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The Fickle Flame

I am fire, the fire so certain to burn out all
I am the fire, the fire so weak you can blow me away

It comes and it goes
The joy, the pleasure… purpose and passion
It come and it goes
The pain, the loss… suffering and emptiness
It comes and it goes and I wonder which is real

I look into your eyes and I am so sure
Its you that gives me balance – a place in this world
But I look away, close my eyes
And I know my place – just me and my Soul

My nest, my family..
The comforting dreams of you and me
But I crave the adventure and uncertainty
I yearn to fly on the wings of infinite freedom

I fall asleep planning for a great tomorrow
The purpose, the drive – it flows through my veins
And then I wake up – lost and empty
Why the purpose? Why wake up at all?

I am confusion, I am clarity
I am treachery, I am truth
I am pain, I am pleasure
I am incomplete and yet I am whole…

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God, The Sea & Lil’ Old Me

I stood at the beach today. There was a mystical, almost ethereal moonlight glistening over the waves. A blanket of darkness wrapped the sky that made the sea and the moon look like picture painted for the Gods. And there I was, a mere mortal drenched in the glory of that moment. My heart beat to the rhythm of the roaring waves, they touched my feet playfully teasing me and in one unseen moment engulfed me in her warm embrace. As she receded back I hear a voice say to me, ” This world is so beautiful, its just us that make it so painful.”

She was a friend, someone I’ve know for a short time, but someone who had become very special to me. All I could see was her silhouette, but her voice, her composed voice, resonated her pain. A pain I knew all too well, a pain that i could not just empathize with but re-live – the pain of loosing someone you love. Its the moment that you feel the world has come to an end and yet everyone else moves on like nothing is wrong. You feel that your lungs could not take another breathe and yet your still alive. You feel a weight in your heart so heavy that it weighs you down and yet you continue to move. Its the time you close your eyes in bed hoping to never wake up again and yet the dawn tells you that you must live to see another day.
And yet despite the tears that draped her eyes she could still she the beauty of that night sky. A beauty that makes you believe in the possibilities of the future. She wiped her eyes dry and trudged back to the solace of friend waiting for nearby. I continued to stand there entranced by the sea, it made me wonder what this life would be without someone, anyone, to share the feelings that we have inside. Our moments of joy and sorrows, our triumphs and tribulations. What sense would this life make if all those people where not there- the friend you can call at unholy hours to cry your heart out, the family you thought would never understand you but surprises you when you need them the most, all the happiness that doubled cause they were around and all the tears that they tirelessly wiped dry. What sense would life make if you did’nt have someone to love someone who makes all this beauty a tinge more special?
As the moon began to rise and the sea was shone in all her glory, i bowed down to touch the warm waters – i bowed humbled in her presence, felt her flow between my fingers, stood up and took her in one last time…….. and walked the sandy beach towards my friends……..

Confessions of a Broken Reflection

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, or at least that’s what they say.

She looked at the image in the mirror and what she saw was not beauty. Never has been. “May be it’s the eyes, it’s not sharp enough” she thought to herself. She looked closely into the mirror, analysing all the flaws trying to pick the most prominent one. But she knew she didn’t have to think so hard to de-code her biggest flaw – her skin, her skin like dark chocolate. To anyone else she looked normal, much like any other person from South with dark skin. But to her, the darkness felt like her biggest limitation.

She looked at the down at the array of cosmetics that graced her dressing table. Her paint brushes designed to hide her flaws. Kajol to make her eyes look sharper, mascara to make her eyelashes longer, lip colour to make her lips fuller and then…… the show stopper. She traced her hand over the slender bottle of foundation, designed to effectively cover all her imperfections and as the sales girl told ” this will make you look two shades fairer, madam. ”

“Did it really matter?” She thought to herself. ” did it REALLY matter that my skin is dark. Does the definition of beauty finally come and stop at the colour of one’s skin”. It frustrated her that every time she was introduced, someone would make a random comment like” she is pretty despite being dark”. Why the ” despite being dark”. This obsession for fair skin made no sense to her. It really shouldn’t matter.

Switch on the television, look at matrimonial sites, watch the movies- it’s everywhere, continuously feeding into the pschye of a woman. Her mind rewinded back to a movie she saw just a week back. The current craze of Bollywood cinema – 2 States. Punjabi boy meets not-so-Tamil-looking Tamil girl, falls in love and gets married. And then comes the million dollar question – would that happen, had she really looked like a South Indian ? Would the happily ever after really happen? Experience told her ” Most probably the answer will be NO.” The tears began to roll down her cheeks. It didn’t matter how smart she was or what kind of person she strived to be. In the end people will judge a book by its cover. People will judge by how you look not who you are.

She looked up at her reflection and what she saw was not sorrow, disappoint or shame. It was anger. An anger that has constantly been burning her inside. An anger that was eating her alive, an anger that held her back…

She flung the slender foundation bootle against the mirror. Sharp lines cut across her reflections. A distorted image of herself stared back at her. Her broken reflection. She knew she was not alone. Behind many closed doors there hid a multitude of broken reflections. In the west it would have been considered racism. But in her country it was part of what was called “culture “. A culture where the most revered goddesses were the colour of midnight. Where powerful women were worshiped and respected. But that stops at the temple gate. The real woman must suffer the hypocrisy of society everyday.

She sat and sobbed thinking of the pointless sorrow inflicted on a woman’s soul. For the women who spend hours painting themselves to please the man they love. For the little girls who have been neglected because of the colour of their skin. For all the women who lost something they love because beauty was not on their side. She did not know how much time had gone by before her tears had run dry.

She slowly pulled herself off the ground and suddenly saw her foundation bottle lying on the floor. She picked it up, looked at the reflection in the mirror and thought

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, or at least that’s what they say…….