Autoimmune Flare/ Brain Fog/ Positivity
The Quizzing Stars and One Grumbling Moon
Static Clouds, Vision Cafe, Catching the Ray
“I think that little by little I’ll be able to solve my problems and survive” — Frida Kahlo
My city, old, flies with the setting
Sun,
My soul looking for a torch,
Skylights a shadow on a greasy glass
Growing bigger than the cosmic
spectacle,
Grey, smudged sky stand over
the tilt,
With the broken wafer chips I
chew my awe,
You are the bridge between
Fiction and memories
Your sylvan existence
Living a blast of yore….
There is no intentionality
But a moment plucked from
destiny’s scrapbook,
Throwing a skeptic smile at
the mellow sun,
The sun cannot grow wings…
But poaches my egg,
Afternoon warm soothing my
swollen hands —
A portière of concord hangs from the sky…
I don’t do dishes but launder my guilt,
Pick my place by the window,
Watching the sky slowly changing
colour,
The sky a paper to infinity’s wall,
Un-creased, painted…..
In a jest, she de-velcro(s) the azure sheet,
Rough-folds and throws it in the cupboard,
Restoring some blue, when the sky reaches orange,
Trees, a splayed chiaroscuro on my curtains,
The blue city below echos my mood…
My mind fragile rising like feather
From the cushion of chaos,
Floating over the sidewalk puddle,
Formed not by rain but water,
Dark enhancing length, fluttering mildly
Showing directions to the wind…..
I struggle to hem my thoughts
that touch-n-go
Hoping they take a shape, sway in synchrony,
Like the passing of a day, trailing to moments
of tranquil breeze….
I dip my hand in the cold lily pond
Allowing myself to believe that are lotus,
What’s in a name….conjured emotion
smell the same,
Do a book cry when her words like dust
elope with the wind?!
We use our hours of pain
To craft our moments of glory
Testing the microphone
Dropping it……
.
.
.
.
The clumsy, folded sky inside multiplies
into night, turning on its neon blue
Birth the stars, un-slumber the moon,
Elbowing the wardrobe walls, moving in
discomfort, suffocated for space —
How she forgot to keep the armoire doors open
For the quizzing stars and one grumbling moon…..
Jest Cafe: “My mind is like an internet browser, 19 tabs open, three of them are frozen and I have no idea from where the music is coming from” — Brain Fog quotes, Pinterest.
I did something different this winter. Partially calling off my hibernation, I tried to word this phase.
It was not easy — my brain being slow, fatigued and refusing to work. Sporadic clicks, sudden verse alighting in bits ‘n pieces to vanish, shallow concentration and broken thoughts.
I tried to consciously collect those moments and convert them into some kind of writing, which I happen to call poetry (!)
Maybe, it would be easier to write a long article straight up on brain fog, bullet-pointing signs and symptoms, but my idea of writing about the same always centered around making everyone feel and fathom the nuances —For those, who are new to this experience can understand their own system better,
And for the inexperienced, to make them feel what the victims feel at that moment.It is important as the impact though intense is invisible, making it harder to deal with, both as a sufferer and caregiver/bystander.
The labour has grown some fruits, which I will discuss subsequently.
As of now I am rather relived with my creative pouring, knowing this is slowly coming to an end, seeing summer knocking at the corner:
Photographs: Taken from the top floor of a hospital building I visited yesterday, to tend to some family emergency, now above worry, and surprisingly paved way for this poem, as I could come back and concentrate enough to give it some shape.
You don’t know from where inspiration flies in!
I was reading barred for a week now. But today’s Daily Digest did total justice by sending me some reads I can’t help but share:
Devon Price wrote an article Laziness-does-not-exist few years back, which has garnered more than 3 million views and now a book, was the right fit to my non-reading streak. A must read if you are not having a good day.
Rarely will you read an article on reading that makes the cut here, but reading Natasha MH in Between-the-hammer-and-the-nail, really helped me understand my process better. If you believe in long haul and good writing, this article is for you.
Last but not the least, a splendid Ode to my old city by Manali Mitra , which shows the city in a light adorable and nostalgic. Don’t miss the photos!
A big Thank you from Soul Bay. For all the love that come my way even when I am absent. To say the least I carry this inspiration forward to create more.
Leaving you with the young, very talented Chirag Katty in Sitar playing Ragas Rasm-e-Ulfat & Madhuvanti, which sings for spring and readies the earth for welcoming summer, Enjoy:
