Tuesday, 8 September 2015

The Elephant Palazzo

I did not think something as trivial as a palazzo would affect me in so nontrivial a manner; perhaps the upshot has just been stirred by the nearest thing that it could possibly be stirred with, as it was raging to sever shackles. The palazzo became the disposed catalyst for good, I believe. My elephant palazzo- or the elephant palazzo that could have been mine rather- was just like any other cotton palazzo; but the miniature auburn elephant prints and the saffron flow of the palazzo, they captivated my imagination and I had taken an instant liking to it the minute I had seen it; but it took me time to appreciate my love-at-first-sight moment.  

What happened, to reiterate, is thus. Lately, I have been frequenting this one garment store. In one of my visits, a charming elephant-printed saffron palazzo caught my eye and I took it within me to try it. I found it draped me elegantly, made me feel comfortable and everything nice it should. Then I tried some other garments- a floral range of attire, for it was summer back then and the entire fashion diligence seemed to have gone berserk combating scorch with floral prints. One of the floral outfits won my fancy over the elephant palazzo and all of a sudden, I tried to find blunders in the palazzo. I don’t remember how I managed to find any. I didn’t buy the palazzo, I bought a handful of other things instead.

I did not think of the episode until I saw the elephant palazzo again during my next visit at the store. I couldn’t remember why I had forsaken the palazzo but I was steadfast to hound logic and reasoning behind my previous clusters of buy. I recognize the feeling now, as I sit here writing this- it was immature vanity, I’m confident it was. Vanity ushered into me, a surge of vanity I dread today and find inexplicable, inexcusable. That I had made the right decision by not buying the palazzo was a postulate I was determined to prove accurate. Consequently, I hunted the store, abandoned the palazzo and bought a couple other things from the store that visit as well; all this while, the naïve palazzo lay staring, unaware of the war it had participated in and lost already. While I was leaving the store, I turned behind to glance at the palazzo display once more; I did not know it would be my last time. Something inside me felt foolish but that day conceit emerged victor. 

Sure enough, climax sashays and the next time I saw the rack of palazzos, my elephant palazzo was gone. I did not speak of it to anyone, it was too trivial to be cried about. But ever since then, the episode, the palazzo began to weigh on my mind.
This is my haggard rationale behind writing this piece, this is my tribute to the elephant palazzo, my tribute to something that floated me back to getting trampled under the profound weight of letting go of something I probably loved and was too apathetic to realize, the profound burden of consequences of injudicious decisions. I guess something had to hit me and I was waiting for it to hit me. The naïve palazzo did its bit.

We wander around in life looking for psalms of joy, looking for elephant palazzos and when we stumble across them, they don’t look as appealing as they did in our dreams. At least not until we lose them. Passenger singer Michael David Rosenberg put this sentiment beautifully into his record-breaking sensational single ‘Let Her Go.’
You only need the light when it’s burning low, only hate the road when you’re missing home, only know you love here when you let her go.
And you let her go.
And you let her go. 
That’s when it all sinks in. The choices, facades, clamor, menace, debacles, everything comes revolving around your hub; their eyes seem skeptical, your decisions seem to lack wisdom, their mediations seem unfair, your beliefs seem to lack courage, and you feel like hibernating. 
No one, nothing seems to understand or console.

There are consequences to every fine thing you do, bad thing you do. People judge you for the littlest of quivers; I have seen instances when being nice to someone has been labeled immaturity, realization is labeled depression, happiness is rumored to be insanity, confusion turns into incapability, sorrow is fakeness, sympathy is flattery, and affection is civility- all of it, unquestionably, celebrated fragments of their celebrated perception. I have felt wrecked and broken to the point of genuineness becoming myth. But one fine day, a moment of epiphany proclaimed to a tired ear that the wide world doesn’t own up for everything that has been done to you, everything you’ve done, the elephant palazzo you’ve lost, the palazzo you seemingly will never get again.
Floating in that direction, I embrace today that the world seems cynical a lot of times but harboring grudges against it for the sake of a few judging eyes doesn’t make sense anymore. It has occurred to me that what I want now to do is to crush every possibility and breathe. Possibility of doing the glorious, making the wrong choice, hiding the spilt milk, deviating to the lesser beauty, forsaking beauty or being forsaken- every suffocating possibility must be crushed and the crumbling pieces should fade with sands of time.

Meanwhile, I float with choices, stride to freedom, obliterate suffocating perennial possibilities, I close my eyes, I regret my elephant palazzo, but I open them back again and I breathe because I need freedom. Freedom from grappling pasts, the prospect of intimidating present and inadvertent future, freedom to let go. To stop fretting about a million trivial massive-looking things tempts manifestation of it being a heavy toll but the thoughts take a heavier toll on you. I have realized that by living with it for a while. The elephant palazzo will be missed and every decision I made encircling it might keep haunting me but I choose to embrace freedom, live with instincts and choices- wise and unwise, appreciated or criticized, by me or by onlookers.

For what is freedom if it doesn’t stir into you some barbaric instinct- something perhaps dampened asleep in our sober lives- but in that one moment of possibility, you forget eras of civilization, rigorously trained traits; and inside you, gripping you is a strange passion which sends you madly whirling around the room, in the freest, handsomest light.
That is freedom, you see; it sets you free.



What if you could simply be? Just be. 
And be because it makes such a gorgeous picture. 
Because it lets you feel wind and not dream of it. 

Wednesday, 15 July 2015

Poured Back

Droplets of rain we’d been yearning for far too long, they greeted
Crashing down today like murderous waterfalls,
Crashed gently on my locks and in a nook pain was seated;
I broke and the drops mocked my wreckage.
I yelled and fought, I needed every bit of you,
I needed my nightmare; shame on me
and the author of my story.
 So I drank to your rhythms all night, wept in your whiff,
Hummed your warmth and stabbed your promises
till I won over the rains and till I forgot crusades I knew
Upon sweet rainy plateaus I had once lived on.
Clinging to willing radiance; these rains remind me of that but also
my sunken ship of a story with you.




Dancer on Creek

Slowly departing from a flaming room; dancing absently
in blazes, in euphoria, upon my good ole secular dreams.
You must have watched me return to my strand
the world thought was abandoned.
But it was gushing with skies, floating with streams,
And if you watch me now, I’ll be somewhere perching
on the edge of a beautiful arched doorway upon the creek.
You’ll watch me dancing absently and you’ll listen to words I’d never speak
Your tremor of revulsion, your magnetic charms, faded conversations,
How dare you think I don’t think of them?
Let’s continue this, let’s fall into hatred so that we don’t love
Adamant and ancient, unparalleled inventories up above.
And before the room sets to irreconcilable ashes,
I’ll stay awake by telling myself this
Oh, song, oh shuddering song!
I’ll stay put and sing myself to sleep,
wearily dancing all along.


Sunday, 12 July 2015

Fright

Between my lips and my sleeves
The fright rests, thumping like love and thriving like kids.

Beyond the box, an inconspicuous noise
Torn between throb and sinking into that voice
I turn away from his eyes, frightened

Walking by on moonlit nights not by my side
Exacerbating beats, squelching my pride
I wish to escape the episode but I stay behind
And that makes me frightened.

I remember that one afternoon
Coarse hands nestled on the wooden table
Smiling, he talked of inquisitiveness
He talked of saccharine truth and nagging fable
And I was uprooted, stooping in loathe for a feeble self
God, I was so frightened!

I have no time to chase behind gusts like him, it only harms,
I haven’t the stature to give in myself to lowly charms;
Convincing it’s what is best for my book
Of safe passages and walls and lofty dreams and no streams
Deviating to his route for even a second is becoming frightening.

For now, I block roads, visions and strangle my speech
I yearn for maps I left back in some page of an unwritten story
Though he could look way more lost than anyone ever could be,
Though he looks way more hovering than I picture me
My attention to facets and details alarms me like never before
Dear Lord, I’m frightened to my core.

Maybe this fright pleases me, maybe this fright annoys
Nickels, daydreams and jolting wounds clasp hours
Walking to places he has last stopped by
Talking of auburn tastes and collapsing powers,
It’s pleasing and frightening.

Between my head and my heart,
My fright escalates each day, he set hazards free

I’m frightened and I’ll make him leave because I won’t keep up with me.

Sunday, 24 May 2015

The crack, if it exists, isn’t visible,
Not to eyes, not to theirs’ anyway
They’ll umpire your armoire
And pounce on every little thing you say.
It’s not your fault, little love
It isn’t your fault at all.
You didn’t realize what you were in for
That a trench could be so deep a fall.
You walked into a room, let them see
You walked to the room, your head held strong
To play the part you’re supposed to be
Let all the others be wrong.

Monday, 18 May 2015

Do you know what I did? I threw the letter into the fire and watched the fire consume the very last of the pallid pieces till all that remained was hovering bits of ashes.
I cried when that night they said ‘don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.’ I cried like a little baby. Can you see past blackness when nothing is lit up in the farthest of horizons? Yes, Esmeralda, I gave in; I gave in to tears because I was in the over and it was hard to see anything else except what I was in back then. And I was the in the over. I couldn’t understand how any blessing, boon or any speck of sunshine could come out from a terribly empty, cold end. I cried to bed saying I needed nothing. But it wasn’t true, I needed a lot. I needed a strong pull of muscles into clarity and warmth, I needed warmth. I needed his warmth. But I loathed him and his hysterics and everything that followed if I would ever savor his strength again, his embrace. I had to let go of everything.

It wasn’t easy living once I let go completely. 
I choked for hope and I lived with hurt. Hope would stab me leisurely, ripping me to shards never to be built again. When hope was murdering me, hurt saved me. It couldn’t save all of me but it got me through blizzards. I didn’t realize that I hid a lot of hurt and the hurt I hid ignited enough of my inside to keep breathing. It was rage, it was pain that helped me, it shut me but it saved me. 
It doesn’t matter what kept me alive, Esmeralda. 
The important thing is that I survived.

Saturday, 25 April 2015

Valentine's Day Blues

Okay, I admit I have been behaving exceptionally peevish since morning. The thing is: I don’t know why. Fine, I do know. So, it’s Valentine’s Day, the glittery day of love and heart-shaped chocolates. So?
So, what?
I’m not being cranky for a disconcerting, hollow reason like Shanaya  gloating about how flawlessly dreamy her day has been going, or my room-mate modeling all dress alternatives she could possibly sport for her Big Date tonight (she finally chose the one I told I liked the least), or friends all around me receiving swathes of red roses, teddy bears proclaiming ‘I love you’ or a crimson box of over-priced chocolates and ME, on the other hand, strolling on the streets with a bundle of freshly printed posters inviting people to participate in a writing contest.
I guess I’m just fractious because I majorly oppose buying overpriced crap to publicly demonstrate heartfelt fondness. What’s it with the abundance of red? What’s with the teddy holding a heart? What’s it with the HEARTS?
 I mean, I get it, alright. You’re too much in love, unfathomable love right from the unyielding bottom of your heart. But why does everything around me have to keep advertising that? The entire world goes fanatical contemplating new ideas and pursuing traditional ones to impress their beloved companions. This one day.
I can almost picture some random guy in boots taking his lady love dressed in this terrific gown to this spectacular scenery under stars and they might have candle-light dinner near the ocean with the most perfect music. Or somewhere, some guy is kneeling on his knees this very moment and gifting diamonds to an overwhelmed receiver expressing high-pitched delight.
Me? I am a wreckage of my cartoon-quoted shirt, faded jeans and old black platforms.
Me? I am returning from a printing shop with posters of a writing contest I am helping host.
 Me? I am strolling dusty pavements with a so-in-love couple drooping ahead of me, behind me walks a woofing street dog. Oh, two street dogs. Brilliant.
Me? I’m opening links on Facebook which say ‘8 Undeniable Perks of Being Single on Valentine’s Day’.
Maybe, I shouldn’t level my scenario so much and just rest my nerves. I mean I had never been into Valentine’s Day much. Or into this entire being-in-love thing. I have hated and resisted every fancy attempt of Shanaya’s to get me to think about someone in relationship sort of way. I hate to have to try to work on love; it has to be a happening, not a doing, isn’t it? It has to be something so strong that it sweeps you away without giving you a choice at all. You either fall or you don’t.
Anyway, Shanaya thinks I have fabricated that up as an excuse for my lack of refinement and my perpetual awkwardness.
Okay, the truth is I have been too much of an awkward dumpling to respond to any sort of build-ups in my love life. I mean I have blabbered the most inappropriate things in the most inappropriate times to the most inappropriate people and in the event of choices, I have chosen to nourish myself with pastries instead of going out with people. And I have been perfectly happy. So I don’t see why today should affect me.
Actually, I think I know. I know why I’m being so tetchy about it, I mean. A while ago, I just happened to watch this movie Valentine’s Day with Shanaya, and I liked the movie almost as much as she did.  And I have to embarrassingly admit that the movie kind of built into me this idea of having this one dreamy day every year with someone absolutely charming.
But I reflect on it now, it’s absolutely gibberish.
Oh. Text message from Shanaya. ‘What’s up, baby? How are you spending the day?’
‘Printing posters, coughing in dusty streets and nurturing hostile feelings for every couple out there.’ I type. But I don’t send. I send this instead: ‘Might treat myself to some chocolate delight, had a tired day.’
‘Aww, I’m having such a good time, I feel sorry. You want me to come over? We could grab something together tonight.’
‘No Shanaya, I’ll be fine. You have a good time tonight. I’ll have brilliant food and watch some cute animated flick maybe.’
‘It’s a pity you had to let Aryan go.’
Aaaargh. What is it with lovelorn committed friends feeling sorry for you when you’re single? I mean they behave like there’s this faultless sphere of happiness we’re completely missing out on and without it, life is just futile. It is not futile, lovebirds!  So not futile.
Oh, Aryan. He’s someone I met through Shanaya and he’s become Shanaya’s absolutely favorite grilling focus for me. He was a little cute, I admit, but an absolute not-my-substance. He didn’t like chocolate, he didn’t read, he was shocked when he saw massive novels in my bag and commented he never thought anyone even read those. He insisted on me having coffee and I loathe coffee. Besides, nothing clicked. Something’s supposed to click, isn’t it?
‘I’m just going to have chocolate. Bye Shan, enjoy.’
I spot one of my most favorite chocolate product serving outlets in the city around the corner and race myself to the door. Sure enough, there are scarlet hoardings, heart- shaped cakes, cupcakes, chocolate boxes and the entire eatery is beautifully embellished with crimson decorations. There are couples sitting together sharing heart shaped delicacies. All I can say is my pupil is going to saturate of hearts. I decide I can’t sit here, I’ll just pack something and leave.
‘I don’t see why Aryan couldn’t fit in your Must-Haves. You didn’t give this a chance.’
‘I’m in the choco shop, Shan. Don’t stress yourself. Have fun!’
Must-Haves. Umm, okay. So I have this very absurd notion of must-haves. In the highly unlikely, highly distant event of me stumbling on someone charming, the charming fellow should a) be very kind b) appreciate the wonderful world of books and literature c) be breathtakingly funny d) be smart, poised yet should be able to appreciate lunacy. And I wouldn’t mind if someone looks Channing Tatum but hey, you don’t necessarily have to. I mean look at me. Anyway, Shanaya thinks my list of Must-Haves is completely bullshit and I’m going to die an old maid with a wonderful career if I don’t let go my insane list. But it’s hard, I have to tell you it’s hard.
“Ma’m, what would you like to have?” the girl at the counter asks me and I suddenly realize the fact that I’m standing first in the queue. It’s time to order chocolate.
“Chocolate chip pancakes. I would want them packed please,” I reply.
“We have a special offer on those,” the girl smiles. “You get a discount for two heart-shaped pancakes.”
“I don’t want heart shape,” I reply quickly. A man standing behind me with a bag-pack giggles a little. I take in his smile and he stops, turning his eyes away. The girl behind the counter looks a little sorry. “We only have heart shapes available for today actually, mam.”
“Um, I’ll have the cupcakes then, Chocolate Outlaw .”
“Cupcakes are being sold today in our special box of four, discounted and a free designer...” “I’m not interested in today’s offers!” I plead, tired. “A normal cake please. Pack for me a circular or rectangular chocolate truffle cake. Five hundred grams.”
“Yes mam,” the girl squeaks. “Any messages to be written on the cake?”
“No messages please, I’m eating the cake myself,” I retort.
“That’s an awful lot of cake to eat on your own,” the guy behind me laughs. I don’t reply. I stand aside and await my cake.
“I’ll have the chocolate pancakes, I don’t mind the heart shape and the discount for two,” the guy orders. “Though, I don’t have anyone to share them with either.” The girl behind the counter smiles. They both smile at me and I feel like evaporating.
The guy opens his bag to take his wallet out to pay and out pops this huge book from the bag, thudding to the floor. A Charlotte Bronte biography. I can’t help noticing and I can’t help smile in wonder.
“Elizabeth Gaskell,” I mutter aloud. He turns to stare at me in astonished delight. “Yes, the biography,” he smiles.
 “Gaskell did this for her very dear friend, Charlotte Bronte,” he adds, discerning an escalating curiosity. “Interestingly, another contributor to the biography is…”
“Patrick Bronte,” I sever him, smiling.
“Yeah, he’s the…” “Father, the father of the Bronte sisters,” I cut him again.
“Wow,” the guy smiles. “Most people I talk to about this think he’s the husband.”
“I like literature,” I say, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “I like reading about authors, reading not merely tales from novels but the tales of people who wrote them.”
“How they got inspired to write such a beautiful piece in the first place,” he adds smiling. “You’re one of the very few people I’ve met who’s told me that.”
And, I find myself smiling too much.
Text message from Shanaya. ‘You’re not blobbing alone tonight, I’m making plans for you.’
I look at the guy, and I take in his frayed stature, his callous warmth, his generous smile, the slobbering bag from his shoulders and his hand tucked in his shorts’ pockets. Something weird creeps into me and I decide I like him.  Besides, I don’t want to go back to a cold, empty room, stuff cake and sigh in misery.
‘You are right, Shan. You know what? I don’t think I’ll be alone, I’m making plans. Will brief you soon. Have fun, happy Valentine’s Day! ’ I text back.
“So,” I tell the guy as my cake parcel arrives punctually. “That is an awful lot of cake to have on my own.”
“I don’t have anyone to share pancakes with either,” he laughs. I snicker too. And I don’t feel too awkward for some reason, like I always have. “Heart shape is a bonus,” he adds, still smiling.
“Umm…We could have these together if you want,” I find myself telling. “I mean I have nowhere else to be and if you’re in no hurry…” “I’d love to,” he smiles.
The girl behind the counter has been following the conversation, beaming in amusement. “I’ll have the pancakes sent over to the table,” she tells us.
You know what? I don’t know if he suffices my list of must-haves and I don’t even know his name but I’m having a good time for now. Besides, I get to have chocolate pancakes and weirdly, I don’t even mind the heart shape now. It is an okay-ish Valentine’s Day. Also, I can gloat about this to Shanaya maybe and frankly, I’d love to.
[Author’s note: Piece is fictional.]


Thursday, 19 March 2015

Sapphire#4

How much greener the grass is, with those rose-tinted glasses,
But the butterflies, they flutter by and leave us on our asses. 

Run

Is this our world? So unnoticed, so real, no one has a clue
Neither do I, neither do you
Why did we fall to such a blur? I know I’ll be safe where I come from
Should go back to the slumber, the one you woke me from
You do not know me, I haven’t heard from you
We’re chasing behind fire, and I don’t know what we’re up to.

Please head back to where you were going
Don’t come any closer, you won’t find me
We’re spiraling out of our homes, our roads
Into the biting cold, into lust, into quandary
I won’t tell myself or my folks, you pretend you don’t know a word
And once the coast is clear, we’ll say it aloud and let it go unheard.

There are no lights, there’s been no light
Stare at me while the lights are off
Oh lord, I think I feel something
And I think I should run.
I think I should run.

Where do you see us going? Do you know what it is that we’re in?
I don’t where you are when you come for me, I don’t know where you’ve been
I let shackles grow into castles; it’s not where I come from
Should go back to the slumber, the one you woke me from
You do not know me, and I don’t wish to know you
We’re halfway down a trench, I don’t know what we’re up to.
Don’t stray further, you should leave
Don’t come any closer, you might be hurt
I never stayed for breezes, you’re tumultuous
You linger yet you stroll away but you drag, you fuss
I know nothing will ever reach you, not one painstaking word
So every time you’re not around, I sing it and let it go unheard.

But you turn off every light
And you keep staring while lights are off
I succumb and I feel something
And I run, and I run, I run.

I’ve got to run away from you.


Lost

She felt lost
A host she had under her feet to adore her craft
Yet she felt she was fading
Lost in an arctic place she had never been.
Fading away unheard and unseen
By the only one she wanted to be seen
But before his eyes, she was a fleck upon a painted wall.
She screamed her one last curtain call.
But the last shout too got lost
Like the echoes of her ole love songs faded in points
Lost in piercing pounding of her heart
                                       She felt loveless.                                      

Oh, what a loss, what a heartbreak,
Oh, what a loss, it’s all too much to take.

Oh, misery would be miserable to behold a beauty so devoid beauty
But he was impassive.
And her call was lost.
She was lost to him, it seemed
But she had lost herself to him
She never could lose him out of her mind.
And she felt loveless.
She felt loveless but she kept him.
Such beauty vulnerable,
Such a poignant parable,
Such ice in him, colder than the coldest frost
A love that could build a realm passed away lost.
Her love, her beautiful vain love.

Oh, what a loss, what a heartbreak!
Oh, what a loss, isn’t it all too much to take?



Tuesday, 17 March 2015

Sapphire#3

I was afraid to be alone
Now I'm scared that's how I'd like to be
All these faces none the same, how can there be so many personalities?
So many lifeless empty hands
So many hearts with great demands

Wednesday, 11 March 2015

Do you know how something is just not meant to happen but it happens all the same knocking your senses away? You can only change what you’re feeling, you cannot undo how you once had been. You cannot undo the midnight sneaks, the three AM distress calls, the very first two-wheeler rides, bellows in the air, the wind in your hair and jokes that make sense only in your private once-existing world. Your world with her. You can only persuade yourself to forget, convince yourself you've forgotten but do you really, do you really forget everything? Do you forget anything at all?
You don’t because memories, they stay.
They stay because they’ve been built upon something so strong, something so beautiful. Something that can’t be uprooted, something so profoundly engraved. You lived those moments, you lived and you could breathe and you felt so alive. It was how when you were with her, you felt brainless and wonderful. You didn’t care about anything and you didn’t care about her because you knew she belongs to you. A person who is yours without a label, without strings, without displays, without clauses and without pretenses.


Well, seasons approach and changes startle.
I should like to believe our story merely toggled to a fresh weather.
I stormed into a path of my own, she breezed her way through hers. And today, I have melodies of my own, places I go to, things I love, sights I take in. She has hers. We do not belong to each other’s lists and it surprises us both.
I do not even know if our hymns brush her mind any longer but they do sweep mine and I just wanted to sing it for her, for one last time. Then I would really have to leave, though. But I’ll sing it for her one last time, yes, I will. She’s to become this one song for me today and she should have become a lot, lot more. Because she was one thing so right, that space between us was one thing so genuine and it’s a pity it had to snow this bad.
But it happened, it snowed and we froze without wanting to.
I can barely behold beyond the white now.
Sometimes, I try to sweep the mist away and guess the figure behind the haze. It doesn’t work because it’s become too hazy for the eye. And for the heart, for that matter.

Monday, 23 February 2015

Sapphire#2


"In another town, the light fills my room.

In another town, they're painting my moon.


In another town, I won't see it soon. "




Sapphire#1

"And I ran off, ran on to something, that I swore was everything, but beautiful; I'd only use that word for you."

Tuesday, 27 January 2015

Is this who we really are? Is this who we are chasing? Everybody is after something and it sucks when you do not get it. You know some times you feel so down you feel like nothing even exists because all you can see around you is the bottom and it’s all that makes sense. Episodes of despair are contiguous. You wear scarves and sweaters to protect you but the truth is if the cold wants to bite you, it will. It’ll bite you and it’ll be so cold you feel like you’ve frozen to your core. You’ll try fumbling for answers about everything but you’ll realize you do not have a question itself. Is this the first day of your life? When did everything change? When did you feel like you are one complete person? I’m not one of your painted faces, I can’t speak like voices do, I can’t look like faces pretend and  I am who I am. I am not naïve, do not make me. Do you know statues which stand tall pretending to assert all importance when in reality all they wish to do is free themselves of the cement shackles and move and run and rummage? Do you know how everyone wants the perfect sphere of happiness and anything less seems revolting?
Do you know how brittle you can be? Isn’t it funny you don’t know how brittle you are until you shatter completely? You shatter completely. And you feel like you weren’t even one. Look around you, is this what you wanted to fall into? Wasn’t it absolutely, rigorously miserable forecast on your behalf? This isn’t happening. This shouldn’t be happening. If the masterpiece that was to be made wasn’t supposed to be the masterpiece in the first place, if it was only supposed be something to be looked at and forgotten and never talked about again, do you wonder if everything around you is even real? The truth is you need something by your side, something real, something unkempt and something so strong that it’ll never leave you and keep you warm forever. It’ll make you glow and make you bring out the best of you, of your soul. Your soul. It’ll be beautiful like your soul. Tell me this, won’t you tell me this? If something so beautiful was supposed to happen, why would it happen and break you so completely? Was the beauty in it so worth shattering you to pieces and make you never want to come back again? Somewhere someone reads an improbable tale of bliss and sighs, somewhere someone weeps in all gloom because they relate to every stroke of misery they see around.
I’m done, I’m done for now. Won’t you sing to me? I am too tired to sing on my own. Please do not ask me. I know you’d be proud if I could drive away from these winds, against their flow. I do not know how I am going to do that. For now, I just know I am so completely shattered it’s going to take a little while because everything seems real and everything feels wrong and I know it because that’s all I feel now. Will I last another season? If I could last, I would sing a song for my life and I would stroll between my streaks with my hands in the air. But till then, you hang me if you have to. And don’t you worry, I’ll be gone. I was going to be gone anyway.

I wish to get away, away from everything. I wish to fly for once, I wish to fly. I wonder if the nothingness inside me will make me nothing enough to fly. 

Friday, 2 January 2015

That Room


I descended the stairs, to the floor
The room is small
I came here to feel my sore,
It’s better than nothing at all.

The wood crackles
Like the sound of hurtling crockery
Like when we fought.
I play my part
In your choir of brilliant mockery
I fit to the scheme you thought.

There are people here
In illusion and in faith
I stumbled to them like this smoke in the air.
The air they breathe so readily
In grave ignorance they await
The screening of their tales of despair.

Look at me, I’m one of them
This room embraces everyone
I came here to be one of them
Because it’s one thing so easily done.

So I will drink it all up,
Everything the room has to offer.
I will drink it all in one massive gulp
I breathe and drown in the room till I suffer.

I need you and I can’t stand your sight.
The bar works fine for me tonight.
How I need you and how I repulse your sight!
My pain works fine for me tonight.





Tear You

Something seemed enough one day
I realized it through my dusty window pane.
And I prayed the gale would sweep all of you away
Yet, all that stayed was you and the ebbs and the disdain.

Look, darling! How I tear you up
With slashes of my pristine blank paper.
With wicks of lust you smelt that danced through my cup
And the bushed vessel you disgustedly hid yonder.

Just like you promised a vibrant splash
I’ll paint you a picture so vibrant you won’t look.
You’ll hide from the light for what you swore was trash
My song shall quiver your wall, your roof and your nook.

The little pearl you clipped to me could never gleam
Lies and lies and lies dressed the open fact
The sport that never amounted to the dream
And I sat there staring, I couldn’t react.

Oh, but I thought you’d be torn apart
You stayed there wiping away strands when I fell
Oh darling, I could never tear you apart!
And I’d never stop loving you, but I don’t think I wish you well.