted rubbish. I was marvelling on the contents and about what fascinated me then, when I spotted something. A little piece of paper with a poem (at least an attempt) written by me at what was possibly one of my most nightmarish periods of doubt, conflict and self loathing.

The poem titled 'If only' drew from a line that I read somewhere: "If, a two-letter word for futility". I'm posting it here for the very first time, for public (gulp) consumption.

The need to leave is overwhelming 

To fade away and never been seen

To mingle away with crowds and drown in their numbers

To waste away and die slowly

My heart wants a million things

To be loved, liked and accepted

But most of all it wants to be free

Free, from needing to prove myself at every step

Free from explaining my every move

And agonizing at every wrong turn taken

“If, a two letter word for futility”

How much of my life has wished to be

On the other better side of ‘if’

If only …