Wednesday 19 December 2012

At the wrong Platform

I was standing at the  platform of a train station waiting for my train to arrive... the scene was busy, with endless number of people boarding on, getting off, and most were just like  me waiting for their particular train number to arrive as they sat on the benches.                                 
Time ticked by slowly. One second at a time. I looked at my ticket which read 49B, 11:13 hours, to the yellow brick road...
One arrived and the same one departed. The routine was too monotonous that I soon began to predict what I had observed as I sat there on the bench with music plugged in my ears.
After several trains I looked at my time it was 11:11 so I got my things ready and waited on the second  platform. Waited and waited until time went past faster than scheduled so I picked up my luggage and walked towards a uniform officer who directed me to the help desk by the entrance of the station.   
As I got there and explained how I was to get on the train to the yellow brick road the person behind looked at me sympathetically as if something had terribly gone wrong.  
Unsure and surprised I asked her what had been the problem .She looked up at me and said "Darling this is not a train ticket, but an airplane ticket..."                        
I couldn't believe that. All this while I was not only waiting at the wrong platform but I was waiting for the wrong mode of transportation as well..                                    
So I quickly took a cab to the airport but by then I had already missed my flight to the yellow brick road. So I cancelled and booked the next one out while my seat still remained the same at 49B...

Tuesday 18 December 2012

Often I find myself writing great poems when I have sipped on some alcohol... :) Doesn't usually happen all the time but once in a blue moon I strike the emotional side of me and words keep flowing... when it happens I usually write because I have either found my muse or my thoughts are left wandering through the dead of the night.

Sunday 16 December 2012

Lonestar

Days like today
I think of what could have been
Loneliness seems to strike
And it's always you in the end
Unable to be together I wait...
Wondering if it's the best decision?
Wondering what if I never pull through?     
I've got no steady anchor
But I definitely got some soul
Meaningless and broken
Part of me is breathing
And half of me is left.
                                       
Why am I still searching?     
For answers when there are none.
Never thought it would feel so free
Now I know what's meant to be
And that's okay with me...

Tuesday 11 December 2012

12.12.12

One of those nights yet again
Sleepless and tired in bed
And am left to wander
What it means to be haunted in ones dreams

The sudden feeling of realization
Or the slowly moving backward clock that refuses to tell time.
An uneasy feeling overshadowed the mood
As my breath got heavier and louder.

The heat started to get unbearable
But a picture was the perfect representation
of hungry and loneliness that that remained...

As light as the feather in between the leaves
they dried along cohesively with the season
Was it early this year?
Old memories that are overdue and expired
Need to be off the shelves in every store


Letting Go

As I separated one white balloon from the rest of the bunch
I held it close to my bosom,
I thought of the last few months 
and how life flipped suddenly topsy-turvy .
I took within all that I had into that Balloon 
my feelings and emotions...

Reasons that even the heart is not familiar with,
Feelings that shattered the tainted windows,
and emotions that were beyond my control. 

As I held it close
I realized that it must go up high into the air
Like the little kids trying to get theirs  to rise
except here their innocence is untainted 
so their un-carved block remains safe.

With much strength and a brave face
I let the balloon up into the air
and let the winds of change decide its fate...

Will the real P please stand up! (Feb 2021-October 2023)

What is the use of feeling nostalgia when all I remember is not how hard he loved but rather how I was deceived? Looking back at the thousan...