I’ve been 21 for a little over an hour now. The twentieth day of May lies generally in the heart of Indian Summer, the kind of summer that is capable of taking life away.

I’ve been writing for years now, and I’ve had many sources of inspiration. My misfortune has been that most of the time, that source of inspiration comes not from within me or my world. It comes from the world’s perception of me. I must write better. I must impress others. I must be the best (or at least among the best). There was a point of time once, I think, when I would write because I wanted to write to please myself. Now I write to show others… when did things change?

I’ve been pondering about my writing, and my writing reflects on myself. Have I ever lived or done things to please myself rather than please others? When did I stop? Why? … who am I? Myself, or an amalgamation of the ideas others have of me?

Far away, I hear thunder. The nineteenth day of May, 2008 has been extremely hot. But the night rebels. The night rebels in tune with the rebellion rising in my heart. I have to find myself. The wind picks up speed, coming in cold and heavy from the open window diagonally across me. It brings the sound of thunder… in the heart of summer, it brings the smell of rain.

Don’t close your eyes!
Look up at the moon,
the stars, the night sky,
the auroras blushing - shy.

Open your eyes,
or miss the night sigh,
the sound of sleep,
of satisfaction deep.

Now close your eyes,
Come aboard the night train,
Hold me by your side,
Take me beyond time and ride,

Watch colours come to life
by the magic of your smile,
We’ll fly over orange streams,
in the night train of dreams.

———

Originally written 17-Jan-08

So glad now of being alone,
befriending my mind.
I thrive here in my solitude,
watching music dance.
A troupe of tail-lights outside my window
Dances
To the music in my ears,
to the rhythm in my soul,
and the spring in my step.
I was one when I arrived,
searching for love.
I wonder if I’ll ever find it,
yet know,
When I go, I will still be
One.

The sky can’t seem to decide whether it’s night or day. It lingers in a blue-grey haze, being neither azure day, nor inky night… and yet, a bit of both. The tip of my pen dances joyously over the page, words springing forth mirthfully. My thoughts condense calmly, crystal clear in a mind at peace. Yet my eyes can barely see these little glyphs of love come together in the darkness…

Is this how we live life? In the shadows, we write our own lives. Yet we barely see what we’ve written until we’re done and have reached a place of light…

The sun has almost set. The day is done, physically and mentally. So glad now to be secluded from the outside world, my earphones being my accomplices, a Wishlist in my ears. It’s becoming almost too dark to see what I’m writing. We pass cars and motorcycles, all insignificant. My thoughts are random, rambling, and they frequently come to rest on you - you, sitting 2 rows of seats in front of me. The sunset is beautiful… knock knock, can you hear my thoughts? … No, there you go.