Apocalypse

When I close my eyes, I feel the touch of your fingers on my lashes.

There is a scent of wet mud and hot sun in my room.

I have no room.

The feeling of your touch goes away as soon as it came as if it never was there and then, right in the centre of my chest a little towards the left, I feel a void that marks it’s existence every now and then.

I lose my sleep over the replayed flashes.

I have neither roll nor camera.

You come to me in the silence of the dark when sleep sits peacefully in my eyes.

You conquer. I am no longer myself.

Your being overpowers my existence and I become like a torn leaf in a storm that you bring and I go wherever you take me.

I have no where to go. You leave.

I dance to the full moon and sing to the sun rise and shine brightly like a fresh flower in the morning making everything around me romantic and exquisite.

One fainting breeze of you.

Spring of life becomes an apocalypse.

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Dear one

Dear one,

Do you see the sun falling behind the dark clouds by the side of the sea?
I feel the warmth sun radiates from being behind like you steal a moment to kiss me on my shoulder and when I turn around to hold your hand, you are not there but your presence leaves it’s essence.

Dear one,

Do you see the moon shining bright tonight? The stars are all being lazy and hiding behind the darkness of the sky like you whose first love is darkness and lust is my presence. But you know that love always overpowers and you leave traces of your fingers on my nape while you submerge yourself in the darkness of your demons.

Dear one,

You know you are my drug and yet you fail me each time. And I, no longer rely on you for fleeting alive moments. I would rather be a monotonous muse.

Fine Wine

I painted my imagination with you in mind,
Unfortunately, it was all black.

Cloud of thoughts that floats over the canvas has colors of us which merge to a rainbow.
Black was not your imagination, it was the sky of shackles keeping us apart.

The colours were long lost when you said ‘school is over’, each day, we now fight a battle of our own which ends in either white or black.

O my friend, how do I keep you?
You are young, wild and free,
Reach out and achieve the fame,
For souls like you can’t be tamed.

Why any of us has to be tamed?
Why do we need fame?
I am just floating with the wind of the universe
Sitting with you writing a verse.
Darling, let the wind paint the colors on the canvas of our lives,
The blacks and the whites are just feathers of time.
Love like ours is eternal.
Imagination is like fine wine.

Note: The piece where I am the muse and my muse is my co-author. This is not a poem. This is a WhatsApp conversation.

An almost all this while

We are a generation of almosts,

We almost achieved what we dreamt of,

We almost dated the one we loved,

We almost made it through.

We are a bunch of people who abandon things at the last leg.

We are the people who seek Independence while being co-dependent.

We are the people who love but don’t hold on to it.

We are the ones who believe that there is always a second chance.

We leave things in the hope of them coming around.

We are not alive. We are neither dead.

We are an almost all the while.

We are almost dead while being almost alive.

And my weapon.

It was raining when you looked me in the eye. Your presence makes me feel the best and the worst about myself. You are beautiful in peculiar ways. You are not handsome. You are not good looking either. You are just you who makes me feel things that I can’t really comprehend. I have loved you and I continue you to love you so much. But we are not meant to be, can you see it? I have been seeing it for the longest time and there is terrible looking thing called hope in between us binding us through invisible threads of time. But I see them breaking, one atom at a time. It is scary so as to how much I want to feel your heart thump against my ear and how much I want to choke you with my hands and let go of your love.
Whenever I said that you have hurt me, all you said was that it was just a bit of love. Darling does love hurts? I have been told that only allowing you in the walls of the temple will hurt and there’ll be river of red flowing but there are oceans of saline water creating waves while the heart bleeds nothing but love.

The ones who love us really know how to hurt us.

We are closer than ever yet so far apart.
I am lost in this Galaxy, don’t try to find me. I will be the star burning so bright that the light will be the cause of the death. Darkness is my prey.

And love, my weapon.

Universe is musical

Universe is musical. Nights are calm and beautiful with music pouring in the silence where the silence is silent with notes of music playing around as if they are hugging. As the sun sets and the moon arrives shining bright radiating poetry. The universe is musical with stardust pouring from heaven when the bird coos early in the morning on a winter when the sun is about to rise. The trees sing songs of a home in a whisper which you listen when the heart and the mind are not separate but one in a moment. The wind speaks to me while it kisses the folds of my hair, making love to my eyes making them close with the anticipation of beautiful dreams in reality. The universe is musical when the music of the heart syncs with the musical silence of my room where the dream catcher reminds me of discovery of the music of the heart which was all within me. Universe is a personal concept making love with life in the silence of music where the silence silences.

Sing because life is all about feeling the notes of love floating. :’)

Fairy Tales

There she was, sitting by the window

Listening to the fairy tales her mother told her.

She would watch the birds and become one of them.

There she was, listening to Harry Potter and pictured herself as Ginny falling for Harry at the age of 12.

There she was, watching Disney princess movies

She thought of herself as the princess.

Her dad made her the princess in real life.

There she was, being Hermoine in her 12th. She became one for real.

There she was, being Mitchie from Camp Rock in her graduation. She became one. “This is me” became her favorite song.

There she was, falling for a guy and getting her heart broken. She turned to Geet from Jab We Met.

She is her own favorite person. A broken heart makes her smile even more.

There she was, growing up, becoming a woman,

She became a warrior princess instead. She fought her battles. Won some. Lost some. She remained the princess nonetheless.

She again fell in love and created a fairy tale.

She pictured her favorite love story with the guy she loved.

She sees the reality. Knows fairy tales don’t really exist. Yet she lives in one.

Her life has always been a fairy tale even when it was not.

She is a fairy tale.

She is her own fairy. She has a world of her own.

Who says fairy tales aren’t real? They are.

For her.

All she did was to dream one.

Our love is wrong timing.

Neha: Darling,

You’re the sunlight in the North Pole 

That doesn’t exist half of the time.

You’re the wind that blows on the cold chilly nights.

Darling, you were never mine.
My heart belongs to warmth and bright days,

You are too dark for me.

I shouldn’t be the one you should chase.
Love for me is transient and permanent at the same time.

You are too lost to know that,

Let’s not waste time

Karan: And all this while,

I thought our love was like wine. 

Tasting better with each passing year,

With each year worth a lifetime.

Neha: You say it’s wine,

It just kept on getting sour with time.

Warmth, love, and care were just layers beneath the frost of our hearts.

The sun is never enough in poles.

Karan: I chose to live with it, 

While you chose to leave. 

You continue to live,

While I die daily!

Neha: It’s all a matter of time,

You’ll learn to live after you’ve died.

I died a long time ago.

This time, I don’t even exist.

It’s my soul fighting for life and for sunshine.

Our love is nothing but wrong timing.

The very idea of Romance

Romance: if we look at the origin of this word, it means ‘beautiful’ and this was first used to address the beauty of the evening sky. That’s how the concept of romantic weather came into being. And over the years, romance started to get associated with love. Essentially romance is love that is not long lasting as per definition. It is transitory.

(For verification of the above, read about it in evolution of language articles on Google.)

Now, the very idea of Romance is exciting on most days if you’re not a cynical person or allergic to anything cheesy like some of my friends. I find myself constantly in a battle when it comes to the idea of Romance. On most days I am a hopeless romantic falling in love with life, nature, experiences, people and food. Romance is an extremely important aspect of my life because of my parents who are so much in love that even after decades of being together, they make me believe that fairy tales exist for real and love is one thing that can make you move mountains. I call my life a poetry. A poetry full of joy, love, sorrows and occasional moments of depression as well. 

The very idea of Romance is enough to make me happy. Going for a walk is romance, being curled up with a mug of hot chocolate is romance, having a beautiful conversation with someone is romance, pulling off an all nighter just to read favorite erotica is romance, travelling around the city aimlessly and having fun is romance, and I can go on forever. You don’t need a guy or a girl to experience romance to be honest. But having company helps. Sometimes I romance my mother by taking her out on a date and all we do is walk and talk about silly things which we don’t get to discuss while at home. Every morning my mother is working in the kitchen and the moment I wake up, first thing I do is to go and hug her from the back. This has been my routine for I don’t know how many years. 

My last couple of days have been really romantic. I have done almost everything I listed above, going for a walk, having food, talking to a friend and laughing and then reading my favorite book in the light of the Darkness. But love hurts at some point or the other. One is very naive when one is in love and I am an extremely stupid human when I love too much. Sometimes I think that love needs to be a bit more rational but then what about this heart which doesn’t understand the concept of rationality. Everyday life is a constant conflict between the idea of Romance and being this sensible human being. Because no matter who we are or what we do, love does not make sense and it is not supposed to make sense. Love is totally nonsensical but we have to keep doing it like Ted Mosby. 

If we don’t let our hearts bleed, have we really lived?