Faith

I wonder whether Faith is some old furniture at home, not willing to throw away but at the same time not willing to embrace it as it is.

Sitting in a corner with dust, a ray of the sun filtering through the window reflected on the couch. We are aware that the old couch exists, we make sure to dust it often and the other day we bought cozy cushions to go with it. Not just some cushions, but made sure to get multi-colored one. And added a cover but only to one foam. We do all we can to fit the old couch with our current trend in our living room. We often talk about its age-old legend of been used by our great-grandfather, that the quality of its wood is eternal and so on, proving it's antique as often we can. 

But do we really sit on it and feel through its ancient old stories? Whether do we really hold through Faith when needed the most during the time of disillusion or does it lie around like a old furniture, that we keep wrapped up in some kind of distant illusion and working up to get it fit in with the Vogue?

The (not so) Solace Tree

For a long time It thought It Faced it; It thought perhaps It was Brave to do that,

not aware that It Buried it; not aware it was not the Past that was Buried.

But the Seed that was Sowed and now that has Grown into a huge Tree;

Oh have the root taken into a harder form?

The Charm of Fantasizing is similar to teleportation; concealing the temporal and spatial plane.

Building the nest with the birds, hiving along the bees, trekking the Mt Kilimanjaro, rafting against the water, cycling through Alps, skiing through Mt Everest.

But the fantasies of Teens were unconsciously Filtered out; whether concealed or buried or perhaps never existed?

The Beautiful intimacy shared with That One; the sweet nothings, the late night pings, silly well thought memos; that rushed in tones of butterfly in depth of the gut;

with an icing of bizarre emotions as well.

Alas! The intimacy did not last for long; left with the drippings from the honeycomb.

The Grief was not about the Split; In fact niether rage nor remorse, but a confusion about Lacking.

Suddenly the Hidden lay Bare on the Ground; the green algae sticking out.

The Past came down Stripping the Muses; fused with a frozen allay.

The one Sowed, now awkwardly blows with the hurricane, but the roots stubbornly holding the earth.     

It believed that it was Reflected Courageously; perhaps eroded to the depth.

Instead unknowingly It took refuge under the tree of Its past hauntings.

The long withering branches; the strings of dried leaves; the trunk bloating out of the bark,

reminded It of Its kinder intimacy that took a brutal turn.

What was a mere childish innocent play with a lark; but its claws turned out to be of the Vulture.

The Grabbing, the innocent thought was part of the Game; like a squealing squirrels jumping around the branches.

but the Fondling and Touching looked like Gambling; like a whirling worms feeding on the leaves.

The roots peeking out, the vain attempt of bark to shield.

It felt the heart cringe; a weird shallow ditch of emotions in Its stomach.

Its breathe almost muffled; eyes welled up in a pool of water; It smelled like toxic.

Desperately holding the mane, It ran away from the monster.

It took sometime to gather Its pieces to figure out that encounter.

After ages It realized It is still holding the pieces together; in fact now the roots prop in support of the tree’s base.

Finally It caught Hold of the Root; whether firm or lose.

It have stopped Watering it anymore; Stripped it off, as happens in the autumns.

It took a Step Away from the Tree; surprisingly the Root began to Lose its Ground.

Well, at this moment it looks hazy long miles, may be a mirage.

But It carries hope to Rise from the Ashes; to Avenge the Brutal Wishes.

It sees the Wings of Fire flies bare; such sights are often rare.

Oo! the Solace Tree; the turf now swell free.

The Heart, hushed a joyous leap; pausing for fruits to reap;

flowers to bloom; fairies to loom.

Once Upon A Time

Parting, Separation, and Loss is something part and parcel of life. This is something that we go through gradually almost every day. Not all of us sit and reflect about it. There are moments of stillness, often I used to wonder would things ever change? But, every second, things are in a process of change. Time spent with people who passed on, now, when looked back looks like a different paradigm, a dream, an illusion. All that time now look like a fairy tale. Once upon a time and that time was just ‘Once’, but back then it looked like a prolonged conflict and confrontation against the time and space. I often go into this mode of introspection, how this lane will be after twenty years. Perhaps the grocery store may turn into a big mall. That corner where this beggar used to sit with a dog. What happened to that beggar, could he manage to sustain all his life begging? Was anyone there when he passed away? What happened to that Dog?

Just a few weeks back when I went for a walk in the park behind my house, I saw this sudden emptiness. To my horror, I saw this huge thick tree went missing. I stood for a minute on the spot looking for traces of the tree. Apparently, the resident welfare association had to cut it because the branches were growing inside the house. The reason which never made sense to cut off the whole tree. Unbelievable! This tree now has become ‘Once Upon A Time’. Right in front of me the once upon a time came to exist. That huge tree which witnessed the history of that place passing through for more than 100 years. We have let go of the archived material of our history by cutting down the tree.  Ah! But all these thoughts would sound all cliché. They must have sowed seeds in the huge park to compensate the loss. How do you compensate something which used to be a treasure house of all those time and space? What could tree give, wood, oxygen, shade, and houses for birds, squirrels? Who cares about the history of few 100 years. In the place of trees, these days lie nothing more than a heap of trash. On which the cats and dogs take a nap during winters.