The Pleasant Bus Journey

I stick my head out of the window. Wind gushes past my hair. I experience a soothing sensation of nirvana. A wide smirk smears across my face. I close my eyes to shelter them against the wind. Nothingness engulfs me momentarily and I’m detached from everything and everyone. Black. Empty. Serene. I like that.

 

I open my eyes and look up. Street lamps pass in successions. One by one. All identical. The light isn’t glaring, it’s soft on my eyes. And I like that.

 

I slowly lower my gaze, and stare off into the horizon.  A humongous matte white cloud drifts slowly in the sky. Ashened by the dark of the night, it looks like cotton dipped in light coffee. I cover miles on the road, but the cloud doesn’t seem to budge. I don’t imagine fancy shapes in it. I never see anything. I just continue to stare and admire the beauty in it’s simplicity. I like that.

 

A song rings in my ear which is in perfect resonance with my situation. I hum the song and mouth the words. I leave everything behind, pushed off to the back of my head.

 

I’m going too fast. My longing for that feeling seems to be longer that the moment itself. A tiny snippet of pleasure that is barely satisfying. I wish it could slow down. I wish the road was endless and the moment timeless. But would all that still make it priceless?

Hands in my pocket, I’m off on a lonely stroll,

Accompanied only by the whims of my heart, and the voice of my soul;

 

The thoughts, they twirl and fog my mind,

As I tread forward, I leave them all behind;

 

A flickering streetlight, struggling to stay,

Although clouded by leaves, fights to light my way;

 

The asphalt rests in the calm of the night,

Glinting shyly in the tangerine light;

 

These streets bring about a tranquil mood,

Offering a cordial welcome, not once they’re rude.

 

And if I maintain quite, I think I hear,

The innocent stories of my yesteryear;

 

The streets on which I laughed and played,

Hold sweet memories that never fade.

 

I’m lost in a world that seems so pure,

A little child again; with curiosity galore.

 

I snap back to reality, I heave a loud sigh,

I take a deep breath and look up at the sky;

A snowball in pitch black, the moon shines bright,

I wonder if it knows that it’s not its own light;

It scans the ethereal sky; but not a single star it finds,

Least it knows; it’s a polluted world, with polluted minds.

The Beautiful Monsoons

Drops of silver splash on the mud, splattering on the leaves that make them sway in rhythm. Birds chirp away their tensions, announcing the rain to far away places. The front yard is lush with bright green leaves that glint in the faint sunlight filtering through the clouds. The sweet smell of wet soil diffuses in the air. Little channels of water slither away to find pools of muddy water. Paper boats sail their way down the stream that blankets the road.

I sit by the window, and witness the magic unfold. It never seems to get boring because every scene happens to be unique. Although these events aren’t unprecedented, their randomness keeps my idle watch interesting. Rain, I feel, has a way of beautifying things.

Cloudy overcast gets me excited. I enjoy reading a novel by the window while sipping hot tea. I occasionally look out while flipping through pages. I put on my headphones and listen to songs sometimes. There’s always a conflict while choosing between the two pass-time activities.

At times I end up gazing aimlessly. The moody atmosphere makes me crave for tranquility. Random thoughts swirl in my mind. Memories surface, triggering nostalgia. It makes me poetic and rekindles the author in me. Hence this thought journal.