And came back to find its house in ruins
I
My manipulations fail as the
audience of negligent ears is
too busy visualizing the applause
at the end of their own games.
II
Reality is a vegetable wrap,
Or a chaat, enjoyable at its messiest.
Alluring colours and flavours abound,
In hidden corners trying to peek through,
Some familiar, some getting there,
And some never allowed to.
III
To be or not to be, that is the question,
Not really, for not knowing the question
would get you only a B or less.
The answer flows from the question,
For like a mother, the question hides its answer
First in its womb, then nestled in its arms.
It is for us to wean it away into reality.
And finally let it be.
IV
The screaming inside is voiceless
Its attempts to jump the fence
lead only to solitary confinement.
The highly-strung sinews can’t stretch, curl up.
Escape finally within six-strings.
V
Faith went for a walk
And came back to find its house in ruins.
Despondent, it wondered aloud,
“How could this be? I left it just for a while and
that too under lock, taking the key with me!”
The crumbling edifice replied,
“You forgot that you are my lock, my insurance, the keeper of my safety.”
