Friday, January 29, 2016

A Clockwork World


The World once ran on clockwork,
Each human akin to a toy,
Which, when its key was wound,
Would begin its daily ploy.
Each day was perfection,
Each morning crowned by the same dewy glory,
Each night a starry calm,
With nary a long face, or a sad story.
Every life was the same,
The same routine,
There was the security of a life of repetition,
The safety of monotony.
The sun was just as bright each day,
as it was the day before.
The clouds merely repeated,
Their dull encounters from afore.
The people found comfort within it,
For they knew what was in store
Beforehand. After all,
Each day was merely
A mirror of yesterday,
And an image of tomorrow.


Until one dawn,
Hours before the clockwork day,
A mischievous child,
Stole out, and away,
And pocketed the shiny little key,
That ordained the smooth functioning,
Of the puppet-like world.
The town awoke, to a certain missing something,
The sun was bright, ayy,
But it wasn’t quite as lustrous as the day before,
And the cloud, quite abnormal,
Darkened and murmured low grumbles and rumbles,
And everything was quite, quite awry.
The folk were clearly surprised,
Puzzled and bewildered and befuddled.
Never in a thousand years could the have surmised,
That their picture perfect land,
Could stumble, and teeter, and crumble.
There was panic, there was chaos,
Their was uncertainty amidst the worries and fumbles.
The kid, meanwhile, welcomed the change,
He skipped along to the brook nearby,
And while he whiled away the hours,
The golden key mumbled its farewell and goodbye,
And slipped into the bubbling stream,
Where by and by, it was searched for,
But never found, much to the people’s disappointment.
It had far to travel, to meet the golden shore.


Months passed, yet the key was lost forever,
The world was upside down,
The weather, the day, the sun,
Unpredictable, And many a frown,
Dampened the world, those few months,
And many a conflicts,
Shattered hearts across.
Yet, one day the sun dawned bright,
Brighter than it had ever before,
Awe stuck the citizens, was their golden land,
To return again, so that they could relive,
The harmony from before?
However, there at least, they were met with disappointment,
For the sun shone, not on a bygone time,
But on the future that lay ahead. 
There was violence, perhaps, there was disquiet,
Yet there was a break from monotony,
From the repetition.
There was independence, freedom,
The lustrous glory of adventures,
A land of unpredictability.
And while, the men and women alike,
Mourned the loss of the security of the clockwork world,
They rejoiced
In the uncertainty, and the opportunity,
Of their reformed little world.
And so, once upon a time,
A naughty kid lost a golden key,
And reformed the world,

To a land of mystery.

Friday, January 8, 2016

The Window

The room was hers, hers to paint.

It was all for herself, each wall, each shelf,

Was hers, and hers alone.

She lit it with her own sunshine,

She stuffed it with her own joys.

It was a medley, but it was full of her, 
Of who she was.

Each smile was a trophy within it,

Each tear, a crack in its toughened walls.

The ceiling was a riot of colors,

Each hue a representation,

Of what lay within her heart.

The walls were embroidered

By the grubby prints of muddy hands,

With the mindless squiggles of an artistic hand.

They were the canvas

Of her vibrant memories.

She was satisfied within her room,

Within the littered floor of a childhood

Spent dreaming of the sun and the stars.

She was satisfied within her room,
Within the ornaments of her mind.

She was satisfied, until

Her eyes landed on the little ray of sunshine

That peeked through the curtains.

It unsettled her, it piqued her,

It made her wish to look afar.

It scared her, it intimidated her,

For she could not imagine

Pulling the curtains apart.

The outside was scary,
She was safer within her chambers.

Yet curiosity, curiosity beckoned her

Until, she found herself fingering

The hems of the smooth fabric
That separated her from what was on

The other side.

She pulled it back at last.
What lay behing, left her agape.

At first, it seemed but a mere reflection,

Of her own little haven full of fantasies,

Yet, the more she looked, the more she saw,

The little touches, the subtleties, that made it

Far, far more dearer to see.

The window showed her, not just

Yet another room,

But rather, yet another part of her.

She had found a room to share,

And a person, to share it with.