The Irish Bar

She was sitting,

As everyone held their glasses

Filled with nothing but straws and left over lemon and ice,

She was sitting,

Staring and looking, by turn,

At the chaos around

She drowned in the noise of their chatter,

Hearing some, and listening to some,

Of what they spoke

She drowned in the fading tunes

Of the Guns And Roses

She was there, but somewhere else altogether

Not thinking much,

but thoughts hovered about her head

Why was she quiet?

That thought never occurred

Maybe, she wanted to listen for a change

Maybe, she wanted to do what she did most- Observe

The pool of dim light adding to the gloom

The random cheers from nearby tables,

Seemed to have no effect on her

Though she sat in poised sophistication,

On high bar-stools; She cheaply bit her nails

With one elbow resting gently on the cluttered table

Whilst her face bore no expression,

Her thoughts were seeking

A way of letting themselves out

Whilst her actions were

In a slow movie-like motion,

Her thoughts ran wild

It was her first time there,

Probably even her last

As her soul weakened

But she could say nothing,

As thoughts brimmed her heart,

That girl, in the Irish Bar.

The World Outside My Window

They stood in the distance, twisted and motionless. They swayed with the gentle breeze that lingered over after the rain. I felt the breeze slap against my face, and out the window I saw them standing. Quiet, three Gulmohur trees, with the little sanguine flowers, that matched the setting sky in the background.

Out the window, my lost eyes fixed themselves into a constant gaze. The sight was breathtaking. Out the window, the world seems to be the delightful crimson all the time.

I was no more sitting by the window gaping at the view outside. I had developed wings, and I was flying like a carefree bird, till my silhouette frayed away into the sinking sun. I had conjured up a new world, where my worries were thrown aside, where everything was beautiful.

Out the window, my thoughts and wishes were no more a figment of my imagination.

I want to give the same flight to my thoughts as the bird does to itself. I want to be that bird all the time. I wish. And staring out of the window makes me feel so.

The bird grew out of sight, and slowly, the crimson turned from a lavender to the twinkling night. And as the stars gleamed, and led the way in the moonless night, I slid away from the window. The bird had flown away, bringing me back, slouching by the window.

Living A Dream

Life, as we all know it, is like a roller coaster ride, as clichéd as it may sound. But well, it has its own shares of ups and downs, victories and defeats, sorrows and mirth. Being able to keep a balance in this crazy, topsy-turvy kind of life is seldom easy, but mostly unmanageable or even frustrating at times. At times like these, all we want is to live in our own bubble and make-believe environment, where things appear to be the way we want them to. Our escape is our dream. There is in fact, a very thin line between our dreams and fairytale worlds. We all have our fantasies in life, and we all have dreams. We all have dreams that we want to reach. We all have dreams that we want to live.

What I have learnt, by experience, is that, it’s never about where we reach, or how far we get, from where we are today. It’s about how we got there. It’s about all those people we meet, all those places we see, all those things we did. It’s about all the memories we made along the way to get there.

It’s about having the dream. It’s about living the dream, and feeling every moment of it.