Passion…unbridled

I am a somewhat quirky nerd

Wrapped in my cocoon in this world

To be more social, I aspire

To interact with more people is my desire

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But small talk I cannot make

Showing interest, I cannot fake

So many things I find superfluous

Or plain boring, there is much I can’t discuss

*

I think sometimes I am too cynical

At other times I am hypercritical

Unfortunately I seem to sniff out nonsense

Too quickly, I just look for substance

*

I come across as too serious, I am aware

I’m not fun to be with, I can declare

Humor seems to be wasted on me

Maybe I take everything too literally..

*

In writing this verse, I’ve realized one thing indeed

To develop a sense of humor is what I need

To connect with people, I should be less uptight

Laugh self-deprecatingly, not worry about being right

Sometimes I wonder if I subconsciously

Set myself up for failure-so cautiously

Do I proceed that every hurdle serves to distract

Me from my path, I easily get sidetracked

The forest for the trees I miss completely

The bull’s eye in the center I cannot see

I get mired in inconsequential details

In seeing the big picture I inexorably fail..

**

When I take on a project large in scope

That I would be able to prove myself, I hope

I want to do it right, I want to please everyone

Inevitably roadblocks appear as soon as I’ve begun

Some people are displeased, some feathers get ruffled

In silencing dissent, my voice often gets muffled..

**

By being burnt repeatedly I’ve had to learn this lesson

Every step of a process may not proceed with perfection

Not everyone is on board at every step of the way

You must remember the ultimate goal at the end of the day

To be flexible and forgiving, not sweating the small stuff

Is the way to accomplish goals ambitious and tough

I’m not making excuses, I admit freely

That the hardest thing in the world for me

Is to exercise, increase my physical activity

Because I seem to have an inherent proclivity

To be a couch potato, curl up with a book

To sit or lie down, I can always find a nook

I can easily exercise my eyes and my brain

But physical exercise just seems to cause pain…

*

I also admit that I take care of hearts

And in doing so, one has to start

With healthy diet and regular exercise

So if I don’t follow my own advice

It seems like a dishonest thing to do

Motivating me to make different choices too..

*

To counteract the pain of exercise I require

Something that I more keenly desire

Therefore as I get my creaky joints in motion

I read simultaneously, for a dose of my magic potion

The more engrossed I am in my book, the less

Physical discomfort I perceive, greater is my progress

If I don’t exercise, it is reading that I actually miss

Exercise may release endorphins, but books give me bliss..

*

At the end of the day, to summarize

Reading helps me in all forms of exercise

To keep myself fit in every way indeed

Outstanding books are what I need

There are times when myself I find

Narrating my life’s mundane moments in my mind

I find myself describing my day

As if I am writing a chapter, in a way

That I would talk to readers (imaginary)

In language and style I perceive as literary..

*

I do not yet have a story to tell

But there are audacious dreams that dwell

Within the depths of my innermost desires

The urge to write something burns like a fire

To craft a story spellbinding and unique

The language of a writer I want to speak

*

So inadvertently at times I find

I become a fictional person in my mind

I imagine how my life’s circumstances would look

If I were a character in a book

Alone and bored, when I daydream

My fantasies are composed of bookish themes..

*

Instead of conjuring up mere sentences, one day

I hope inspiration would come my way

And the idea for a compelling story would germinate

In my mind, until then I would patiently wait

(This poem refers to the Iranian protest anthem Baraye by Shervin Hajipour that was recently performed by the band Coldplay in Buenos Aires, Argentina and broadcast to the world).

Music is meant to feed the soul

Sometimes it expands outside this role

Becoming an instrument of social protest

A song, once sung, you cannot arrest

The freedom of singers, songwriters may be

Curbed, the protesters suppressed brutally

You cannot kill a song, you cannot obliterate

Lyrics once composed, they continue to resonate

Through the ears, hearts and souls of millions

Involved across the world in a revolution

This is powerful music, with potential to galvanize

So many, it has come to characterize

The revolution, become an anthem

For the people, to unite and energize them

*

A song was breathed into the air

It fell on ears of millions everywhere

Long, long afterward it remained

In the collective psyche of people once chained

(Image source: medyanews.net)

When I was young, not yet prone to negativity

I thought I was interesting, charismatic, witty

I had audacious plans, I thought I could

Be anyone I wanted to be, I fancied I would

Travel the world and have a life storied

The life of a multifaceted maverick I would lead..

*

Maybe I was delusional, maybe it was the influence

Of the books I had read, but I had a desire intense

To be extraordinary, be unique, and unconventional

Learning about varied topics was a habit intentional

I wanted to be someone with an opinion to express

On any topic being discussed, leave people impressed…

What is striking to me now in my non-delusional state

How overconfident I was, how highly myself I did rate!

*

Somewhere along the way, I had the painful realization

That I was squarely ordinary, and the bloated estimation

Of my abilities was completely off the mark

I was a boring introvert- that was the reality stark

With limitations on both experiences and skill

My dreams were giant shoes the real me could not fill

*

I lead a perfectly ordinary, mundane life indeed

I adventure vicariously through characters in books I read

I rarely say anything that can remotely be perceived

As interesting or intriguing, but I am relieved

To know that I do not have to try hard to maintain

An interesting persona, I can be boring and plain

****

Somewhere, though, in a corner of my mind

Is the hope that one day I would find

Myself involved in an extraordinary situation

In which my exceptional skills I would have to summon…

Cells become quiescent, animals hibernate

Life is punctuated by periods of dormant state,

Therefore I should take a break and vegetate

On my couch or my bed, daydream and ruminate

Over the state of my life, my country, the world

Let my mind wander as I lie comfortably curled

Let my overburdened cells repair and rejuvenate

Reduce oxidative stress and reverse their damaged state

*

Let me enter a state of quiescence

Take a break from my schedule intense

Let me replenish my depleted energy stores

Let me treat myself, let me rest some more

Separate the chaff from the grain

I remind myself of this analogy again

Each day when at work and in life I face

Information overload trying to jostle for space

Within my mind, my capacity to process

I fear decision paralysis from this excess

I have to separate noise from data of relevance

I get better at this separation with experience

Despite this, there is constant bombardment

Of new information that does present

A challenge for me to figure out

Whether it is something I can do without

Or it needs to be absorbed and filed away

In a recess of my brain for use another day..

*

Every resource including time is finite

Therefore in order to do it right

I separate the chaff from the grain

Each day, to keep me productive and sane

From an eastern culture pick an ancient practice

Package and promote it as the newest way to acquire bliss

Tell people who are in their lives stressed out

How acquiring ancient wisdom can bring about

Radical changes in the way they feel

Make them calmer, less stressed, more even-keeled

*

Pronouncing foreign words with meanings difficult to understand

Learning exotic practices from a faraway land

Is a way to showcase yourself as someone

Who is a culturally and socially conscious person

Suddenly ikigai, shinrin-yoku, wabi-sabi

Have gained on social media popularity…

*

Time-tested wisdom is good to imbibe

Ancient practices certainly should be revived

But not just to become a tik-tok or instagram fad

When every influencer jumps on the same bandwagon, it’s sad..

*

Most of these practices seek to restore

Balance between self and Nature, therefore

To practice them requires time and patience

I hope we can treat them with more reverence

I must admit that quite hard I have tried

To make my writing appear erudite

To exude sophistication in the content

As well as its delivery is my lofty intent

Each time I sit down to write, I fantasize

About creating a masterpiece that wins a grand prize…

*

When I try to describe things mundane

Metaphorically, my writing just appears inane

When I try to be deliberately obscure

My writing I myself cannot endure

When I try to explore themes abstract

Their complexity only serves to distract

Me from writing altogether, I confess

I get stuck, I cannot make progress

*

I get discouraged whenever I see

Impeccably written, flawless poetry

All I can manage is to write from my heart

In straightforward words, but that is not art..

*

I have tried to be someone I am not

And failed at it- I am left with the thought

That at least what I write is authentic

Therefore to my way of writing I shall stick

Why can’t you be like our grandmothers, he said

They were content as long as the household was fed

They existed inside those walls, devoid of ambition

Immersed in household work, keeping alive cultural traditions

Despite lack of independence, financial or otherwise

They ran households, maintained close familial ties..

*

Out of all the myths that we as a society propagate

The starkest one is that of women in a blissful state

Your grandmother who as content you perceived

Knew that airing of grievances would be poorly received

Do you know how many heartaches untold

Were hidden in her wrinkles, her saree folds?

Her dreams she must have from childhood suppressed

When repeated childbirths and miscarriages left her distressed

She must have shed silent tears, alone or in commiseration

With other women who had faced similar situations

For the family’s misfortunes she must have taken blame

She must have run a tight ship though she had nothing to her name

She probably lived her life in practiced stoicism indeed

Looking for happiness in fulfillment of her family’s needs…

*

Women were taught to keep their stories private

To not bother men with their issues, they had a lot on their plates

The idealized image of a smiling grandmother does hide

Deep pockets of grief and countless scars inside..

Middle age is catching up to me, I believe

I wonder when I would be able to achieve

That “something” in my life that would raise

My standing in my own eyes, let me garner praise

From my inner critic, that keeps telling me

To constantly improve, does not let me be

Complacent, or content with what I do

I keep trying hard, but never seem to

Reach a place where I could rest and say

I’ve done enough, I should call it a day…

*

As much as I want to feel like I’ve arrived

I simultaneously fear I would lose my drive

Once I get to a place of comfort in my skin

Striving to be better is what I have believed in

My inner critic changes the goal post constantly

Thus what would count as success, I never see..

*

Neither have I managed to impress myself, nor have I

Allowed myself to stagnate, or my dreams to die

With this in mind, let me move from day to day

I have not arrived, but I’m on my way..