Between you and me...

These are parallel worlds..yours, mine and ours...each world believing in another..unsure if it exists...yet being connected by unseen strings. You are not new, neither is your existence to me..yet, in your absence, I doubt if your real...

I move on and I feel no difference. Like nothing is lost. Like everything remains just as it was. This cup will remain full for as long as I keep drinking from it.

In sunset and with sunrise, you enter before I open my eyes. These are not tears, they are only the rays of your light.

Its like a feeling of being barren. Of being incapable of retaining life. These are my war times. A battle with an enemy I'm not sure I know. It's not a win-win situation for sure.  For whoever is defeated, remains to be a dead part of me.

So yesterday when I nearly lost my life, I was pulled out, punishment is not in demise. For punishment is maybe not the Universe's style.

Blind Faith

So she left no leaf unturned.
Even if it meant that she'd have to tear off each leaf from the most beautiful tree in her garden.

It was not something done intentionally.
Yet each leaf that was torn off was torn off with an intention.

Who was to blame when the Gardener sat silent, watching all the tamasha.
He could have told her the truth.

He knew the leaf with the answer. Yet, what joy did He get seeing her will against her wish?
In silence He watched those pretty leaves weep with her. Did He love none of them?

"When the Gardener pretends to be blind, He wants you to learn," the wise Old Banyan Tree said.
If there was anything more she had to learn, could He be more kind?

Anticipated

As Death approaches
I fear it less
I’m ready for it
I have few regrets.

I even fantasize it,
How will it be?
Will it grip my heart
Or will it make me bleed?

Will I die in my dream
Or in the middle of a road,
Will I die a virgin
Or leave a bawling child alone?

Will I make my folks smile
By being a traditional, well-cultured house-wife
Or will I run away, deep sea-dive
Rebel and suffice till my demise.

Though not the moon
I could’ve surely reached the skies
Had I obeyed my heart
And not their ‘well-meant’ advice

Bored of the pricking needles
That put me to rest,
As death approaches,
I feel it less

Left with no fantasies,
I’m ready for that last breath
Its prediction on a hospital bed
Being my only regret!