I get lost in the patterns of people
Eyes that I read
Bodies that breathe
Wandering meandering senses
Of wanting to be understood.
Minds and lips that never find
A connection, a need to know
Where does the depth to one end?
I dip my feet in the salty blue-grey
Skin pruning under the touch of clouds.
A feeling deep rooted
Branches through my eyes.
I wish, some understood
And some didn’t.
A feeling to be wanted
In a way that I want
By someone I want
Is alien to me.
Where does this need end?
Check out my new book- Sun On My Hands!
A couple of years back, when I felt the world around me had closed into a tiny box I called my room, and everything was beyond my control. I had published my first book, Dreaming in a Fish Bowl. It felt very much like a whisper from me to me. Published as a paperback, with a local publication house, the book had been received with a lot of surprise. Most people did know I write. While only a small percentage truly understood the meaning behind the words, almost everyone has a copy of the book now. In many ways, it was a start of a conversation with others who were going through similar hard times.
As is the case almost always, we outgrow ourselves, and inevitably, the art that we create. I still carry the moments from those years with me, sometimes intensely so. Yet, there has been a shift. Slowly but surely, my world expanded from that tiny fishbowl, to the world. Sun peered in from all corners. And my hands felt warm from the touch of it. I felt joy, I feel joy. And the rollercoaster that comes with that feeling. I felt it was the right time to capture this essence in a second book. So here it is. Sun on my Hands- a Poetry and Prose Collection.
As always, I am deeply grateful to this community that truly comforts me and holds me as I navigate this life. With your support and kind words, I continue to write. I look forward to hearing your understanding of the book, as it is absorbed into your mind. 😊
With a cracked bone in my body I walk a mountain a time Emotions have piled Hours have piled Time flows a muddy river. They say hard work breeds a garden- Autumn seems to have descended. Warm colours trapped in leaves cry Withering trees stand with a straight spine. A white sky is a mirror White sea shares its light- Sun is melting in the over heated.. Cup of water that I drink each night. • ~insight07 •
My words are weary travelers They come back to me Each night, they trudge along the rivers of conversations Back to their sleeping beds Exhaustion pools in their eyes They are unrequited, unwanted in this world Discovery of moons and stars has done no good to them They are still where they are. Ripples of emotions run on their skin They are pierced but held together Handwritten letters lost to maps. Lives that are not lives but translucent beings with meaning in them Some meaning They cannot just exist without any consciousness? My fingers are at a loss, as I note this down This runny thought down Before I am lost to tasks that just don’t make sense And people, who are faceless maskless personas Floating in cyberspace. • ~insight07