Skip to main content

Rough Sketches

 



All I see are rough sketches

Sometimes I still feel those traces

Traces of you and me

Of places, we have been


When I look in the mirror

All I see is a rough sketch

The good and the bad

The snippets of my life that I had

Written happily 

Water smudged the ink

Where do I go from here

It's getting so blurry and unclear


Why hope, to only find it smashed?

Why grow, to only see everything crash?

Why nurture the garden when all the flowers have burned?

Look ahead, it's time the pages are turned


All I see are rough sketches

Sometimes I'm lost in the wilderness

The wilderness of my infinite thoughts

Where do I go from here, I'm lost


When I look in the water

All I see is a blurry image

Is everything that disturbed?

Has happiness from my mind been curbed?

What do I do from here?

It looks so blurry and unclear


Why love, to only find it disappear in a flash?

Why doubt, to only be proven wrong with a splash?

What's yours has come your way

Just like these lines, it's time to change the chapter today



Belika DSouza


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

We Begin…

  What does a fresh page smell like? Hope, maybe.  Anxiety too, with a dash of curiosity. Maybe, it smells like manifestation, like something quietly waiting to become real. What’s the weight of a new beginning? Heavier than it looks.  The page isn't blank; it's crinkled by the past.  Legacies. Lessons. Quiet scars. Loud dreams.  It holds the pressure of making a point, of continuing something that mattered, even if no one claps. Of daring to start again. As we step into the unknowns of tomorrow, we pause. To reflect. To remember. To ask: what does this beginning mean to us? New beginnings are overwhelming. There’s just so much I want to do, so many ways to go about chasing these dreams, and it’s like there’s too much inside me all at once. Too many ideas crashing into each other. Then there is the fear, this nagging fear that it’ll all just turn into a mush, like upma.  What if everything goes wrong? What if I try and fall flat? How do I look peo...

Street Art - The Voice of Mumbai's Urbanity

“Art imitates life.”  Art is a mirror showing the beautiful and grotesque face of our world. Through time, all forms of art have been windows into social structures, lifestyles, and beliefs of civilizations. Transformative art has evolved over centuries as the voice of people of their times, inspiring change from a shift in social norms to war revolutions.  ["Humanity" at Sassoon Docks. Photo Credit: Special Arrangement, The Hindu] A tedious train ride in the mornings, the stationary traffic in the evenings, in the gray monotonous life of Mumbai, some days my eyes find the gorgeous colors on mossy walls and railway bridges, across old complexes and abandoned warehouses. The Street Art of Mumbai - present everywhere, unnoticed yet leaving its mark.   From the cultural abundance of the city we inhabit to the push for human rights and protest against climate change, from promoting harmony to lauding the unsung heroes, street art does more than beautify the concrete forest we...

Recycling: The Fashion Edition

  “Put a finger down if all you’re excited about during festivals is getting ready.” Of course, every day is an occasion to get ready. However, the fragrance in the air is a little different during the festive seasons. One cannot deny that true joy comes when the city glitters with lights. Diyas glowing on window panes to the dazzling lights adorning the street. Perhaps the approaching wedding season makes the family churn with enthusiasm. You may whip up your lehengas and twirl in them daily. But their shine is exceptional in such celebratory moods. If you are someone who reserves the more admirable outfits for special days, these festivals become all the more necessary to document. Also, who doesn’t like to jazz up a bit? We all have an inner Bollywood diva waiting to unravel. Even a dramatic maang teeka or a cute dupatta draped gracefully is enough to awaken the Bole Churiya girl within me. All in all, the winters in India could never leave a speck of dullness. There’s always ...