The Red Balloon

As I lightly shuffle my feet,
Jostle my way through the marketplace.
Cries of vendors penetrate the dust,
whilst a bead of sweat trickles down my face.

A glistening red grasps my glance.
A child's fantasy, I espy.
Playfully tugging at its fastened twine,
A round, red balloon yearning to fly.

A smile plays softly on my lips.
My heart flutters as I watch it dance.
Blind to the treasure of toys around,
I feel it beckon to hold it in my arms.

Propelled by a desire naive,
I'm drawn to it like a moth to a light.
Stalled by an image of a young woman with a balloon,
Reality soon mists my craving out of sight.

Standing on the threshold of youth,
Armed to build a new life ahead.
Here I am, melted by just a balloon,
Wishing I could give it all up instead.

Perhaps if I embraced it just once,
To play with it an entire day.
Would I feel that buoyancy,
so resonant of a balloon's gait?

Being childlike didn't make me a child again.
I could play on the swing and fly my kite.
Dance while it rained on the streets,
Yet, all it bestowed was a moment's respite.

Though the moment has almost flown away,
I'm still enveloped in a lingering cheer.
Aroused from a languid monotony,
A twinkle in my eye does often appear. :)

Akshata Rao

Love's Labour Lost

It's been quite a while since I last added to my humble collection of blog posts. I was unable to find anything that inspired or rather compelled me to portray my thoughts on paper. However, the truth is that unless you're willing to open your eyes and look around, you'll never spot it. Which would explain my abstinence from writing as a result of self-perpetrated blindness to everything else. For the past month and a half, I've been daily visiting the lush campus of IISc, Bangalore.
Routine-driven, I walk by the same lane each day barely noticing the irony smeared on the splendor that surrounds me. Dim lights glimmer beneath the dark canopy of trees assuring me of a humane touch to the forlorn paths. I couldn't help feeling faintly jealous of the residents , for whom an early morning stroll, laden with ambrosial freshness and a soothing calm , was a daily affair. Or for whom, a leisurely walk beneath the starry skies, armed to melt any cold heart, was just a step away.
I glanced again at the Eden around me to realize that the truth was startlingly different. Not once had I seen a student or a professor gazing at it with an equivalent reverence or awe. More often than not, I'd see them scurrying down the lane, speeding away on their bicycles with an occasional turn of the head, only to avoid traffic. Some mulling plans in their mind, determined to figure out the missing piece in their research and some involved in a heated discussion with colleagues. The silent connoisseur was ,sadly, absent.
Perhaps, this was a reiteration of the greener grass across the fence. Although the charm never faded, the ardor did. Well, they say, a thing of beauty is a joy forever or Is it?

Footsteps on the Sand...

A soothing murmur fills the air
As the waves entrance the shore
Streaks of white across the blue
A glimmer of gold around the core

They bring with them little bits of tales
On the sands, of time, they lay
Pebbles, creatures, carved shells by
Sand castles and bottles cast away

Overwhelmed by the enchantment around
I sit down and play with the grains of sand
Sobered by the lull I hear
I’m transported to another land

Lost in a reverie,
Contemplating life in its stead
We struggle away the years we have
Only to comprehend life on our deathbed.

The goals we choose, the dreams we chase
Strife and struggle, fantasy and frolic
Volatile as every moment ticks away
Reality seems so ironic.

We strive to plan the entire schedule
And fate proposes another route
Although the futility dawns on us,
We pester our children to follow suit

Our desires never seem to cease
Despite needs fulfilled, we still want more.
We forget that it’s the game that counts,
And not the final score.

The links of love, we all craft
To end most as a severing of ties
Another bitter moment in the saga of life
Are these the signs of ‘being wise’?

Perhaps it’s not about the end
The journey maybe the true essence
Like a ride in a rollercoaster
What matters most is the experience.

From the web of thoughts, I emerge
Awakened by a distant call
I walk back along the path I came
Restoring my verve with every footfall.