Tag: dreams

Do you remember?

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do you remember the first time you stepped on the green grass?
bare feet, the little blades tickling your toes
you bent down to smell the earth,
sniffing your nose
and you wished
that moment would never pass.

do you remember the first time you ran through the paved street?
or maybe learned to cycle,
your father holding your bike steady
you shrieked and swayed a bit
but you knew you were ready
because you could always run back safely
to your family in a heartbeat.

do you remember the first time you learned about god ?
or visited temples ?
rang bells ?
even saw monkeys stealing sweets !
for you festivals meant fun and lots of tasty treats
and every time you went back to those temples,
you would still be completely awed.

do you remember how it has been a month of terror?
the lives you lost, the tears you shed, your dreams that drowned.
was it science
or fate
or just random trial and error?
everything you knew is now just aground.

do you remember how it has been a month of resilience?
the grasses you sniffed,
the pavements you ran,
the gods you visited- are no longer there.
yet you see hope, love, and courage at every single distance.
because when you lost your family a month ago,
you still had brothers and sisters at every corner that care.

ten years later, i hope you remember that afternoon
not as the day you lost everything,
but gained something new
i see strength in you, the courage you have is a boon
you have us all standing with you-
i know you will pull through.

Today marks the one month anniversary of the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake that hit Nepal, killing more than 8600 people, injuring thousands and destroying more than half a million homes completely. May the souls rest in peace.

Tell Me Your Stories

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Tell me of the time you lay down on the only green patch of grass that hadn’t been mowed
And looked up at the clear blue sky
It was early summer of May.
Tell me that you felt beautiful
Even though you knew it was just another sad day.

Tell me of the time you played fetch with your neighbour’s puppy
Your hands running through his lush brown fur
Every time he came running back to your outstretched arm
Tell me you wished you had someone too
Who would never leave you or go away too far.

Tell me of the time when you watched your best friend die
The cops, the lights, the people surrounding her
The world stopped by but you couldn’t cry.

Tell me how you drank yourself to sleep
For her next ten birthdays
Until you realized it was a drunk who ran her over
Only then you could finally weep.

Tell me everything. I want to know you.
Tell me about your dreams.
Tell me about your fears.
Tell me what keeps you awake at nights.
Tell me why you love being alone.

You are not alone.

A million moments later, when it is 4 am in the morning and you are 80 years old
sitting by the fireplace
I hope to be by your side
to tell you how much I love you
for all the things you tell me.

The Fish that Flew Out of The Tank

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Have you ever felt like a lone fish in a huge fish tank, where all your little fish friends have died and their skeletons float slightly above the rocks every time you try to bring them back to life?

You watch the world outside, the light patterns refracting in every surface that is between you and the infinite space of air. You are just a fish, but you know all too well that lights cause illusions and the world is never as it seems.

Sometimes you want to break out of the tank, but the thick glasses separating you from your freedom seem to stretch for miles, that one tiny crack you made months ago by hitting your head first into the glass seems to dissolve if you glance at it from a side angle.

You are alone. You and your dead fish bones. There used to be dreams too. But dreams come from your imaginations, and your imaginations are choosing to float away, one air bubble at a time.

Life outside the fish tank looks beautiful. You can see rainbows and unicorns, and oh look there’s the green field and the sun shining on those pretty pink pansies. You cannot wait to get out. The tiny crack you made months ago now suddenly seems larger. I have to get out. I have to touch the rainbow. One push, two push, a thousand pushes. I shall not give up until I smell those pansies. The crack finally gives in.

You flow outside the fish tank, the amount of water that falls on top of you is enough to make your own little pool, until it starts seeping and soaking down the thick carpet below and you look around to see little wet rainbow pieces and torn pansy pieces making paper islands in the vanishing pool. The air doesn’t seem so fresh anymore, and you flop around hoping that someone will pick you up and lay you down among your fish bones, for you realize that in pursuit of something wild and beautiful, you forgot that you were just a tiny little fish who didn’t know how to breathe out of water.