Fly

The Second Track

Rebecca!
Image by design. meliora from Pixabay

Like a record player Rebecca’s mind plays umpteenth tunes, ceaselessly, shifting and slowing as per her mood. A second track plays all the time in her head.

Ha ha now is the time to laugh and sway in joy, oh no it is the moment to exclaim in surprise, my love let us dance hand in hand, shush stay focused life is in a rush.

The second track requires a different set of shoes feels Rebecca very strongly. A pair that can match the track’s rhythm, can dance, tip toe, jump and even fly.

Yes fly! For walking on the second track is dull and usual, but dreaming high, high, high requires tools. Tools like the right pair of shoes, a chirpy, gritty soul that eats butter-jam dreams, a soul that drinks milky-milky creams.

Also, being little absurd guides.

Rebecca always acts absurdly, but at times just a little bit because she does not want to lose the touch of reality. If she loses it, how will she attempt the paper?

Oh no! It is the moment to exclaim in surprise, Rebecca is in the examination room and the fresh ink on her question paper is making her dizzy.

Captain, captain mayday! Switch off the second track for three hours and be in the present moment, I repeat, be in the present moment. Over and out!

Attempt the question paper, start with the ones you know, and relax, and calm down and breathe.


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My Shimpu

Playing hide and seek, living-loving-laughing, collecting stones and moments, she picked a golden one. It flew away but left her hand glowing.
                                                  *                                                                         
Lovely golden-brown hair, a tinge of black and kohl-eyed (you beautiful one), he had a unique habit of watching the birds, following them as far as he could with his eyes (do you know this bird, hmm).
 
She thought he was a dog who wanted to become a bird. Happy by nature, he came rushing madly whenever she whistled (my gugglu-pugglu come here you); he knew it was evening walk time.
 
He loved the walks, the joy in his eyes, running fast like a deer, jumping cutely like a rabbit proved so every single day (run-run-run-yeah).
 
She found him notorious and innocent, funny and silly, crazy and cute, all (you are a clown, yes you are).
 
She can never forget how he once gazed at the moon; mesmerized by the round shape in the sky, wondering, maybe, when and how does it fly… he just kept looking.
 
Caressing him one evening, after the walk, she didn’t know what was to befall (you biscuit lover, don’t go now).
 
If only she had the faintest idea, a frivolous hunch, she would have never let him go outside the house.
 
That night he didn’t return, even when she whistled; she went in the dark, calling out his name, but no sign of him.
 
Early next morning, walking and whistling, asking any and everyone in the village, she wished to see him, see him come rushing towards her from somewhere so that she could hold him tight in her arms and never let him go.
 
Two months have passed and she still wishes the same. Her eyes quietly wait to see him.
 
She watches the birds more closely now. She wishes to fly.
 
My Shimpu (23rd Oct 2014 – 8th Jan 2016)
 

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The Pen Knows Not

I am a pen. I write. I decorate the paper with various styles. Recently I did some cursive work and believe you me it was fantastic. I can write about anything one can and cannot imagine. Mostly I deal with feelings, a heavy range. From love, anger and joy to dark, bizarre and alien. I find myself busy when topics like nature, god, politics and business are discussed.

I have been wondering for some time now about questions. Umpteenth questions come across when I am put to paper. Millions of them and some are very common like, what should I do, why is this happening, why me, how can he/she do this to me, where is god etc. I don’t like questions anymore, not because of the sudden increase in their number but because most are left unanswered. Just imagine how I feel with endless questions staring at my face along with that twisted question mark.

Oh! I have a question now…where are all the answers?

Anyways, my job is not that bad. In reality, I adore my work. Maybe that’s why I know calmness. I have good, light moments; I happily keep a secret a secret; meeting every emotion is in itself a great reward for me; I get to know a whole lot of things, you know science things. What I really-really relish is when I scribble and make faces on the margin of a sheet or the last page of a copy. I get a feeling at that moment of being with someone else, a connection, shared exclusively with me. Like I am in a vacuum with a confused mind or a happy smile or an angry look or a scared soul or a naughty remark and this gives me wings to fly.

Ha! Funny me!

I don’t know when I may dry, on which word, which feeling, so I keep my spirits up almost always as I already said I never know….