Let's colour the sky Red

Let's color the grass blue,
The trees orange, and the Earth pink.
The flowers all lavender, because that's my favourite colour.

i  don't want magenta, crimson or scarlet running wild anywhere.
It is terrifying to see the brown earth coloured in them,
It makes me want to run to momma and hug her tight..
Only that momma is no longer there......
Neither is papa, with his arms around me,
Nor my sister or my brother to soothe me as i cry.

Mrs. Hastings with her cat precious is no longer our neighbour.
Daddy said she moved away in a big machine that had many others like her.
The street looks so colourless today; it looks pale.
People everywhere say they are either white or black.
But I don't want to be black or white,
i  want to paint all their faces with the colours of the rainbow...

"Let's colour the sky Red", i said.
i want everybody to be under it, it's the colour of our blood.
It spoils the Earth when strewn with it.
High up, it reminds me of a red glass, like the one i  once saw in church.
i could see God through it and i  like it in the sky.
i  called out again.
Daddy didn't come with the paint brush. Momma didn't move.
Everybody is just quiet. Nobody is listening to me.
i  don't think i  like colouring any more.

Melancholy for a Lover gone

Clairvoyance, you fill my heart with relief
Is it that knowing, gives you peace?

Yet, there is a silver storm I fear
In distance, dark, but somehow near

In my reverie a creature stands ashore
Yearning, in the direction that the wind blows:
It hopes, in innocence,
Hopes in faith,
Hopes that praying shall heal all pain

I catch myself and wake up to find,
A clock, some papers and an old file behind

Yes, I ape that life taught smile
Yes, I pause that awkward cry
Yes, I  left those flowers to dry
No, I did not,  break down or cease to try

As I inch closer to the harbor
I hear a deafening clamor

I freeze mid-step, as the fog clears:
I see, I listen, and retreat in tears

I meandered the streets that night
With rains that cut short my sight

Elated, did not, that moon look
Nor did that night, silence took

The resounding of seen, the calling of what is known
Will give you resolution but never any more hope

And what was gone the morning, come
Was my lover, my friend and my favorite rum.

Ramble-oodle !

A very very stupid, and a plaguing-ly common existential FAQ; yet, this seems to have taken roots in my head. And the closer I get to the day I turn a year older or in my case twenty-seven years older, I really can't laugh it off or sleep upon it anymore. Chocolate or no chocolate, I honestly want to know - what the fuck am I doing? No, like really. 

I know I have a job, I pay my bills, I guess you could say I socialise. 

But here's what else: I don't even like my job, I don't have savings, I don't get to travel as much as I'd like, I don't earn as much as I think I should be earning ( no, not think. I definitely do not earn), I don't have a car, I don't have a parent/ guardian to co-sign a loan application, I don't have an MBA, and I don't have a ring on my finger, I am also not 20 Kgs lighter like I had planned. 

Oh, and that conceited assumption that I went around the whole of my life with- that I am creative, well that's colossal balls too. Turns out, I am not. 

I guess there is a latent gene of creativity in every human being, and therefore, by default I could be creative. But I am Lazy, no matter what the tarrot-cards' lady says. I AM.  I have never bothered giving a fart towards honing/ exploring whatever this creativity within me was all about. But, like they say, Ignorance is bliss-  I assumed I was creative, because when I was younger, I could sing (without a clue about chords or notes), I could dance (like I din't have two left feet) , I could speak (I can really faff, without blinking an eye), and what I could not communicate orally, I could write . But please,  for every 100 people out there, 98 really write well. The remaining two can do their math well. Not to mention days of my school years spent on art and craft projects- truth be told, I just have a colour sense. But then, again, these are colours. Who doesn't? Even a toddler knows his colours basis what visually appeals to him.

In a recent turn of events, when I was asked to sketch, with a certain set of artists - I produced a sheet of paper with Doodle scribbled over it.

I go to music festivals, and I kick myself for not knowing how to play an instrument. 

Being multi-lingual , knowing 4 languages, is pointless if all the languages are spoken within the country  and on a larger scale, by a 0.2 percent population, worldwide. 

I say to a friend, " I am in an 'eh' mood. Going through an existential crisis kind of a situation but only in a more worldly sense. If I make sense at all. Do I?"

Friend responds, " LOL" 

He then adds, "Twenties are difficult no matter what." 

Great. Does that mean I am going to have it all sorted, when I am thirty? If so, can I time travel to three years later? 

SHIT. I am OLD. Already??? Where did it all go? What did I do!!! 

Shhh....Ommmmmmmmm .....*breathe*...Ommmmmm 

Someday, someday....just that today, is not that day. 

P.S. My peers/ colleagues/ friends all seem to be doing really well. Is it just my imagination; or am I cosmically a target??? 

LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #3

Dear Bubba,

I have not been sleeping too well, lately.

There is this cloud of moist that seems to engulf me, constantly, and even if I dare to breath, I am left gasping for more.  I imagine a cloud of dark, black, inky threads, creeping surreptitiously along the corners...Could it be a manifestation of the jumbled web of thoughts; a state of  my mind, perhaps?

What do you do, when you realize what you want? Where you'd like to be? Where you don't want to be. The idea is so clear in your head; and you even know what you need to do to get there. ONLY, you don't have the means to get it.

I could perhaps dwell over it more, but then I instantly recall that feeling of pure and raw pain that follows immediately after knowing what you could have and seeing it becoming someone else's. My mind recoils.

I cannot bring myself to admit it... but in my heart, I know I feel, defeated, Bubba...

I found myself crying one night... you would comfort me, if you were here. But you aren't.

I want to hope that there is another dream that I could chase, but until I fight to get that strength; I am living with a shadow of myself.

Will you please come and wake me up?

-A

The Harlequin's Fool

*****
DISCLAIMER: Issued in strict fictional interest. And some laughter.

*****

Mercurial. IF there is a better expression, I wouldn't know. But for now, this sums it up. 

Take it from someone who has worked her share in the 'armadillo's hole'; with no respite. Writing seems the only cathartic release. 

I hope to figure it out, as we go along. 

What? 

Women. Women Boss ('es' in my case). 

I am honestly at a point where I am fumbling through days. Everyday, you tread carefully; assess the weather of the workforce; work-out a strategy to approach the said workforce; second-guess your guess about the mood and then say a prayer and start the day's work. 

Capricious as they come, my kind, isn't my favorite pick of the day when it comes down to living or working, really. I would even go as farther to say, that my preference to share a bedroom or document would be; 

1) A Man- any man

 2) An alien 

3) that goat on the mountain-top

4) a toddler 

5) a spoon

...100 to the power of infinity) XX chromosome-d 

I do not doubt for a second, the matter expertise or the qualifications or the experience that you hold. No Dear Lady, I think evolutionary, women are more intelligent, emotionally and in cognitive sense. We are also intuitive. More mature even, most of the times. 

No. My contention is with your work-in-progress moods, a strange attachment to read-in-between-lines, a predicament with assuming every criticism as an attack to your worth, dignity, work, etc. And I have not even begun with the insecurities and the many emotional charades that follow. 

Confusion? Yes. Erm No. What? Why? What did she say? When? BUT...Good lord, can you decide already. 'Patience', please slap her. 

Now  I am not going to generalize and say, women are prone to creating more chaos, but there is some truth in the saying: 'Too many cooks, spoil the broth'. And God save Logic, if those cooks be Maidens. Cacophony, would be ashamed of how somber it looks, given this theatrical manifestation of 'discussion'. 

Here's an interesting D.I.Y. You thought space defies gravity?  Place 5 women directors with some fancy prefixes, a bureaucratic manipulation, in a board room. Tell me how you levitate? 

Oh, and here's how fun we can make the 'blame game'- Ask the women involved! She said, who said?! A Classic whodunnit. The lesson will reverberate, hereof, through-out your Life. For the rest of your Life! 

If you are a cosmic fool; as in, the universe loves playing pranks on you then you will be blessed with one of the either types, enlisted below;

• She, who shall love making your life miserable because she can. Defy her, question her, and she goes aggressive-Panda on you. Never mind, you may just be placing a point-of-view, different maybe, but being objective is not the KRA here. 'You are my slave, bitch!'. 
• She, who is a one-man army. No sorry, one-woman army.  There is 'I' and then there is the 'team'. Go figure your life. What you may miss is an occasional mentor, but for the lack of that, you come out self-trained and maybe perhaps a bit confident. OR. You just fade and die. Your call. But wait a minute; for the management's record- "I am always available, but the team does not ask for help". You maybe in for some serious derogation. Subject to occasional sarcasms
• She, who expects your CV to have telepathy as one of your many attributes. Did you say something? Super-sonic prowess was something I had written in the Job Description. She would have definitely told you a yard-long story about a certain assignment, given you a detailed load-down on your tasks and jobs; but you must have forgotten to make a mental note of them from her brain waves!  FYI '"I am right, and you are wrong. Always!" And mind you, she will change her mind several times. Like s-e-v-e-r-a-l. 
• (This is my recent exploration) She, who looks at you like this lamb coated in Blonde. No, you are seriously dumb. Do not touch anything, do not breathe;  IT's going to bark stupid. You will be taught how to spell. You will also be trained in how to train yourself to be a perfect sub-ordinate. Touch-me-not, common sense, because I will wither and die. You have to be apologetic if you have said/done anything remotely better than a one-thumbed ape. "Did you just accidentally spill some good work on me?"  
• A 'quick one' this is - She, who is slow and contained. No, let me think.....hmmmmm....zzzzzzz! Wait, don't move an inch,  you have not been allowed that luxury yet. In the meanwhile, you can doodle. You will get your Green signal, but at the penultimate moment. In good humour, maybe your speed and aptitude is being tested. Book of world records- "who can write me a proposal with the works, enough to impress Zuckerberg, within the time-frame of my fart!" Shazam!!! 
• And SHE, is the aberration. Cool, whimsical, super-talented, and super nice. Only a bit loony. There had to be an anti-climax. 

If by some grace, you have survived the above many manifestations, then my friend, you have an incontrovertible sense of humour. 

The only thing that keeps you from turning into ONE of THEM. 

Be Still

There is a madness about rejection
An aftermath; or perhaps, a quiet contemplation
An age to an eon
What is lost, can never be found

Be still, dear child
Soon those winds will stop with the wild
The storm would have passed
And all that remains will forever last

Steel yourself with numbness;
For Pain will only endure it's own

The flailing will not yield you gain
Sunny weathers do not promise rain

Be still, dear heart
Do not say those words, or let those sobs apart
Fallen, broken, spoken when
They never bring harbor, only echoes again

Yesterday, has come to whisper a sigh
Listen, for you will be reminded well

The land where blue meets blue
Is only a horizon, that the sight pursues

Beloved flower of mine, seek not the love shunned
Let the thorns teach you, what the gardener did not tend
Grow strong and patient, and graceful and tall
And so shall you slowly embrace the fall

Distant as the rejection you feel, better you Be Still...

LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #2

Dear Bubba,

Spring was here. But like everything that lives; it was born and it has died. 

The pain from yesterday has stopped, and 'Singer' has her new litter. I do terribly miss you, every time, I smell the new born hay. With the onset of the monsoons here,  it pours neglectfully, but the air is impregnated with promises. 

I smelled a daisy yesterday; there is a wild foliage growing behind our house. At first, I couldn't believe my sight, but just as soon as I felt the surprise I couldn't help rush towards it. They are just the prettiest aren't they? Friendly and unassuming. You will be happy to know, I am now tending to them. 

Remember the Gonners? Our neighbors from across the fields. They are packed up and gone, now. The Mrs., I heard, got a scholarship in the city, and Mr. Gonner also got a job looking after some rich man's plantation off the city roads. They miss their first-born, dearly, but it feels good knowing that they are moving on. 

It just got me thinking; whatever, were we passionate about, Bubba? I can't seem to be definite about my passion. I don't even recollect having one. I liked a lot of things; painting, perhaps. Cooking? As much as I enjoy it occasionally, I don't think I have the discipline to pursue it. However, liking isn't the same as passion, is it? I would like us to travel some day. 

Blessed are those, whose hearts are known to passion; for their life will know dreams, joy and contentment. 

The tireless days, yield no sleep-full-of-dreams; night has ceased to exist and flows ceaselessly into a continuum of time. No distinction. I will remind my unborn to teach itself a passion. 

It has started raining again, and I will need to go and arrange a shelter for our daisies. Maybe I will start gardening.  You would like that, wouldn't you? 

Love for now, 

A!