Knock knock

What shall your sinful spirit do? When triumphant time comes knocking your door, while you are busy in trivial trivialities of Tuesdays and Thursdays, in monotonous Monday mornings, waging a war with Wednesday, wishing, oh! So ardently for the weekend, flabbergasted by them Friday facades, spellbinded in late night drives on Saturdays, senseless in sunday evenings,

Would you be busy?

In dicing vegetables or following television series that nobody cares about, or busy listening to souls, whose wonderful words echo in the noiselessness of nocturnal nights, would you be engrossed in masking your emotions, or would you unveil and present a plethora of confessions, or transfixed in starry nights and golden sunsets, or offended by corrupted chaos of the city you live in, that reeks of this demonic darkness, breaking you apart, all the time.

The inexplicable dejection you get as time goes on, and you have to go on too,

Pack your entire world in two suitcases for the sake of moving,

Leaving school corridors and uniforms for the sake of gaining,

To know more, have more, more and more,

Hoping,

Oh! So hopelessly,

That they shall fill the voids that time leaves as it takes it all away,

Ozymandius obscuring, withering away into worthlessness,

Your body that you love and hate and claim to own, turning into ashes, shall fade away,

And this feeling of love, our mutual connection, will it stay with you?

When I shall be gone,

Would you still remember our magical moments of ephemeral exuberance, when time turns into a hurricane and hits you like a storm?

Tell me, my dear,

What shall you do?

When time takes its toll?

Hammering your hopes,

Defeating you dreams,

Crushing your Canvas,

Inflicting injuries to your infinite insanities,

What shall you do?

When time rings your doorbell, would you blabber or shiver or scream or laugh or cry ?

What would you do, dear?

Would you live in it,

The moment that is here?

Or would you, allow time to torture,

Tell me, hmm?

Would you crush time with your raw emotions, naked nuances and bare soul,

Or would you allow it to crush you,

Into an abyss of nothingness ?

//Written for a competition, 22 February, 2018. Prompt- time.

Advertisements

Phases

[17/02, 7:42 AM] :In the still silence of the chiming clock , abyss of the unfriendly, lazy hour of a monotonous morning,
A stale fragrance of yesterdays prevailing in paper classrooms,
A suspicious strangeness peeping through, in familiar, friendly faces,
Are they but just facades, are they faking it
You never know,
But I am ignoring that sinful thought,
Choosing to devour that bittersweet aura of a calming cup of coffee from the college canteen, or as you say it, cafeteria,
The lights don’t flicker in this room,
There’s either light or darkness,
No greys,
No fifty shades,
Makes sense right?
Not to me, it doesn’t,
It doesn’t synchronize with my varied verses, the wavelength of a writer, a passing poet,

So I wait,
For souls who find this order as disorderly, as chaotic as I do,

I am waiting,

Are you coming?

[17/02, 4:48 PM] :Drowning in a flooded array of strangers with stories still unknown to you,
With chocolate milkshake tetra packed to keep your sanity intact,
And time travelling with your lone self,
Two hours of humming to yourself,
Varying verses and spellbinding stanzas of Adams, Swift and Sheeran,
Busying thee self to video and voice calls, connecting, disconnecting in the fragile signals of an Airtel tower,
And the sun shading itself for a Sunday brunch,
A wind not winding anymore, and blabbers no more blabbering,
Leaving two incognito infinite souls to a mystic mystery,
With ingenious ideas and nostalgic nuances swirling in their heads,
The day hasn’t dawned as yet,
The birds are still soaring,
People running around trying to be on their deadlines, on the lines,
To death,
But let a sadness not touch my verse tonight,
I hope you see a golden sunset and the sky being all blue and Violet and all shades of a rainbow,
And let the dying leaves not fall upon you,
And you see a cocoon transforming to a butterfly blooming,

Opposite ends of the crossroads,
Roofs and roadtrips await,
The clock is ticking,
Ticking,

Tis the moment,

Are you going ?

1 AM Nightmare

Inexplicably interconnected with everyday enterprises and monotonous monologues, flickering continually with raging ravages of triumphant time, a war wages, stirs in my vulnerable, raw soul,

I see,

A dear dream turning into a nocturnal nightmare,

With numberless alligators, brutal bears fishes out of water, flying masks,selfish beings soaring, howling wolves ready to choke the life out of me away, forcing me further and further from your calming ambience,

And people turn to animals that turn to humans, and savages as they are, they chase me as I run and run though in vain, stuck in a labyrinth, puzzled by my own perplexed perceptions, I cannot breathe, find no way out, I’m running, what is happening,

I do not understand, as the incessant race forces me to get up and I try and breathe slowly, trying to get what just happened, and everything feels heavy and I try and fix my self,

I am scared and alone, and dogs howl outside and I listen to the clock chiming continuously,

I’ll try again though. I need this sleep to be enough,enough and ecstatic and everything good,

I lie again, though a bit lost, a bit found, but where is your soul , I cannot make that out ,

Hush, soul, silence. Calm down ,

Hush dear night, do not play your games on me tonight, instead sprinkle me with showers of a sound sleep and serendipitous silence.

Oh, lonely night , help me out of the nocturnal nightmare,

I need to get some sleep.

Dearest Ed

Dearest Ed

Maybe you’re right, maybe that’s the way it goes, maybe we find love right where we are as we think out loud, listening to our favorite song, barefoot on the grass in the Lego house near the castle on the hill, keeping this love in a photograph, making these memories for ourselves

As time is still,

Maybe you are right indeed,

I wouldn’t have been curled up in a blanket listening to your sweet, soothing voice echoing in my headphones while my head aches and my body pains of the ongoing crisis of everyday existentialism, if you weren’t,

But even if you aren’t, that’s okay, only words bleed.

Do you know, Ed, I’m scolded almost every single day as I wake up at four in the morning and dance to shape of you to force me to be up and awake and ready for everyone endeavours, and I never realise that I am singing, or rather, shouting along to how I’m in love with your body,

Damn! What do you do to this introverted intellect that is comfortable being herself in her own little world, how do you manage to break my shells merely through your worthy words, your spellbinding symphony and those lovely, lovely lyrics,

Oh, shape of you plays again, I’ll have to focus on that for a while, you know I have to, Be right back,

But as I listen to this song, sometimes, I just find it a bit too perfect to be true, and even as I realise that this is, is indeed the start of something beautiful, I don’t know, it just feels a bit impossible to me that a soul shall not mind our the insane streak of our masked souls, deranged and drowning in a demonic despair, and to just give all they are, putting all their faith, bestow all their trust in another being, just like that, just like you do, in your words, that I just cannot stop thinking out loud about the incongruities and impossibility of a trance, of a reverie, a revelation as perfect as this,

And even as I do believe that people fall in love in mysterious ways, I cannot,

Just cannot stop thinking,

Do our selfish human hearts actually do deserve poems as pure, verses as varied. Words as worthy and love as bewitching, as this,

And I am pretty sure that I’m a mess right now but I think it’s okay,

After all, only words bleed.

And I must tell you this,

It has been All because of you that I have been having such difficulties in finding the one for me, even as we are all but fools in love, there’s nothing as enchanting in any soul as it is in words, and none has been that much of a Neruda as yet to write nuances and saddest lines for me,

I am jealous of the girl you’re going to marry, Sheeran,

Then again, it’s okay

I think,

You find love in all of the stars,in autumn leaves, maybe in that Galway girl who’s busy being unprecedented and loveable dancing in Barcelona, and maybe your A team does lay it all on her, and maybe you see fire in your beloved, and in small bumps, maybe you keep asking her how would you feel if I told you I loved you, telling her that you’re not just friends,

I think,

I find some love in unread letters and anticipations for mails from people who don’t want to or need to talk to me anymore, who have been fixed already, perhaps, and hence don’t talk at all, maybe I search for love in awkward hugs and burnt Manchurian balls and moon lit skies and all things rainbow and grey at the same time. Maybe I find love in the most beautiful of them verses, them people, this world.

Maybe I love the world too much to expect anything out of it, maybe I hate it too much to do the same thing, I am not sure,

I am just thinking out loud, indeed,

But now,

Right now,

As I see you in that dress, I just want to tell you that you are my favorite Weasley. And I am grateful to you for fixing my heart everytime anyone who thought it to be a privilege to have their selves broken by me walked over in silence over the shattered pieces of a broken heart and a vulnerable soul,

And i want to tell you it is you who keeps me sane, you who tells me to go in the battleground over and over again , even as I am hurting both the self and others because I don’t know why, the world just seems worth it, you make me dive, make me happier , give me love

It’s because of you that I find some sense of redemption in my monsters and try to summon some magical moments to learn to love my self, you keep me sane, keep my infinity infinite and I am grateful,

And be blessed, Ed,

Have a life you deserve,

Damn! You deserve, all the happiness, all the hope in this world,

And please, just don’t ever quit this songmaking business,

Okay?

Okay!

Happy Birthday, Edward Christopher Sheeran,

Let’s go for a double date someday maybe ?

Or you could just talk to me some blessed morrow when we talk about the horizons melting and the dusk dawning and the world being the world, with constellations and sunrises and rain showers and oceans and mountains and all things perfect,

I know, I fantasise too much for my own good,

But again, I mean, I may be crazy. You need to not mind me,

Keep Edding,

Always,

And I’ll fit you inside the necklace I got when I was sixteen, next to my heartbeat where you should be,

(Will) keep you deep within my soul,

Waiting for you to come home,

Even as I know since yesterday everything has changed

Even as I don’t deserve this ,

I’ll keep thinking out loud ,

Who knows,

I might be the someone waiting for you, indeed,

Maybe you’ll listen to my words and tell me if my story is too good to be true ,

I’ll be waiting ,

Love,

Antara 💞

Salvation

Open your eyes,
Eyes echoing of evil emptiness,
Open your eyes and take all that they see,
Open your eyes,
To the wonderful wonders the world has to offer,
To the orchid trees and bricked pavements,
To the cosmic souls in guises of defeated dreamers,
To the infinite intellects that still imagines,
To a sense of unbounded utopia, unprecedented as yet,
To tiny twigs transforming to thrones for wandering birds,
To the Monday monotonies,
To the trivial trivialities,
Do not,
Do not go back to sleep,
To the regrets of past and fears of future,
To the absolute voicelessness of chaotic cities,
To noises that numb your senses,
And brings you back,
To a state of moaning melancholy,
With bathroom floors and blue razors and a stale blood bubbling through thee veins,
Dripping red,
To lose to societal suppressions, unrequited emotions, overfelt feelings and unsaid expressions,
Open your eyes,
To the roaring waves,
The thundering clouds,
To buzzing people,
Let the nothingness echo,
Of an eternity,
Of ephemeral ecstasy,
Of an ever-present everything.
Do not close your self,
Not yet,
To the possibilities as yet possible,
To the optimism as yet obscure,
To the universe (that is) as yet, undefeated,
To the abyss of nothing and Everything,

Allow your self,
To think out loud,
To mess up and make mistakes,
Forgive your self,
Redeem,
Redeem your soul back from the demon,
The demon of daunting disappointments daring to destroy your dear dreams,
From the mighty monster of megalomania trying oh! so hard to murder your sensational spirit,
Soar,
Let your mind go places, wander and wonder,
Let it believe in magic and unicorns and essential goodness present in every human heart,
Let your sinful spirit live,
Let it find its salvation in golden sunsets and treacherous waves and overcrowded rooms and lonely seas,
In familiar faces,
In strangers’ stories,
In worn-out places,
In abandoned aspirations,
In a world of words worthy enough to attract your attention,
In the ascending autumn, the silent summer, the warm winter and the soaring spring,
In the earnest eyes of pure souls still making through in hopes of happiness in this mad, deranged world,
In a moonlit sky and imperfect constellations,
And maybe,
Just maybe if we stop seeking answers to those questions and stop searching for salvation in sinful sages and disguised demigods and hills,
Stop stressing over our sins,

Allow our human hearts to break free from walls wailing from hopelessness and sufferings to explore the labyrinth of lies and love and life,
To let it hurt,
To let it heal,
To let it be,
And live,
Our abandoned souls might find a salvation, a home, a Hogwarts in the middle of a pandemonium.
Here, come, grasp,
Open your eyes to the sane insanities of this wicked world,
Breathe a blissful breath,
And keep them open.

Enough.

Ever since I have tried, tried to understand,

The way of the world, the soft people in them hard times, I told myself, I’ll be able to survive and thrive, I’ll be able to be enough, at least, for myself,

My shoulders ache, ache of the presence of nothingness, the absence of everything, quite ironically I’m told that people shall be enough,

So I try and find family in friends, unable to find a friend in family,

Everyday I search , in vain, though,

For a home in streetlights and highways and a terrace where the moon hides its face as it cried its hearts out, I wander on stars and constellations, in deserted seas and abandoned empires,

Telling myself,

The enterprise is my choice, it has to be enough,

Sometimes I push a pause button, but everytime I do.

People stop too, and they turn into souls, they listen, to my lies and longings,

But my melancholy has some magic,

And my thoughts, they turn into humans, monsters as they are and swallow us up, inside out. And I find myself doomed, drowning, cursed into chaos, faking to be collected and calm, then I tell myself, i will be the thunder in the rain showers, I have that strength, I’ll be enough. And then I get back to a place called house, never my home.

And I’m told,

Comparison echoes in fading walls, blurring my reality into fiction which has now become sad, but I don’t want to be labelled as a schizophrenic, to be depressed, because then they’ll know, they’ll know I’m not good enough, for sure,

I’m not sure if it’s fair, not sure if it isn’t, but I tell my self to be my own patronus, be enough for the self.

And I’m watching everyone running around in circles, so blind, ignorant, careless, oblivious, which is unfair, but I am told not, do not, not pass the blame, not expect the world, accept the evils and I realize I could never be enough to save the world,

Oh! I should let the world be, I cannot even stop the earthquake in my cosmos, cannot help but just watch my universe collapsing, bit by bit,

So,

I put on my glasses on my otherwise perfect vision, hiding the salty water. And I smile and smile and smile, accept I ain’t good enough to be liked or loved or mused upon, not enough to save anything or any being,

Just not enough, ever.

So, I hide behind unsaid expressions and breakdown in bathroom corners and try to turn into yahoos to be a part of this deranged world, preaching that it’ll be alright,

Growing into I don’t even know what or who. .Hoping to be all ears, hoping to be a bit helpful, want to never let any body feel the same way I do every passing second,

Trying to get some faith back,

Trying to save people from the monsters in closets and demons lurking in my soul,

Hoping maybe,

Just for one time,

I will be good enough,

Or at least,

Just

Enough.

Running around

How do you live with your self,
After a fallen leaf touches the palm of your hand, and dies,
As the shades in the sky brings out the monsters in your soul,
And they mock you for harboring an affection so hard, a hope so strong and a dedication so profound. How do you get your self out of the universe you created and took care of and which is collapsing slowly right in front of your eyes and you can do nothing but watch the fire burn. And there is this vacuum in your heart that no bandage can fix and a void that no body can fill or maybe nobody even wants to, I do not know.
But who am I to judge. Who am I to judge the impracticalities and insanities of a world whose mere purpose is probably only to revolve. Who are we to criticise the follies of a society or to blame souls for not understanding our struggles, or for not forgetting or forgiving or whatever,
Have we attained peace with ourselves as yet?
And so coming back from the metro station when the sky is all grey and dark and city lights are all flickering and I’m looking at aeroplanes wanting them to be stars because I need to wish. To get some faith.
And I run, run as hard as my tired feet allow me. And as my breath skips and my heartbeat increases. I find myself running in circles in vain because what I’m running from is probably inside me , the monster the beast the demon. You name the synonym. I don’t know
And so I look upon books and musings and roses and chocolates and messages and I think to myself, who am I kidding right now. I do not even deserve this, this all feels too good to be true. The calm before the storm and I run faster.
And when I can run no more I stop and I cry in voiceless sobs and let my self be.
I run
Not understanding a thing
And wondering how do I preach still , how do I still fall for streetlights and leaves and sunsets and people and metro stations and all things which are scattered randomly in this not so random world, but then I wonder if there is indeed a thing as maktub and eternity and forever. And if I am a walker or a writer indeed
And I find myself choking at my own optimism. Or is it my pessimism. The boundaries between the two have blurred and I find myself growing extremely oblivious and drowning in a never ending pit of nothingness.
And my house was three streets back. But I don’t care if I’m late
I don’t care if I am early
I don’t care if I am. At all,.
But I do .
So I just force another breath.
And run.