On golden, lamplit evenings
I wander, stumble and fly
as I run my fingers over maps and their crooked rivers,
their contours and their creases-
all the places which are less travelled by.
I take less frequented lanes
and share secrets with the cracked walls.
The quiet and the crowd,
they both whisper to me
incoherent fragments of half-lived lives.
I slip from shadow to shadow,
from your heart to his to hers,
from a page to a king to a screen-
I wander to get hopelessly lost.
For you must be lost to be found.
So, I wander
in search of a soul.
For I live on borrowed souls,
borrowed words and borrowed tales.
I am but a curious medley of
all these borrowings and wanderings-
disjunct and colourful yet seamlessly threaded together.
I grow with each step I take into no man’s land
and yet there’s always more space to grow.
And you wonder how
so many hues of black, white, crimson and grey
fit into one borrowed heart.
I’d like to stop and rest for a while,
to breathe- I need to catch my breath.
But the wanderlust drags me ahead
and my feet will not stop, they can only slow down.
Exhausted, I give in
to my pillow’s softness and the warmth of my blankets.
But my mind and soul continue soaring,
playing cards, clinking glasses
and flying with wings on their bruised, untiring feet-
through the colourful landscapes of my dreams.
English I A