The Song

The first time I listened to 'My December' , I was in the Eleventh Grade sitting in my hostel balcony, it was 2003. It was December , my favorite month. I am not a summer guy. Decembers are like winters are, birds don't chirp a lot , people talk a little less and its mostly silent , a perfect to time to ponder . Decembers remind me of year ends , the year that was and the last month before the year that would be. I find myself here in this month every single year during foggy North Indian nights. I remember I could barely see a few meters , it helped ,because anyways who wanted to see more? 

Its been eight years and I am listening to 'My December' again after the first time I did. I am sure lot might have changed between the last time you heard 'Your Song' and now when you hear it, it reminds you of the exact mood when you heard it last and how it made you feel. Eight years and life hasn't slowed down a bit , its a running horse.I am again standing in my balcony. All these years , subtle flashbacks remind me of the streets I walked on , the minimum times I clocked cycling to the other side of the town.The people I liked , people I forgot and the people I had to forget.And The people I never met again. And people I never wanted to meet again. The smiles I forced , the smiles they forced.Right from getting on stage to perform for a few of them to being backstage to make others perfect for a few of them. Right from deciding my limitations to forcing myself to re-write them. A lot happened in these eight years.

I finished school. Got over with college. Had my first salary. Had my first date. Traveled the country. Joined Facebook. Joined Orkut.Left Orkut. Moved from listening to Rock , then Trance and now Dubstep. Saw two anti-corruption movements in the country.Experienced a global recession.  Saw dictators fall.Saw democracies rise.  All in these eight years. So why call it just a song?

Sametime But Next Season

The stories we live are destiny's ink

Written on papers so plastic . they never decay

So We prayed , We loved and so much else We tried

We became heroes who were remembered

and legends who never died.

The questions we ask have no answers sometimes

Hidden in sands of time, they just blow away

So We ran away , We sought the truth for miles

We became wanderers by nature

Looking over mountains while standing on Isles

The conversations just slip away during silence

Within our minds, the words just locked away

So We became known by faith, lesser by reasons

We felt like Clouds in the Blue Skies

Running for each other amidst changing seasons

Wishful Thinking

Water vapors , bubbles and dew

All stranded for an instance and nothing moves

Till a streak of sunlight melts it through

Lets keep this little secret inside our pockets

Till we become young again..

Running on hill tops and flying paper rockets

We see messages inside a bottle lying on the sea-side

All days we ran towards it , so much we tried

Till a wave crossed it over and took it back

We keep this little secret stored inside our memories

Till we become old again

And all hopes so old that wishes become debris

They fly towards the Antarctic to escape the summers

As all the chirps slowly fade away into whispers

Till the maple leaves carpet the path we walk on

You and I will sit and look at the seasons change

But all that's long been said and done before
 I just wish that we were something more..

A Faint Trace

I gave half of my looks to a distant shadow

Belief riding on a half-hearted hope

I let half of my breaths flow free in the cosmos

Faith riding upon a distant constellation

I gave half of my screams to a silent shore

Tides riding upon a hope to reach an end

I saw half of myself in the mirror again

Reflections riding upon egos and sorrows