All Over Again?

Would you choose to live your life

All over again?

How far would you rewind it to?

At what point would you know

This is where I'd return to?

Like pressing backspace on a keyboard

Would you want to go back letter by letter

Or would you wipe the slate clean?

Start afresh on a new page

Does it sound too distressing

To wash out every memory?

To dismiss as a mistake

Every moment of your life?

Would you rather edit

The unsavoury bits instead?

A clip here, a cut there,

Dusting off the specks of time,

Picking at the imagined lint

Of that worn coat called life.

What parts would you rewrite?

What colours would you choose

Would you stop to ponder

The why, the how, the who,

The if and when-

Or would you rather

Stand up tall, dust your self,

Square your shoulders, 

And walk into the sunset

Never to look back again.

Some Days I Wish..

Some days I wish,

I wish I could run away.

Run away and breathe,

Breathe in the fresh air-

Air, cool and rejuvenating.

Away from all that's mundane,

Mundane, routine and prosaic.

Prosaic, yet drawing me in,

Into duties, into responsibilities,

Responsibilities, where I lose  myself.

There's no place I can escape to.

Escaping my fate is no easy task.

It's easier to dream, to disappear-

Disappear into another world,

A world that isn't, but could have been mine.

And so, I close my eyes and breathe,

Breathe in what little freedom I can find,

Find in the stillness that that comes from unrest,

Unrest, that tells me I must return,

Return to myself, one breath at a time.

Where longing dwells...

Crouching by the golden window,

I peeped in for a closer look,

A curd-churner firmly held in hand,

The dark-skinned one, quietly stood.

A girdle beset with gems,

Adorning his tiny waist.

A glowing emerald pendant

Resting softly on his chest.

Watched me with his Lotus Eyes,

As my own eyes filled with tears.

Is this the child with whom

The Gopikas fell in love?

Whose touch became the wandering breeze

That lingered on their skin?

Whose footsteps they saw

In every grain of sand,

In the gentle crunch of leaves,

Across hills, through meadows, beside the river?

Whose anklets tinkled in the distance

Each time they milked their cows?

Whose words they heard

In the humming of the bumble bees?

Who were never together,

Yet never were separate,

Not for the space of half a breath.

And yet, their yearning for a glimpse

Of the one who owned their soul

Could never be quenched –

How could it be?

For now I too stand at his window,

Asking for one more glimpse.