Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Watching

Watching by Anubhav Kushwaha
Watching, a photo by Anubhav Kushwaha on Flickr.

I often find myself watching myself from far above,
Wondering what is it that I am doing and why -
Am I forced to watch myself from far away in the sky?
Why is it that I am wearing a blue shirt and black shoes?
What is it I am looking for with my wide open eyes? 
Lost among people, places, dreams, duties & desires,
Seen within a shaded window somewhere at dusk,
And within another equally shaded window at dawn...
Why is it that I am not flying across the deep blue skies?
Why is it that I am not an ocean or a mountain or such?
Why is it I have so little and am wanting so much?
I wonder if I am watching myself or a shadow of me?
Thinking what it would feel like to be far away in a boat,
Or to be painting the skies with clouds in my hands...
Watching myself take leaps and stumble at small steps...
Realizing in retrospect of this place I have reached, where - 
Little dreams are not so little and big ones are so small.


- Anubhav 

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Dreams in ink


In a hidden world, there are things to be found,
A thought, a dream, a teddy bear or a broken hand,
Etching dreams on the white paper of memories,
With ink spills and beautiful curves spread across…

Red check marks reminding of the cold mornings,
With fresh apples, milk and bread to start the day,
And sometimes reminding of the hearts you drew,
On the small paper card which was thrown away…

Little circles of blue, holding hands, going around,
With some little shiny shoes and some not so shiny,
Yelling, screaming, laughing, crying and whispering,
Sharing hundreds of things wandering in little heads…

Green pencils draw the grass where you used to run,
Every evening with the hope to reach the pillar first,
Ink spills reminding of the moments when you did,
And realized that sometimes it meant reaching alone.

-Anubhav

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Fictitious reality


In the deep blue moment, a few minutes after sunset,
There is something wandering around the fringes of vision,
A subtle sound, a sullen thought of something that may be,
Or of something that might have been; something different.
But how often do we have a moment after sunset to pause;
And to think of what reality really is? Of what we really are?
Is it real? What is happening? Or what might have happened?
Is possibility a reality? Is hope a reality? Or is it all a dream?
A little bit of both perhaps or just a little bit of nothing…
I say, yesterday had meaning and then I say it didn’t!
Is tomorrow’s reality a reflection of yesterday’s dream?
When I touch; Am touched; Smile; Cry; I win; I lose;
When I was born to live and when I live to die, what’s real?
How different is reality from fiction? Is everything a dream?
What if someone is dreaming us and we are but figments –
Of an imagination gone awry? Would we ever know?
Living each day as it passes, counting, celebrating, mourning,
Waiting for the day for someone to say, “Wake up,
You’ve been sleeping for too long, dreaming up your life”,
When the moment comes, call it a good story and go to sleep.