There are times when I see the world
Through a pair of lens
Resting on my nose
With an anti-glare coat meshed somewhere inside them.
There are times when I see the world and feel
How? How to say this is so not me?
I blink, blink and blink.
I squeeze my eyes,
Clean the lenses and realize
That the frame is same
That this is all nothing but a game,
Where I don’t know who I am because each day I get to know something new about myself.
I am layer and layer of clothes, skin, veins, blood and sparkle
Bleeding depth and ambiguity,
That I can never know myself.
That each day is just a walk towards a new discovery
On the pavement of life,
Where obstacles surround me,
Showering strength on me.
Where the lamp posts gives me hope,
Hope of being enlightened, someday somewhere.
There are times when I see the world
Through a pair of lens
Resting on my nose
With an anti-glare coat meshed somewhere inside them,
Like all this world somewhere exists inside me.
There are times when I see the world and feel
This is me.
The shattered glass of a window-pane
Trying to warm the winter breeze.
The rugged piece of cloth loved by my soul
Because it still makes me comfortable.
The pen I hold in my hand
Spilling the ink on pieces of paper
Trying to make a record of who I am,
So the next time I ask myself
‘How to say this is not me?’
I tell myself this very same story.
The Scribbling Girl 