Isn’t this is how it always goes?
You shedding tears at the sound of the ceiling fan in the overwhelming darkness of the midnight,
As people have gone to sleep, after telling you exactly what they think of you,
And these seemingly trivial problems are all up in your mind,
And you wish to scream it all out, as days turn into nights which turn into days and it just keeps going on and on because this despair that arises, this dearth, this despondence, it’s eternal, never ending, always increasing,
And you want to feel that rage, feel that anger burning down your breath,. But you don’t, because you don’t feel anger, not anymore anyway,
Everyone has some or other problem with you,
As you realise you have no home, nowhere,
And you cannot and don’t even want to say anything because you are not as heartless,
You just want to leave,
Sneak in for some final sleep,
But you’re not allowed that either,
So what do you do, dear,
You wipe those tears as they come,
Hugging your forsaken self, you feel this loneliness lurking around every where as this sadness that you are famous for, finds its way back out, again, as this inexplicable wish you have of trying to please everyone finds itself to be failing,
What do you do, dear?
When you don’t know what to do.
Because, everything is fine, and yet everything hurts.
And you’re so exhausted, you just don’t wish to explain, just wanting someone to suck your soul out from your body which doesn’t really deserve all the love and affection it gets, or those anticipations that you find yourself unable to fulfill, or anything, anything at all,
How did this happen?
That nothing in this entire cosmos matters to you,. Not a single thing. It’s all, what does it matter, over and over again, as you think these unthinkable thoughts, you were never this, or were you?
As those who’ve claimed to be yours are all asleep, locked in these guards they’ve built, in order to protect themselves from you,
And you’re in your room, as your mind wanders on them empty streets, naked, searching for a place called home.
You hate yourself for being your self, for sharing this sadness, for this feeling called love, for everything, everything,
You don’t deserve to be treated this way, you realise that,
And yet, and yet.
They just don’t realise that there is a reason you have curtains all in your room, why the door is always locked, the lights always dim, why you always succumb down to this void of darkness,
You just don’t know where to go,
What to do,
How do you do this,
And everyone seems to know what they want from you,
And you wish to be unpredictable, because you don’t, can’t,
But you can,
Because this is not another heartbreak,
You can get through this,
This is just another night,
Where everything is fine and yet every hurts.
Emptiness echoes in her earnest eyes and yet i i find my sinister spirit enchanted to this vision of hers, that is vague, devoid of demonic darkness and filled with this inexplicable radiance, a light that nobody else can see, she does something to me, this new girl who has joined my hostel on Friday, the thirteenth of this month. And i might just be falling in love with her, you never know, or she might be soaring in my love too, you never know, i believe some feelings are better left unveiled, suppressed. unsaid.
There is something too right about this girl, I find myself lost in the chaos of her confessions and her curls that tangle themselves after hours of straightening. She wears kohl, too dark for the fifty shades of grey prevalent in her eyes, and a lip color too purple for the redness in her blush. She talks of little infinities and seems perplexed about paper towns and the thousand splendid suns that shine behind the walls of her soul which is too fragile for this world, and too strong for the universe that stirs under my raw, vulnerable soul, filled with heartbreaks and disappointments and ambitions and ideas of a nineteen year old human self, She is this perfect combination of everything that is too pure for this world, a plethora of Hazel Grace and Hermione and Elizabeth and Jane, How is she that magical, I do not understand.
I knew it!
I found her little black book of ideas and imaginations (that honestly looks like a death note diary) hidden beneath a pile of clothes and books near my blue study table, which has this burnt mark on the left-hand corner, it wasn’t there till last night, or was it? And what was that little blue flame i saw fuming last night? Was it a dream, reality or something in between, i do not know,
I may never know,
This little book consists of gibberish, stuff, symbols and figures indecipherable to my mind habitual to words of Wordsworth and Shelley and Keats and Rowling, it talks of unicorn horns, hair of them giants, toes of dwarfs, and some other stuff I don’t know anything about,
Am i going crazy or is this real?
Is my life turning into a Harry Potter Movie? Or is it real, Am i dreaming,
I think so,
I may never know.
I am awake this night, I wish to know, and this little monster called cupid, it lurks under my soul, for it has lost its senses to these spells she uses,
But is her magic limited to the limitless sky, is it responsible for the cold sun, the collapsing skyline, these different shades of darkness and the abrupt rain-showers, is she the reason why people run away from me, Oh, wait! they always do that, who would like to have their obscure imaginations being read and observed by a poet as shitty and a writer as witty as me.
She knows i am awake,
Knows i know what she does, knows that i know why moonlight does not flicker over our stranded selves, abandoned in our own aspirations, why darkness reeks in this midnight, of hopes that haunt my self and i cannot stop shivering,
She looks at me and there is this inescapable infinity of nothingness, I find myself losing in the labyrinth of her love and long for the lonely hand of the clock that chimes and yet no voice comes out. It is still, i shudder in this silence.
The stale blood in my veins bubble as she walks near me with a steady gaze, I wish to redeem my soul from her demons and yet, i don’t , i wish to drown deeper in this treacherous trance and this impossible possibility of our little forever, a mortal and a magician,
Would I survive this?
As our cosmos collides and the empty canvases of our occupied minds blur into togetherness and everything fades away in this magical moment, we burn in passions of love and magic, dark magic, to be exact, plotting together on how to take over the world, But is it not okay?
As we burn together in this,
Together- that’s what should matter,
I am stupefied and the world around me fades, the apocalypse is approaching, i can feel it, the hurricane, the storm, it’s all there, stirring around, inside us, all around.
I wake up the next morning and she isn’t here, or is she?
I am too bewitched for epiphanies, too ecstatic, too lost, but i am alright,
At least, Still a mortal,
//Written for a competition, February twenty fourth, Prompt- You realize that your new room-mate practices dark magic, write what happens next.
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,
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,
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,
Just for one time,
I will be good enough,
Or at least,
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.
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.
I cannot recall when was it when I heard your first vocal, but I do remember how it went, and for a middle school child still struggling to make peace with a then-foreign language, the song had me on top of the world, and even as I was still in school, and the concept of colleges or graduating or job or lives in general, seemed but a distant dream, there was something, something in the summer of 69, something which made my head bang and feet move everytime I heard the familiar tunes, Jimmy quitting, Judy getting married, and you, slowly realising that it all won’t last forever, after all, That is the first song I heard in that language, followed only by the amazing backstreet boys,
And it was then, when your were probably just fifty or something, you had earned another fan in the form of a little eleven year old who believe (d) in magic, and probably million others who not only acknowledged, but in fact, understood what you were trying to say all that while,
And after all this while, Adams, loneliness became a friend to my elder self, and as my self slowly became numb, and surrendered itself to Linkin Park, Taylor, Coldplay and eventually settled at Sheeran, there never has come a time when I don’t find myself humming to any of your random verses,
And you know, Adams, my love and fangirling for you has never hit a bump, much like many of the Masters of world of words as you, it has just grown more, and even as a few years back, when my Metallica geek friend got myself acquainted to the eroticism present in many of your songs, the love, the awe, the wonder for them has never wavered, and every time I hear someone with a ringtone of ‘here I am’ I smile and congratulate them on a good, nay, amazing taste in music.
Call me crazy, Adams, but I have spent a long time judging people on the basis of the art that heals their heart, the art that makes them feel, the art that turns them back to the vulnerable, trusting and fragile creatures that humans are,
And I, Adams, am simply glad that my type of art has you,
A gem, a true piece of gem,
In a world filled with despacito and swalla, All i wish to do is come back to you on the cloud number nine.
And not even Ed driving at ninty, towards the castle on the hill can do what the ‘best days of your life’ do,
Happy fifty-eighth birthday, Adams,
And Thank you for being what you are,
And all i know is, that i was not just dreaming, and that the world would never have been the same had i never found your cassettes in the old garage,
And i’m just thinking out loud,
But I know that,
when i’ll be standing on my mama’s porch, knowing, that it won’t last forever, I’ll still let somebody hold my hand, or maybe i’ll just try and hold a piece of the present present in front of me, or as Ed puts it, where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken, and time’s forever frozen and still,
And whatever’ll come, it’ll be alright,
There ain’ no place that i’d rather be,
And because of you,
I’ll just sit,
And watch the world go blind 💕
But, my dear, do you even know? have you ever put yourself out like that , made yourself that vulnerable, do you even know, how much that pains, the disappointments, the decisions, the lies, the hollowness, a vacuum inside thy heart, a screaming silence surrounds thy soul, and it feels that things will never be good again, and there’s abandonment, and silence, emptiness, and silence, the empty inboxes, the ‘no new messages’, the dim-lit rooms, the forbidden thoughts, the unending moments of nausea and nostalgia, and as you are puking your heart out, there are tears, tears of desperation, tears of loneliness, tears of hopelessness, tears of a person who’s giving in slowly, breaking down, bit by bit, moment by moment, person by person, tear by tear,
So, Do you even know? How that feels, you become numb, nothing moves you, for you are so much done already you do not know how much can you take anymore, how much can the soul take, where do those limits end, when does the mind just burst away, take you with it, and be done with it,
just be done with it,
Get it over with,
For once, for all.
Yet you complain, my dear, that i do not talk, do not share, what do you want to know, i wonder, what exactly, is it, that would put some relief in your ears,
Would it be if i tell you the lesser known tale of nineteenth October, two thousand and ten, do you know what happened that day? no,? Well, that’d be the day i lost my faith in probably a dozen things existing in the world, but you know what happens to hurt me the most, how i never got to say goodbye, you want to know how i found a man i knew and loved dead and cold lying on my terrace, how being twelve and dumb, i did not realize what had happened, and in my fear and desperation, i, i threw some water over his corpse, do you want to know how i screamed and shouted in horror as i realised what had happened, how it was never going to be the same again, how his voice was lost, for ever, and it seemed so weird, so unreal, so ruthless, i did not know what to do, and i remember as i ran downstairs for help, i was not crying, i had to be strong, just for then, i remember telling myself, it’ll be alright, bad things do not happen to good people, it is not what you are thinking it is,
I did not cry when the people from the hospital declared he was dead, did not cry when i saw people who i knew and loved breaking down in the middle of a normal, beautiful October day, I was allowed to break down when they took him away, and his blue eyes and white hair are the only thing i remember now, i never got to know his story, never lived enough with him, never talked enough, and now, when it’s been five years and i remember nothing but the beautiful October day of that year, I do not know what to do, It’s all in the past, that’s what they’ll tell me, I realise that, well, spoiler alert,
It still hurts,
Would you like to know a similar kind of thing happened this summer too? I was younger before, younger and stupid, I was older now, older, aware, and yes, of course, stupid, and this time too, there was a human lying in front of my eyes, another someone i know, i love, not breathing, you know how that feels? i hope you don’t, i hope nobody has to feel that way, it hurts, and this time too, there was a hospital, and there was waiting, and i remember something i thought in the emergency department of the hospital, the patient is indeed the most relaxed out of all, for the unconsciousness protects him/her from the waiting, the wondering, the fear,
This time too, they told me, how brave i had been, how strong a soul they find me,
See, everybody asked if i was doing fine, i was, of course,
But fine isn’t exactly fine, not with me, at least,
But of course,
How would they know,
Would you like to know of the endless discussions i have with people who wish to see my awkward face every single day, who try and force me to stay for ever, who promise me forever and always, and lately, i have begun to realise the futility of these promises, these words we tell each others to calm each others down, but what’s even the use,
Would we ever win the tale against time, if it were possible, if it were to make us immortal then it would have been saying something but since it doesn’t, it doesn’t make sense, or, well, maybe it does, but it just makes it sadder, word by word,
How do you propose me to stay, i do not have anything left, not anymore, it has never felt home and i doubt it ever will, what would i even do then, you’ll leave when you get bored anyway, what will i do then,
And every time you accuse me of sadness, of despair, of overthinking, you push me away into silence, The thoughts i do have would never stop, they are limitless. and i would rather have them that way,
But every time you force me to find a way out to your happiness, you yourself build back a barrier,
I mean, it makes sense to me, you do not want me ruining your happy days or life or memories, and it is okay, i won’t, i would never, But, then, you do not need to send my way all those lies and promises if you do not even mean them, It is okay,
really it is,
I’m now known to talk less, anyway,
you tell me what you wish to talk about, I’ll be here,
I’ll lock away my lonely words and beaten up reveries, paint a smile,
and when i’ll sit with you,
I swear, I will sit earnestly,
I’ll be there,
wherever you’d want me to be, I’ll know,
I’ll know, I’ll understand,
slowly, but eventually,
whenever you want,
wherever you need,
whatever you need to vent about, anything at all,
i’ll be here,