Illustration by Pradnya J
These are turbulent times.
There are turbulences in life
like an airplane hung midway
between land and the ocean,
knowing not where to go.
It seems,
some have mastered the
language of in-betweens,
mastered the art of deception,
with a nonchalant ruse worrying not for the target soul.
There are turbulences,
in the quiet pastorals
of my land, which
lives in the unfathomable deeps
of a world full of wannabes,
searching for themselves,
weaving aspiration with temptations.
There are turbulences
in the hearts of the wandering and meandering,
as they walk through the jargon of life.
These are turbulent times.
There are people
hung like posters on walls,
lost,
between empty celebrations and celebrities.
These are turbulent times.
There are some like you and me,
who play with words
like a pack of cards,
working with the profession of tears
and tearjerkers
in the hushed metaphors
of clichéd tongues of the master.
These are turbulent times,
As I wander in the quest for peace…
in the battle between self and selflessness,
between reveries and realities,
between time and timelessness.
Because, these are turbulent times…
