Colourless Colour



User comments

i am just a colour
don’t put me in a box
don’t put me in a mould
you won’t see me reflect
in the mirrors
of any kaleidoscope
I am a colour
that can split
into a rainbow
and I need the sun
the rain and the sky
the freedom to be
to fly as the clouds
I am that colour
your pallet can’t mix
your brush won’t hold
but the empty spaces
on your canvas of life
you try so hard to fill
are no longer empty
look closer, you’ll know
for those somehow for me
are now my home.



W o r d s


broken words
and unkept promises,
invisible wounds
from insensitive deceptions,
the misgivings of the past
still stored deep within her,
and yet the only balm
he had ever known
to release the pain,
were the words that fell
from his random thoughts,
and as he looked
into her soulful eyes,
he knew one day
he would take her down,
his own scripted
memory lane,
and she would see
the beauty of words,
those that were
his to hers,
that were said, and kept
honoured and held.


The Hands that Hold


Take a lifeless piece of paper
A couple of strips of bamboo
String it up, and show it the sky
And then it comes alive
A playful kite on a magic string
Flying free, dancing in the wind
Surging higher into the sky
Straining against the thread that holds
Rising against the winds that blow
The further it goes, the stronger it becomes
An independent identity, on a blissful journey
And from afar, it is such a wonder
To see it way high up there
Sometimes one amongst the birds
Sometimes just cruising the open skies
Straining against the thread with such vigour
To reach out further, and discover life
And from a distance, who could say
Where from its journey began
But I have seen it from a closer place
And there runs a very thin line
Which somehow, bestows it this life
And the hands that hold that magic string
Maybe far away from the celestial kite
But a little tug here, and a little pull there
Sometimes they give, to get its direction right
The freedom to fly, not absolute then
The perception from afar
Missing the almost invisible link
Closer up, there’s a hand that controls
That thin line to the adventurous kite
And then as sunset slowly nears
The hands start pulling back the string
Signaling the time for this journey to end
The kite rebels by pulling away
Taking advantage of the still strong wind
It does not want its flight to end
There is so much higher, for it still to go
But the hands are accustomed to this rebellious tone
And as the distance between the two gets shorter
The winds which power it up
Slowly begin to lose their strength
The inevitability of the landing
Lends a certain submissiveness
To the earlier oblivious carefreeness
The last few pulls, at the string that binds
And its almost like the last a few breaths
No longer trying to pull away at the string
It sways, with no wind to hold it up
And then slowly it falls to the ground below
Where it lies still, its journey over
Now as lifeless, as when it had started
It had touched the sky, seen a different world
But throughout its journey
Through that invisible thread
It had remained connected, to its roots
Held and monitored at every point
By the hands that gave it, the freedom to fly.





The Veiled Virgin is a Carrara marble statue carved in Rome by Italian sculptor Giovanni Stazza in the early 1850’s


A block of stone
a hammer and chisel
endless crystal beads
fallen from the brow
days and nights
driven by passion
an envisioned creation
some pain, some magic
the surgical blows
and some million chips later
His work emerged
veiled from all eyes but his,
and whose soul, one day
only those eyes would see.

And yet when he sees you,
in ignorance
of the credibility
of the prophecy
that time held
in its secret folds
you continue to whisper
from beneath
that veiled shield –
‘I am just a stone,
no heart, no soul,
turn back and go
don’t waste
your time on me’.










User comments
User comments

Everyone wants
to catch one
none can really hold it
no one sees it rise
everyone sees it fall
it falls in self destruction
so that others may rise
No ego to restrain it
its karma
too well defined
one does not fight another
nor attempts to race ahead
each falls as each must
at their own given time
Neither stands out
in the multitudes that fall
nor is there an attempt
for one
to outdo another.

Have often heard of those
who rise to save the world
rare is the one who falls
falls to save the earth
And as the falling
meet their destined end
the earth entices the senses
and a memory rises within
A face looks up to the sky
a forgotten childish smile
with half shut eyes
a mouth wide open
and a tongue stretched out
the freedom of being
the presence of innocence
the attempt to catch
a few of the falling stars
was worth a treasure chest
the simple goals
the thrill of success.

In that impulsive moment
as I relive the memory
of the child within
and do
what the child did then
those falling raindrops
once again free me
from me.


Winds of Change

User comments
User comments

Walk a step with me,
for I know not where this road leads,
throw some light,
on the path I tread,
listen, and I could tell you a tale,
talk, and I’ll hear your story,
history is created when lives are lived,
and lessons are learnt,
when experiences are shared.
gone is the past, familiar as it was,
time has crept in,
and cradled its memory,
as it passes, that too shall fade,
not all specs of memories,
can turn into pearls,
some get blown away,
by the winds of change.

Walk a step with me,
till the wind catches in its arms,
and teaches a falling leaf,
how to fly like a bird in the sky,
inspiration is never planned,
nature is never a prisoner,
paths change, and so do lives,
look around at the quizzical eyes,
judging what they know not,
basking in their own shallow pride,
if change was a song,
I know I can sing it now,
hear my song, it could be yours.
thoughts abound, in the stillness around,
the journey though, must continue,
with a step at a time, and miles to go,
walk this step with me.


2nd Mar. 2014