poetry

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.

Advertisements
poetry · story

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.

National Poetry Writing Month

If I tell you

If I tell you that I still belong to you,
Would you dare to still listen to me?
If I tell you that it broke my heart to be mean with you,
Would you still have the audacity to come back?
If I tell you that you have broken me into pieces over the entire decade,
Would you still have the heart to ask me to take you back?
If I tell you that I still believe you even when I know you are lying,
Would you have the face to lie to me again?
If I tell you that I know that I am just a convenient distraction for you when you need love,
Would you still create psuedo dreams to manipulate me?
If I tell you that I have known each of your wicked schemes and still chose to love you,
Would you for once be real?
If I tell you that I don’t know how to unlove you,
Would you please break me and scatter away my pieces so that I can never pull myself together and trust you ever again?
Would you do this?

life · poetry · scribbles · story

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.

life · scribbles · story

Heart on the sleeve

To love is the most personal thing ever. You just identify one human and make him or her the subject of your affection. We human beings are born with a heart and in this real world of fake people and transient forevers, this heart of ours gets beaten up often and we become this cold distant humans whose hearts are locked up because we are too afraid of love and feeling vulnerable. That feeling when your soul is absolutely naked in front of someone you love is unsettling, it gives you a pittish feeling in the centre of your chest and your bosom feels ached to be hugged and held tight but that doesn’t happen and you continue to live like that feeling that void and carrying it with you wherever you go. You don’t know the beloved’s heart. You may know it and it may break your heart but you still choose to keep going on feeling strange and having that heart on your sleeve because for a moment Rumi’s words heal you and you believe in universe and destiny and Ted Mosby who taught you to never give up on someone you love even when it completely destroys you and there you are smiling and going on as if nothing has happened while your heart lays exposed like never before. I have got only one thing to say here-

Dear heart,

just own it like you have always owned it. Afterall hearts were made to be broken. Keep showing off the sleeve.
Or maybe just fade off slowly while you bleed with your heart on the sleeve. But never lock the heart inside. Never.

life · scribbles

40 hours of love

I was up till 3AM last night with a hurricane in my head. Past 40 hours have been beautiful and I am grateful for them. The date that we had and the conversation afterwards which didn’t seem to end. But as I sat down with a pen in my hand and yellow colored parched papers of my diary, my throat went dry. Everything that we shared made me go into a trance of realization of how I first fell in love four years ago and how it all started and I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or not, but the similarities are hard to ignore and that realization has opened up wounds I thought were healing. Sometimes it’s better to read beautiful pages from glossy paper hard bound pretty cover books than to make that book your own and create a chapter out of it. 
I think I loved you when you distracted me while I was trying to gather my thoughts about GST. I think I loved you when you told me about your first experience with alcohol. I think I loved you when you shared the story of shedding tears in the lap of nature. I think I loved you everytime we crossed the roads. Roads for me are like I own them and I walk like I am the queen but then you made me feel like a child on the road having fun. I think I loved you every minute. 

But a part of me gets scared of happiness. I read about love, I write about love, I feel love all the time. And I am not used to being loved. And I am not used to the happiness associated with moments of love. As much as I enjoy them I get scared of the hurt that comes along. Nothing in this life is not balanced. If love gives you a high feeling it also gives you an equally low feeling and that low place sucks so much that high feeling feels scary. 

I will look for reasons to get out of it, I will look for reasons to abandon everything good in fear of uncertain risky future. I will look for reasons to find wrong in what felt right. And I will regret my choices and decisions but then I will make peace with it. Time. It’s never the time that passes by. It is you and I and I let it because falling trap to some insecurities are better than some uncertainties. 

And as Sarah Kay and Phil Kay said

“Love arrives exactly when it is supposed to and it leaves exactly when it is supposed to.”
“Thank you for stopping by.”
From 40 hours of love to 40 rules of love in attempts to avoid heartache.

“Where there is love, there is bound to be heartache.”