The Invariants

Bothra yoga, or Dixit Diet,

Bend to each fad, with all your might.

Not sure how many, will stand time's test,

To me the invariant- daily walk, proper rest.  

 

Eisenhower matrix, or Pomodoro timer,

Amp your productivity, read a new primer.

I rarely follow through; so to tick off deep work,

I stay up late in night, being an owl my quirk. 

 

Box breathing, or JPMR,

Relieve stress, with the tool of the hour.

Daily meditation practice, can help you cope,  

For me writing a poem, my daily dose of dope.  

 

A vacation every 7 months, a date night each week,

Rituals and formulas are fine elsewhere, but in love it's all Greek.

Holding On

Pain wriggles through, it has a habit to be found,

Memories pierce and stab, as you're not around.

They say suffering is optional, it's how the situation you conceive,

That you can morph your pain into poems, and with art everyone deceive.

 

Guilt is an uninvited guest, that has overstayed its due,

Who left whom charred, is known but to few.

They say guilt can make you better, sculpt your future form,

That it can goad you till you transform, and rise above the norm.

 

Loss is a sneaky intruder, that can haunt once it's left your door,

With everything precious snatched, it can leave you lonely ever more.

They say loss leads to meaning, you realize what's worth holding onto,

That no future relation would suffer the fate, that befell you two.

 

It has cost me almost everything, yet I'm staying in the fight,

Giving in to despair would imply, that it was for nothing- and that's not right.

Writing's Side Effects

Writing helps me process, the pain of a withheld goodbye,

Each poem inches closer, but cannot bridge the gap, I sigh.

To catch your eyes is a fantasy, I've risen over that now,

If it's a formal closure I'm after, by myself I'll achieve how?   

Writing helps me reminisce, the joy of that fragile bond,

Each poem helps me manifest, that relation with a magic wand.

I can draw and redraw you as an angel, each time I pour my ink anew,

That a ghost from past can make me smile, who fathomed, who knew?  

 

Writing helps me reflect, with equanimity our joint fate,

Each poem prods me forward, to back down and wait.

In time I've started adjusting, to your absence from my craft,

By etching you in my poems, don't I risk losing you from my heart?

 

Writing helps me dump on my readers, my deepest, smouldering concerns, 

That they get charred in the process, is a cost justified to heal my burns. 

The Shifting Shape of Stories

I had a blessed start, with IIT tag on my head,

The techno-managerial jobs, I did not really dread.

The lure of a different calling, sapped my energy, left me dead,

With effort I climbed out of the hole, making psychology my bread.

 

I met psychology in college, it was love at first sight,

After decades of courtship, tying the knot didn't work out right,

My earlier passion vanished, it became just another job,

Now that I've started my own venture, this might not end in a sob.  

  

Venturing on The Fools Quest, is a Cinderella story, 

Writing poems that went unread, didn't lead to fame or glory.

Till there appeared a fairy, bestowing on my poems a magical power,

Disappearing at the stroke of midnight, but in my heart poems daily flower.

 

It's ended well for me in these stories, but perhaps at a cost and curse,

On my original quest to be a good person, did I slowly go from bad to worse?

Jobs-To-Be-Done

I hired my sadness today, a poem I wanted to write,

In which I could once more showcase, the abyss I daily fight.  

The poem needed a subject, darkness came to my rescue,

Pathos stabbed me in the belly, as if waiting on a cue.

 

I hired my sadness today, to process and feel good,

If I can make sense of my suffering, don't you think I should?

When my words disfigure the page, the ink becomes less black,

So I promptly pour it in poems, though I know the feeling will be back.

 

I hired my sadness today, to dazzle you with my art and skill,

Unmindful that the wound scraped, could shatter me, or even kill.

The poem needs an audience, you love poems of agony and pain,

To catch your eyes I'll happily scratch, and fester the wound again.

 

I go through my days hunting, for moments of sadness and shame,

I perhaps need to sit with them more often, not get lost in the healing game.

On Coming 2nd

John Doe felt lonely, I figured he lived alone,

For the cracks in his society, he has to but atone.   

But when I looked at Ram Kumar, living in a family of four,

He too felt torn apart, with relationships gone sour. 

 

Almost all live together here, with families or friends,

Yet no one notices the foul smell, till the year ends,

The woman living by herself, post death of spouse and child,

Is literally unseen by the people around, is this a matter mild?

 

Each tie rendered asunder, is a soul that's lonely and sad,

It's a skeleton waiting to be discovered, while being inwardly dead.

Feeling alone brings sadness, that may morph to a depressed state,  

If we want to break this vicious loop, keep checking with your mate.  

 

Be the friend they can promptly call, when feeling blue at night,

That loneliness defines our collective identity, somehow doesn't feel right. 

The Friendship Files

Survive school or college together, chances become great,

That you'll become BFFs, proximity seals your fate.   

Even when older you can still attend, to opportunities to socialize,  

That you can't make friends at work or in neighborhood, is a pack of lies.  

 

When you notice someone of your vibe, be vulnerable and intend,  

Take actions to bring them into your fold, be caring and to them tend. 

Make them a part of your daily life, a regular book club or kitty,

And schedule a monthly zoom call, for those not in the same city.

 

Friendships can take many forms, why over family they must take a back seat,

You can switch jobs together or live nearby, it can get messy, it's not neat.

You may not be able to keep in touch, life often throws curveballs,

There's grace in making the first move, and breaking the imaginary walls.

 

I know how to revive and make new friends, I've learnt from the friendship files.

But of the one friend that I've lost for good, the distance stretches miles.