Puzzled Dreams

We all had workspaces/laboratories in schools, where we did our wholehearted experiments (call them beaker breaking incidents). There were ones for chemistry (with all those weird shaped glass vessels), physics (with all those callipers and meters), biology (dissections, eew!). Ah, so much some of us dreaded those days when the time table had them scheduled! For some reason, today I remembered those days. I don't know whether it was a certain flash of visual, which brought back that memory, but it anyway flashed across. We didn't know how much of conviction and concentration we had back in those days, but the times spent in those halls were special. Those days when we were all dressed in our disciplined lab coats, carrying those rough records and fair record books. It was always a pain, to maintain writing those records, but it was funny at the same time. We were all doing the same work, repeating it, to the fair record, and surprisingly, no one complained! Strange things ...

It's the beginning of another year, and the calendars are up. With new hopes, and new aspirations, we start afresh, to welcome another set of 365 days. Whenever a new year comes round the corner, it's always time for resolutions, and new decisions to make. We always look out for a change in lifestyle, and a different course of action to follow. We look out for new habits to take forward, basically - a new self for us. Let's hope this year also takes forward this way, and brings in new times and courses for us to develop ourselves. Cheers!

The time of the year When the curtain close is near The days have begun counting So you can start a new beginning Stories of the days past Will keep rewinding fast As the dawn of the year arises And a bundle of new hopes rises Odd days of despair, shall Find their wholesome pair For memories shall dwell deep More than what we shall keep. Refresh, for new things await Happiness, we shall bait Turn the pages of the old book Shut them, as we pull the hook Days are metrics of time Just as we count our own dime Emotions are tickets for others Ride, they can, who bothers. But we will persevere Until the darkness is severe Then, we shall light the lamp To emerge ahead as a champ!

As I sit within these walls Those thoughts, the mind recalls Craving for that cosy hand With that familiar blue band The shadows in the moonlight Search for the bright sunlight That once existed, for long Without any inhibitions, forlorn The breeze sings in midnight Though the clock waits for the light With the miles crossing by But the moon floats, as its own alibi The walks sing their ballads Out when they call, the nomads Those who belong to this world Yet, while they lie all curved Along the streets, they speak Of stories which call them a freak Smile along they do with might When others smirk at their sight Forget those who are bemoan Running behinds dreams flown Chasing peaks which are unreachable Carrying loads pretty unbearable A day shall come, long-drawn When the time will dawn Upon them with a light so bright Fight, they shall, with all their might.

This should start off with a basic question - When was the last time you wrote? No, not on the keyboard exercise, but the actual pen and paper thing? Can't remember? Well, then you should probably read this. These are times, where we do a lot of work on our digital devices. The massive reports which we prepare for work, the various excel sheets that we drool upon during our work times, the blogs we write, the posts we like and love - all of it. We scroll through many articles on the net, type in comments. Our tweets, our posts, everything is digital now. So at this time, let's make it a point to revamp and think the time when we used to write a lot of papers during our school time? Feels nostalgic, right? That's the thing with pen and paper, they are becoming nostalgic. Even though, they are always present around us. I work as a sales professional, and most of my time is spent in front of my laptop, as part of work. And most often, all these devices have become our...

among the stars which sing the songs of nature exists a hidden melody of that of the Moon the ones hidden behind clouds and sneaking past the wind singing in the glory of tales unknown to the ears of the nomads their only solace is the Moon receding their solitude opening its arms with the cold breeze and the shining stars only the Moon knows their story witnessing unbiased, uncharted stories only in their experience invisible to the mobile, yet sedentary some plead to others, some request an occupation is at the behest a living which is not their choice rather compulsion of society sleep, they do Under the moonlight For their next day Will repeat this discourse Another path, another story A different set of hands that will flourish Lest they render themselves broken Moving on to the next shadow of light.

  While closing the miles With at most sincerity Comes the responsibility Of staying true to yourself. Tales of people from everywhere And talks of everything  around The audience differs in whole But speaks a single language The journey speaks of oneness And of various adventures Of countless days and The numerous nights A singularity speaks Unknowingly sings its own song Of common dialects And permanent topics A train has its own identity From source to destination And carries along with it A prevalent culture through its people. Every traveller who joins the journey Becomes part of those verses Of miles and of hours Numerous, yet single in magnitude.