My colleague wrote a poem about me, which I find really amusing. This is what happens when writers get bored. Check out the sonnet here: Yu Yu for You

it's been a while that i felt
this good
it's been a while that i felt
this safe
it's been a while that
i let things go

it's been a long while that
i cared
it's been a long time since
i dared
it's been too long since
i loved

it was long ago that i stopped looking

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I found this poem in my Writers Cafe account...
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Stare into the void,
Into the darkness
Of all past and present

Blind as a bat
Deaf as a snake

Floating
Falling

“The center cannot hold…”

Do things really fall apart?

You are my validation.
I need your affirmation.
Of my existence.
That I should be who I am.

You are my deliverance.
I need your approval.
Of my being.
That am doing the right thing.

You are my hope.
I need your faith.
Of what I'm able.
That I can achieve destiny.

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Written with Zyed
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(When will you realize that I cannot be fit into a mold.)

There is no cup,
no retainer,
no shape or form.

It is only the abstract that exists
It is only the essence.
It is only the being.

There are no words,
There are no gestures,
No standards, no fixtures...

It is only the fluidity of my soul...
The flow of my emotions.

It is the abstraction that is me.
The intangible.
The illusive.

Language is only an accessory.

Let the silence speak.
Let's be primitive.
Let's undo the rules.

Don't hold me.
Don't mold me.
Don't fix, don't shackle.
Don't measure me up --

As I turn on the TV and watch the news,
hope is a rare glimmer that can’t be found.

We see the world unraveling itself.
And words of my grandmother came into my head:
the world is going to end soon.

I was 13, getting ready to leave for the States.
There were wars, storms and disasters then.
There are wars, storms and disasters now.

Is the world really going to end soon?
These are all signs she said.

Well, maybe they are.

Maybe they’re not.

But I’m grateful.

I’m grateful that my friends encompass the world.
I’m grateful that a friend from Germany can send me post cards from Mexico.
I’m grateful I can meet lots of people from around the world by just sitting here in India.
I’m grateful that I can be in touch with most people from the other side of the world.

(Not to mention everyday, live and in person – well, as close as it can get – until we can teleport.)

I’m grateful that I can still enjoy the little freedoms some people can’t even imagine having.

Maybe thanksgiving is something that signified how the Native Americans were wiped off,
Maybe it’s raining on the parade.

But at least it still goes on. Doesn’t it?

That’s why I’m grateful.
The parade still goes on.
Family and friends still get together – even if it’s not thanksgiving.

So this thanksgiving, instead of bitching and moaning
I figured sending out this note
To friends and folks near and far.
To say a simple ‘thank you’…

In the words of a great friend:
“Thank you for being there, while I was there”
You all know who you are and how your work is important.

I think this is where my grandma got it wrong.
I don’t think the world is going to end very soon.

Not if we’re still around.
And not if we can help it.

Happy Thanksgiving.

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Note: This was written two years ago. I'm migrating my other blog on to here. Same stuff, just different packaging.
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Rain drizzles down the city
It refuses to go away.
Just like an old lover
That refuses to say goodbye

Even when things are over it hangs on stubbornly
The monsoon had ended
Yet the rain still remains.

Ever presenting itself
Seeping into every hole
Soaking everything in its path –

Slowly sinking in
Its cold wet touch
Drizzle continues for days
Skies dark and gray

An eerie coldness hovers above.
Colder in the nights.
Stone cold heights.

What price to pay, the freedom of individuality?
Being unique is almost a crime,
Barbie dolls come out of the factory,
The same mold, different colors
The same bust, the same height, the same makeup
The same clothes
The perfect image of an ‘ideal’ woman.
Girls sitting in a noisy café
Wear almost the same t-shirts and jeans
The same cut, the same style,
the same,
the same,
the same.
Did they come out of the factory too?
The factory of society.
Any deviation from the ‘norm’ will be discarded.
Rejected
Shuned
Outcasted
The price of individuality.

I had not been able to sleep
My heart searches
My soul weary

I had not been able to rest
My heart travels
My soul weary

I had not been able to rest
My heart travels
My soul lingers

I had not been able to be at peace
My heart disturbed
My soul lost

I was searching
And looking
And was lost

The eternal abyss.

I had given up,
Took loneliness to be my home
And solitude became my permanent address

My weary heart stopped searching.

Then you came to me.
You gave me your arms so that
I have a new home

You stopped my searched
Dissipated my loneliness
Replenished my weary soul

So what more can I ask?
You are my map
You give me direction
Lost no more

And I can carry on…

I dreamt I was in your arms
Sleeping like a child
Innocent and without care

I dreamt you were next to me
Holding me, watching me

Feeling safe
I can wake up and face reality
Cause I know you'd be there
So I wake gently

The morning warm sun greets me
Objects in my room in a gray glow

Then I realized,
I'm home
I'm home in your arms
Where I'm supposed to be

Secure

It's not enough to say it
I know --
Because it's a feeling
It's a feeling that surpasses both time and space
Because it is ever engulfing,
Ever expanding.
Like the infinite universe.
It has no end, no boundary
Nothing can hold it down or cage it.
Because it is never ending...