My Love, Little Bird

The leaves crunched underfoot
As I strolled along,
The orange of leaf
Bright against the blue of sky.

The sound of the soft breeze
Broke by a small squeel.
That is how I found you,
Amid fallen leaves.

I had to bring you home, little bird.
To take care of you awhile,
For you to grow strong of wing
Till it'd be time for you to fly.

But I built you a precious cage,
Kept you for me.
I see you start to grow small
Of spirit and voice.

You are beautiful, little bird.
You are my love, but
It is time to let you go,
Time for you to fly.

I may not see you tomorrow,
Nor never again.
But you will soar high,
For free little birds don't die.

Ghosts

We walked through the barren cold desert
Hand in hand, arms and waists.
We smiled toothily and laughed in grunts,
Giant and stout, all grace lost.

I looked ahead, following sun and sky.
You kept an eye on shadows crawling by.
The shadows grew on crumbs secretly dropped,
All the while, I gazed at the stars above.

Now the ghouls have come to life,
They talk and breathe like You and I.
Now I only have questions in my eyes,
As I see you walk away.

Hand in hand, arms and waists,
With cold dark shadows.

Frozen

As the first blossoms peeped in
Through the half closed windows,
The dew drops sparkled temptingly,
The leaves waltzed with the soft breeze.

So I let go of the warm blankets,
Longing for the warmth of the sun on my face.
I took off the soft slippers and stepped out
To feel the moist grass under my feet.

But the sky was still grey and
The cold breeze stung my cheeks.
My feet were buried in the slush of melting snow.
I stooped over, shivering.

'I must run back inside,' I think,
'Hide myself again in soft, warm feathers.'
But I stand here, frozen.
Waiting for the sun... 

Fall

Once you step off the edge, once you are free-falling, there is nothing you can do but fall. You just spread your arms wide, feel the wind on your face, close your eyes, and enjoy the fall. Letting go can be beautiful... Usually, fear keeps us alive, inhibiting us from getting into dangerous situations. But when you lose all control, fear loses meaning. So here, free-falling from the sky, there is peace and a certain calm. There is just the sound of the beating heart and the wind blowing against the body. You don't know what will happen the next second, but for now you're alive, alive like you've never been before.

I just understood why they say you fall in love.

Plans

There are spontaneous people and there are planners.

I consider myself to be both. I make elaborate plans as to how to reach where I want to get to, but the plan is a fluid, and keeps changing with every moment, as time changes all variables on which the plan was based. In matters of education and career, I believe this worked well. I spontaneously decided I wanted to be an architect, but along the way I managed to switch to finance, live in the middle-east, learn spanish and move to Madrid. I owe a lot to the fluidity of the planning.

But the most beautiful parts of my life were never planned. Those came from the heart, from a deeper passion. The best of my writing and diwali rangolis came to life without any process at all. They were completely spontaneous. I did not know what would be the point of the next paragraph or where the next line would go. There were no decisions, only surrender to what felt right. I suppose that is how Sood, my friend who is an amazing graphic designer, is so great at what she does. She just picks up a pen, and starts drawing without ever going back to edit anything. She sticks her tongue out and just draws, one bold line after the other, without hesitation, until she completes it, to stand back and look at her work with great pride. I have not her talent, spontaneity or complete abandon.

But with one of the most important aspects of my life, I let my brain rest and follow my heart, and I know that what comes of it will be beautiful beyond mundane comprehension

It lives under my skin.
Sometimes there is no room left for me, so I want to jump out of it.

Why I prefer not to give up

It's basic probability theory.  When you are waiting for a once in a lifetime kind of event, by definition the event only needs to happen once. So for an individual event the probability of failure is high, but the more the number of iterations (which may mean a longer length of time), the higher the probability of success. So determination really is the key to success.

Fly Away

All the rules and systems
All efficient cogworks
Necessary support for daily lives
Social constructs and economic zones.

But how do I follow my heart,
How do I fly with two feet?
How do I live
With my heart so far, far away?

Give me wings,
Rid me these shackles.
Take away my home,
Just let me have the sun.

That smile
Bright like the sun
That brings in the morning
And gives flight to my heart.

Perfect

The laughter of children

Is not so different from music.

It isn't a great musical composition,

This music just is.

Perfection lies in that lopsided smile.

With crooked teeth and wrinkles around the eyes

In hearty loud laughter,

That has no elegance.

The world is a beautiful place

With blue skies and infinite seas

With birds of all colour

And flowers that blossom like love.

Oh, but we crave control and protection

We want a deeper comprehension.

So we build little boxes

And formulate all those definitions.

Not seeing that this world, this life

Are far too complex for these demarcations.

Not all can be controlled or understood

For life does not fit into neat delimitations.

Beauty it lies in vulnerability

In the acceptance of the oddities

In the lack of absolute control.

Perfection lies simply in the true.

Beauty through my eyes

Anybody who knows me would agree, more or less, that I'm crazy. The definition of crazy here includes extreme sentimentality. During certain bouts of emotion, my closest friends refer to me as Senti Goel. This was me laying down a rough introduction and justification before disclosing the fact that when I first visited Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, I couldn't stop tears from rolling down my face despite extreme embarrassment. And it went on for a while.

Recently I felt on the verge of tears again. This too was a church. I gasped as I entered the awe-inspiring space. I just stood there, looking around at the tall spaces, ribbed vaults, stained glass windows, the massive expanse of space built all from stone with little technology. And when I eventually noticed people praying, I realised why these spaces made me feel this way. It's the same emotion that runs through my veins when I watch Phantom of the Opera and certain dancers on So You Think You Can Dance. These are times when I can appreciate the emotion of the artist, the creator. They put their heart and soul into this creation and as I start to understand that passion, I am overwhelmed by it. It is this passion, and this passion alone, that to me, makes life worth living.

One may feel passionately about creating, learning, or even a person. One of my best friends finds her passion in curiosity. She's curious about how the world works. She always wanted to be a research physicist, before I even knew what physics really was. When my brother talks about his work with that sparkle in his eyes, even though I understand little, it is the most beautiful thing in the world.

But following a passion isn't easy. It's hard to stubbornly keep following it even during tough times. But that's the beauty of it. When you truly love something that much, it's part of your existence. You breathe it with every breath. It lives under your skin. Life is as much about aching hearts as it is about lovely smiles. What strings together these little pearls of precious moments- warm, exciting, painful and wonderful, is love.

The Cat Lady

She's the crazy cat lady
She lives all alone
But she has her many cats
That trouble her all day long

She take care of the cats
And tends to her flowers
But most of all she enjoys
Her abundant garden of memories

She lived a great life
Full of travels and adventure
She collected her memories
Across far away lands

She lives in the present
But has brought the past along
Through yellowing pages
And fading photographs

Those dog-eared books
With broken, tattered spines
They speak of lost love
Of dreams of yesterday

But these dusty pages
They speak only to her
This garden is destined to be lost
For time is a heartless lover

Come Back Home

The sun glared down and burnt your skin

The heartless wind froze you to the bone.

The dark night haunted your life like a nightmare

And the endless rain left your shivering alone

When you walked the stones shredded your feet

The birds left their little droppings in your hair.

The predators roamed free and confident

And you were out there, exposed to all nature.

So you built yourself a home.

You built shields from everything that made you afraid.

You built a shelter to keep you warm and safe

And filled it with comfortable cushions.

But never again did you see the stars in the night sky

Never again did you hear the song of the birds.

You heard no howl of the wolf nor growl of the dog

And never a baby cry.

Now you wrap yourself in all the warm blankets

But your heart grows colder every day,

For you need to get wet in the rain

To feel the joy of crisp linen.

Smiles that dance around the corners of mouths

Cannot be found in supermarkets

And it's only that force of nature, of love,

That can put the song back on your lips.

What Next

The night was dark

My eyes wandered, searching for light.

In the darkness,

My fingers felt

That moist, chalklike surface of a matchbox.

I lit a match,

And realized I had not a candle.

As my eyes dart around anxiously

For that blessed candle, my mind wanders.

Will I burn my fingers,

Or go back, to darness, to blindness.

The Other Voice

The ringing sound of the symbols
Never ceases to resonate
Nor the beating stick
Giving rythm to my feet, my hands,
My neck, eyes and body;
My thoughts, emotions, smiles and my heart.

The voice of the music falls upon the ears,
But is heard by the muscles.
So they answer, all by themselves,
Without thinking or deliberation.
They answer in their own poetry
Carved in motion.

The bells in my ankles answer
The shrill ringing of the symbols,
And the beating feet against the floor
Echo the incessant wooden stick.
The flowing melody takes form
In the sadness, the smiles,
the reverence and the affection.

Dance is a conversation
Between the music and my body,
In a language the brain speaks not.
I carry my dance with me, as vocabulary,
In every muscle, in my heart.

Not Quite

It was a beautiful morning today.
It had been raining in the night
The sidewalk was still wet,
But the leaves glistened
And every now and then
A cool drop of water would tinker down
Falling in my hair like a kiss from the sky

There were small flowers along the streets
Just waiting for the untimely showers to end,
For the sun to shine again
For the inevitable spring,
Peeking its head around the corner,
Refusing to give up
Its annoying little game of hide and seek.

Parents walked their children to school
Adorable little twinkies
Just starting to walk comfortably
Babes whose hands you want to hold
Because they're too precious
For you to risk letting them trip,
Or even leave your sight.

It was a beautiful, precious morning,
The breeze was like whispers
That never left the lips.
The bloom of the flowers,
Hiding like closely guarded secrets
Behind deceptive eyes,
That look into yours with mock confidence.

The morning brought a smile
Just to the corners of my mouth
The heart was afraid to flutter
Like a butterfly
That might not make it through a downpour.
Oh! The wretched anticipation.
Just arrive already you elusive spring.

Waiting

I've had my heart buried for so long.
It needs to emerge now.
It wants to soar to the skies and flutter like a butterfly.

But the flowers haven't bloomed yet,
The sun hasn't come out
The sky is still steely grey.

I sit by my window looking out
Afraid to blink,
I might miss the first light.

Until Next Time

I love you.
You're my best friend.
My confidante.
The solver of every problem.

You make me smile
And annoy me so much.
You trouble me more than anyone
And haunt all my thoughts.

I love you.
With a passion I can bury no more.
The desire grows stronger everyday.
To make you mine

But because I love you
I would never want to own you
You, the way you are, the one I love
Could, so, never be mine.

I love you.
And you love me.
So let's set each other free,
Till the next time we collide.

Words Unspoken

We just stand there
Looking into each other's eyes
Deciphering words left unspoken
Veiling our hearts with difficult smiles

I search your eyes
For what I feel growing in my heart
And wonder if I saw a passing glimpse
Or if it was just a reflection of my own desire.

Sometimes words are not enough
But how I ache for them now.
Words left unspoken too long
Echo around me, scratching at the windows of my soul.