Blur at dawn

“Who sees the human face correctly:

the photographer, the mirror, or the painter?”

P Picasso

I look at him staring back at me,

Its gaze is heavy and tired,

I don’t recognize him…

…not fully.

Who are you? I ask,

But there is no sound

-I must have used my inner voice-

And as expected, no answer came.

I remember you…

…or at least the idea of you.

You are not what I imagined,

Yet, I wonder if I am what you desired as well.

     -probably not-

I accept you, and you me,

Like we have done many times before.

And with a faint smile I say…

     “…Morning”.

The real you

It is never a start or an end

but is present 

like air, or the earth,

so whole and invisible,

so much, yet so little

of what we 

perceive as real.

It never really is an intention

nor a thought,

or even a wish 

in the slightest.

But creeps up on you

while you are distracted

pursuing an alternate truth.

Harsh, maybe, but is also

a mirror,

of what cannot be sought

or seen,

for where indeed 

do you draw

a line, between yourself

and the enemy?

Dragon heart

My life began as

I reached him.

The day, I hear, 

wraps around him.

The night, is shy

and yet in silence

awaits

for he shall wake

to fly without wings,

to burn without fire

to dive without fear

to perhaps fall

and break,

and yet stand tall

and brave.

My quill waits in hunger

for I am merely a witness

to a phenomenon

so strong and powerful

that it consumes me

thoroughly - 

as I evolve

slowly, but surely,

a bit more like him
a little less like me.

Auburn light

Awoken by the stench, I lay on my back,

the odor fills my nostrils and goes to my throat,

a sweet-rubber-coal pungent taste slimes down it’s rear…

I fight to open my eyes, just to find them shut by the evaporated tears,

the crackling sound of the background becomes clearer.

…rip open my eyelids…

   …blur…

      And hot… very hot…

It seems I didn't make it, his flight overpower my feet…

As my sight adjusts, I see it.

   first the shadow…

…then his gold and emerald face followed by the auburn light…

To the unknown

Late last night the large boat came,

with the promise of adventures, I jump on it straight .

Take me here and there, take me anywhere and everywhere,

for a voyage I long for, and I like your way.

Set sail to the unknown!

The seashores are cold and the water is fierce,  

Enjoying the salt and sun,

…the warmth and green.

The boat came again, so I took it once more.

Set sail to the unknown!

The sandshoes are hot and the moisture is rare,

Adoring the bush shadow,

…the heat and the gold.

It came once more, and so I go…

Set sail to the unknown!

The green-lands are vast and rainfall is plenty,

Indulging in fog and serenity,

…the shiver and green-mock.

The trip shall continue, for it arrived as before.

Set sail to the unknown!

The buildings are high and the murmur is deafening,

Pampered in tech and living quite fast,

…the hectic, the gray.

My time has come, for it's here again.

Set sail to the unknown…

 …and at the end, please bring me home…

But where is that home you for?

 It asked on a whisper…

On the house that knows your secrets of youth?

Or with the friends that are spread from here to there?

Maybe on the pumping heart where you hold them…

Or in the endless frames that dance at night…

I am your home! …it told me…

…as I sailed to the unknown…

Hugo Cervantes

Growing up

Fish and bones

and black tar roads,

familiar faces and 

memories set in stones.

A distinct fragrance,

of palm trees tall,

swings and playground

 - my world was small.

Sea and sand,

they beckoned me - 

a wide-eyed speck

in a sky rise city.

Loss and religion,

riots and blasts,

the boy next door

 - etched the adolescent heart.

The search for a hero

brought me close to her

a peaceful home

to the heavens above.

Writer, dancer, 

actor, doctor - 

She set me free

 - to make my future.

And there I stood

a heart and a sole,

to begin my quest

for a new home.

To make friends

and write stories new,

to travel places

 - in search of you.

P.S. I have grown up (in fact still growing up) in many different places. And I have always wondered if each of these places have contributed in tweaking my personality in its own way. Would I be a different person if the order of these places in my life changed? Would I be different if instead of Mumbai, I had landed in Chennai? If instead of UK, I had chosen to go to the US? What would I be doing today? Would I be writing this article at all? Would I still be in search of a home? Would I still meet you?

The quest

Some lost, some found

some scattered, some bound

to the whole,
to the part,

to the finish, 

to my senselessly beating heart.

A shooting star, fading 

into the darkness, into space

out of sight,
still on my mind,

a tiny void, and

a fleeting wish.

Unspoken emotions,

spill fluidly
through these cracks,

revealing vapours of

tiny heartaches

and a few unknown facts.

Dividing me today,

into several pieces

that fight to come close,

fight to stay far,

and fight everyday,

unsure of what they are.

A strange attraction

then comes to play,

to a familiar face,

a forgotten name,

a lingering memory,

of a distant place.

Dreams and ambitions,

a powerful rhythm,

a wistful reminder,

of a painful addiction - 

- slice through me 

this invisible weapon.

Enemy and friend,

the illusion of freedom,

and the endless longing

for a home, for a soul - 

- an incomplete saga

of a happiness ever after.

           - Few pages from the story of my pointless quest.

A day of remembering

The beam shines over my retina,

I stare straight at that point,

            …it’s not a dream,

    instantly the saline releases,

I swallow with an aching throat while the scenes soar in my mind.

                What of he who conquered his world?

                    …all that’s left is…

                            …this…

Pity overwhelms the soul,

     Dreams of kings, of vagabonds and freedom…

… and yet…

           Those were just that… dreams

                         Fantasies…

                               Thoughts of the young mind… (I laugh).

There was never a king, nor a globetrotter…

     The leather jacket and booths were just that.

         

Today, the soft soles, the short hair… the cufflinks…

     That is closer to the kingship as there ever was… 

             For one thing, there is kin that was not there…

There are no more beams over my eyes…

No waking to the salty taste of a tear.

The world is as it should be.

And I…

     well…

          …well I’m as close to those dreams, as I’ll ever be…

…and will ever want to be.

Sound of Release

Return me to the time
When the events unfolded
Breathing open air
Weaving a new life

From mother's eyes and nourishing teat
Skipping through nursery gates
Then marching into the folly of youth
I lived for the encouraging days

Moments of joy, fleeting
Games cast asunder
One day, I awoke, a man!
Owning my precious gifts

Haste of years pull me through
Souvenir marked happenings
Line my memory
From child to man, son to father

In final serenity I surmise
All that I was given
Was only to be sown
For the new forefathers

All roads lead to...

The fights we fight

the battles we lose

the losses we cut

the cuts and wounds.

That heal and form

that reform and age

and emerge again

a wiser adage.

A truer moment

an era, a day

the lesser truth, all

fade slowly away -

- but we just rush,

to the finishing line.

Like lost wisdom,

we emerge again

regain our form, and

lay open to pain.

We prepare to cut,

prepare to bruise,

and battle to fight

and fight to lose … 

… another moment

far away,

a love, a life,

another yesterday.

And we just rush,

(but why must we rush?)

to the finishing line.