Commotion of Emotions

 The Western Ghats form India's oldest natural systems predating even the Himalayas by a huge margin. Stretching all the way from Maharashtra to Kerala, parallel to the coast, they are home to thousands of plants, animals, and other organisms found nowhere else in the world! Having experienced them after a long time, I made an effort to capture my thoughts in the poem below. Though the poem describes the beauty and diversity of the Ghats, things are not all rainbows and butterflies. Entire ecosystems have been heavily stressed by human activities, with no coast left untouched, and no jungle left unseen. Hope you readers enjoy it :) As the fog cleared up on the sweaty canvas, Atop a hill that I had climbed to see; As the sneaky sun turned thick air to glass, Lo and behold! A frame frozen in beauty. A churning sea in rain and in sun, Enveloped by a thin, yet endless azure; Sea eagles hovered above, watching me stunned - Perhaps signalling other birds out on tour; Oh, what could I hav

Some minds rage and burn their stars, Some minds aren't meant to go far; Some minds are trapped in their own making, Some minds are too shut to be awakened. I have a mind that knows, Where and how it arose, Denying its own destiny, Oh, some minds were never meant to be. In the red furnace that burns, Everyday I leave a piece of my own; And all that I've grown - Is something readily unknown. Some minds are products of fallacy, Some minds are not ready for reality; Some minds find peace in nothing, Some minds are forever sulking; I have a mind that grieves, Behind the smiles it receives; Chastising its own existence, It is lost in the balance. In the splashing rain that comes, Dissolve my thoughts one by one, And all that was of joy or concern - Is lost in a taunting haunt. Some minds are treacherous webs, That are trapped in their refreshed designs; Some minds cannot be helped, They are awaiting resign; Some minds cannot speak for the

Sometimes I sit and wonder - If people were nothing but colour, What colour would I be? And of what clarity? Would my heart and soul, Paint my body whole, In an unsuspecting gold, Or would the mind intervene? What colour would the mind appear as? Red, black or a quartz glass? Or perhaps different shades would be mine; But would they stay the same in time? Would people then stay of the same colour - Of which they would be true, Be it orange, purple or blue? With perhaps a shade or two? Who in my life would be unsolicited pink, With whom I could sit and drink? And then talk about moons and stars, Perhaps I already know who they are! Yet clearly I could learn - The secret of keeping fresh; From the one in a lush green dress Should I be aware more, or less? Oh, and the colour of the wise, Would not escape panting eyes; But would they be shiny whites - Or transparent, visible only at night? And so I wish I co

Keys unlock doors, Keys lock them too. Keys, some are for me; Keys, some are for you. Your keys don't open my doors - My doors stand rooted into the floor. While yours may require a gentle nudge, Mine require a deeper touch. And what a fool was I to think: How a gentle twist of your wrist - Could swing your door open, While mine wouldn't bulge - Even as bones shattered in my fist. And how unfair is it that while - You're destined to unlock twenty and four, I'm stuck way behind, With many, many more. Keys to my Kingdom, Rattle in the chains of destiny; I'd ventured to collect a few, But no, there are too many. And while I stand firm and broken, Before this cold, damn door; All I am sure of is that - There's nothing to be sure! Yes the world is unfair and - There's nothing much I can do about, But chisel my way into making keys; And sometimes on the way - Break down and frown.

Into a lore my heart wants to slip away, At the fall of night and the break of day; I hold it - ask it often to stay, But it smiles back, "some other day!" New adventures await, At the same place as yesterday; But my mind decides its own way, Where it ought to run and - Where it ought to stay! Yet the hurling winds of the day, Do often take my patience away; And I end up pondering who's to blame, As my frail soul frays. Tis then I pause to look besides - These moving waters at the end of the day; So much of it has our knowledge betrayed, And an awe of it extends on me. The river so calm and infinite, Channels my worries away, While in rhythm my boat sways; And fortunately, it so happens every other day.

From the lofty mountains that I stand against - At the edge of this cliff, Echoes a voice that no one can hear but me - It is alluring yet still stiff. What can the voice be but my thoughts? That resonate across these valleys; And have been doing so for many years now, So many that I have lost tally. I wonder if it is just me or all the likes of me - To whom the valley calls, Or who call the valley: Who have broken their bones on a padded fall - And have been living with patched skulls - Of a destituted, unprotected heart, Too innocent to know for the better, Is struck with the loss of its older part! For the new home seemed too good to leave, Alas! So lonely now is the valley of thoughts. Introspects are lost and tis caught, In an unknown - is it not? But the valley has a voice of its own, So it comes out seeking all those who groan - And reek in confusion and perplexity. Oh! This alone can never leave you alone! S