If I could count
The delicate lines
Offshoots and roots
Hidden in my palms;
Marking the map
Of my destiny
I may comprehend,
The forks and breaks
That twist of my fate
Conspiring to create
Hard wins and fails
In this medley of life
On a rollercoaster ride
I traced the jagged edges
Their warmth tingling
My ruddy fingertips
They didn’t seem strange
These mountains and ridges
I ran along them
All my rugged life
The ups and downs
Made up the landscape
Where I survived
With the wind in my hair
Hope in my stride
We thought we had time
But it had already slipped away
Like sand through our fingers.
We stood there at the crossroads
With the crinkle of dust particles
In our calloused palms
We were taken by surprise
And then we wanted to hide
All the dreaded disappointment
Of running out of the hours
We had earmarked to live life
Drowned in brown
I am wading through
Frothy waves,
It’s a bit much
This aroma of coffee
At the corner cafe;
Faint guitar strings
Click of Scrabble tiles
Or keys on a laptop
Clatter, chatter
A little laughter
Just another evening
As the sun dissolves
Into another cup
Staining the bottom
With a rust orb –
The circle of life!
Two decades back when coffee cafes started blooming in Indian cities, this was a common sight in the evenings with young people, mostly IT employees, converging at the cafes. It was part of being hep. It could be overwhelming for the loners, yet alluring. Coffee cafes are nostalgic. It signaled the coming of age, of a new, aspiring India that could stay awake all night with evening coffee in the veins.
All the Mondays together
Piled high on the debris
Of restless weekends
Worried about tomorrow
Always in a race
Forever out of time
Our life has wings
Our destiny is in flight
Shoving, climbing, scraping
To the top, until the bell tolls!
Blue Pen Strokes 