Her Spirit

They spoke of her undying spirit,

while it crumbled inside her being,

she smiled with the sunshine for them,

and cried somewhere deep within.

They spoke of her spunk and laugh,

she stashed her sadness away,

she sang songs so they could dance,

and her paining feet stood still.

They lauded her love for sunflowers,

some wilted daffodils she loved,

she ran in the rain and they smiled,

her tears were washing down.

They still speak of her spirit,

and she smiles and walks along,

her wall is still intact she knows,

and that spirit is crumbling on.

Advertisements

A city, a person

Every city a person, and so is Mumbai. A loud, vivacious, full of life person. A person with some problems of Insomnia and the incessant need to party. A person who is walking through a mirage of all things she wants. And yet is painfully aware its all a mirage.

But the person lives on, drinks every moment like beautiful old wine, and lives life on the impulse of tequila shots. Fights it out everyday in the sea of people she sees. An yet when its rain, walks precariously on the sidewalk of the seas. Watches the rainbows even in the smoke of technological progress.

Talks to the birds like they were her own, makes thousands of new friends everyday and somehow manages to keep place for some more. Says hello to many dreams and shoulders many tears of despair.

And yet at the end of the day when I calmly sit by Marine Drive, thats when I know. This is my Mumbai, the city I love so much and I know as I look around, she loves me too.