Here I am (again), Adams

Dearest Adams,

 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,

And, 
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,
Dearest,
I’ll just sit,
And wait,

And watch the world go blind ūüíē

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i’ll listen

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,

I’ll listen.

little things

Just one of those things, Just one of those little certain things that could happen anywhere, anytime, or should I be honest and say, that happens everywhere and all the time, This is just one of those things, One of those moments, One of those phases, that ought to come and go, ought to mark their haunting, almost hurting presence because that is what the course of life is, that is what we have come to, that is what it is, that is just what it is, And as many around me, including me, are constantly implementing and sometimes even saying it to our faces, there are things we just can’t control, things beyond our mortal and moral psyche, things we learn to live with, situations in which we learn to accommodate, learn to breathe in the suffocating surroundings, to compromise, to accept the fate, accept the indifference, the apathy, the ignorance, the pain, the way it comes, whatever that way is.

You might be sitting at a corner seat of a small ice cream parlor ¬†a few blocks away from your place, laughing at a joke one of your friends have just cracked, and you are thinking to yourself, this is the moment, a good one, and I am going to treasure it for always, there are people who are happy, and you can be happy with them, you can smile and giggle and laugh and mock and they won’t mind including you, won’t mind sharing their anecdotes with you, and they won’t mind you chattering away either, There, you are presented with an opportunity, i hope this is enough for you, And all of a sudden, your spoon hits the last of chocolate pieces of your ice-cream sundae, and it’s all back to reality, back to the red colored plastic chairs, the old banana seller outside, the three starred air conditioner, the chaotic noises around the city, the future that awaits, your house, theirs, and the illusion is over. As you get up, it too does, climbs your back as you both walk back to your place, together, in the same, constant state of mess.

It is everywhere, and you realize it all very well, and you are tired of it, ¬†desperate to get away from it , constantly trying to find a way out, from the empty inboxes, empty cupboards, insomniac nights, midnight musings, in the red-eyed, smudged kohl face reflection of your mirror self, the blades dripping red, the pills being taken for nothing and everything, your stronger self that is always so amazing in the face of adversity, always available, always just so optimistic and perfect, but feeling hollow, completely empty inside. It now surrounds the void that fills you up, the void created by all those souls who have left you, all those who keep leaving one by one, those broken promises which as you now realize, have meant a lot, those little things, little actions, things that made you feel wanted, loved, things that don’t allow you to be abandoned, things that make you feel home, probably things that make you feel a bit better,
But you know, as you grow, and you do, You realize that nobody has really got the time to do that, Maybe that’s why they search so desperately for one special someone on whom they can direct all their affection and expectations on, because, of course, who has got the time to keep a check on everybody, it’s simply uncool, uncool, unhappy and pretty depressing, and hence, even as everyone feels the same at one point or the other in their lives, we never talk about it, we never talk about stuff that is basically killing us, reducing us to a bit of lost individuals who do not know when to stop giving, do not know how to give up, we keep going, which becomes our reason for failure, for there exists no such thing as a break or an off-time, you have to and you will, and then you do, that’s all,
And hence,
Even if you are twenty and chilling on netflix or fifteen or learning that mitochondria is the power of the cell at the age of eleven while being constantly told that there is no such thing as magic, or forty and wondering how you have wasted your entire life, or probably, just like me, eighteen and doubtful, nervous, scared and mostly upset about something being amiss as you are being scolded away for stuff like skipping meals which appears totally trivial to you for at this point, you’d rather just starve to nothingness, You know, or have known, or perhaps, one day, i pray it be to be as far as it could be, you’d know, you’d learn how it feels, for the first time in your life, wishing to leave your world of words and books to the one they all sing such great songs about, to breathe in a bit easier, and as you watch the sun sink in after a day’s job, you can proudly say that it doesn’t scare me, doesn’t make me feel sad at all, and i am happy that i have some people i could enjoy tis moment with, and i hope you are not lying as you say that, ¬†For it is this, that might just break you, this loneliness, the silence, the what-not, all those emotions which make you wonder why you even exist, and would it even matter if you just didn’t, and it’s not that they go away, they just, stay, and as I’ve heard from one of my favorite web series, It doesn’t get better, we all have the ability to make it though, but none of us are willing to take the crucial step,
And so,  i stand here, much behind that step, and so does you, reader and so does a million others, stranded on an island of emotions with a volcano of rage ever-ready to burst, surrounded by a sea of disappointments,
And I too, choose to be shallow an d lonely, you know, we all think of creating a difference, we all hope to be a superhero to someone’s story and be the supernatural protagonist in our own fantasies, but we don’t always succeed, do we?

As Vincent van Gogh said when the world became unbearable to him, “La tristesse durera toujours”, he knew what he had gotten into, and probably that bit of cowardice is all that we need in a world where everything is basically garbage, And no matter what everyone says or preaches, he was right, after all,

The sadness will, indeed last forever.

 

To thee, my owner

Dear owner,

I’m grey and black and tragedy all inside. I have around 300 pages in all, which includes the introduction, the text, the references, the acknowledgements, the preface and all those titles you humans like to add on to the original write-up in order to understand it better. I’ve been with you for a good time, seen you laugh till you cry, seen you cry till you laugh, seen you cut your hair, seen you rub your eyes too much to do the redness away, seen you sneak in ice creams and friends, seen you read, and write, and open that laptop and stare at the screen for hours, thinking who-knows-what, I’ve seen you dancing to the beats of artists you pretend to dislike, read articles of those you constantly curse and frowning slightly of their indifferent and unjust attitude, I find you proud, excessively proud of what you are, who you are, what you do and the way you do it, I find you ambitious with a pinch of love, I see a sense of anticipation mixed with amusement in your eyes, and i sense regret and fears, And all these times while i sit in the cupboard in the farthest of the corners with a couple more of those who haven’t as yet tasted the joys of your affection. I see Hamlet looking anxiously every time you open the cupboard, hoping, waiting. I, myself stare enviously at those books whose texture itself you devour so longingly, pieces of fiction, voicing of facades and deceptions, unreal, Oh, the shame, losing to such pieces. I do not really realize what makes you go to them, they are just books too, like me, and i do not see them coming to your rescue while your mother is mocking you to tears.
Well, of course, i did not come either, but, why should I alone suffer the loneliness.

I know you have a certain sense of respect for me. But how come that’s all you have to offer, You read me first since i am a part of your curriculum, and once again since you wished to pay respect to the greatest bard of all times, But what about me, you owner?
I’ve seen you crying your eyes out over the incessant anticipations people have from you, and about the thousand ones you have yourself, But i cannot stop myself you owner, After all, i too am the embodiment of an almost broken soul, with words made eternal, versatile verses all filled with human intentions, emotions, characters, how can you expect  me to not complain when i am having my heart broken to a soul like you.  But you do not care now, do you?  You are tired, aren’t you owner? Tired of everything? Tired of being told off, tired of being told that you have changed even as you have not, tired of being told off for growing up even as it is not your fault, it is time that is triumphant always, and if fellas like Ozymandias could not win over it, how do you expect an eighteen year old to do that?, tired of them all bickering, I know owner, I know, And yet, I see you, See you breaking down every night, see you waking up a mess, yet you try and stay kind.I see you being misunderstood, stranded at a sea of silence,waiting, but, they do not ever give in,of course, they see what pleases them, even as it is miles away from reality, and you do not try to make them think otherwise cause quoting from your favorite books: ” i don’t want to play more. It only makes you care more, and the more you care, the more you have to lose,” I see you skip meals, I see you defend yourself, I see you hide what you feel, I see how hard you try to push aside the pangs of despondence, I see what a big deal you make out of happiness, see that big grin spreading over your face over an unexpected message or a mail( of course, there aren’t many these days), and as people compliment over your looks, you do not know what to do, you nod politely, upset over being judged on the basis of looks, I see you jump around everywhere when genuine words are offered to you, i see you repeating them to yourself all the time, and then, there comes a time, when i observe that spark leaving your eyes, when you begin thinking about the person, realizing how long it has been since you have embraced them, how long since you listened to the voice of their laugh, their words, the way they talk, everything, and i see you drowning, yet again.
Those fictitious monsters somehow do cheer you up. You have stacked them on my right hand side, (and yet you never seem to notice me), and you just pick up a random book and start reading at a random page, and somehow, you always know where exactly is the monster taking you for i see in your eyes form the image and you getting lost in it. I have sometimes scanned through your diaries and might i add you really do write well.
Pity, Pity.
I will never get to be your muse, now shall I ? You write about those you care about (obviously me not being one of them), you write about love, and people, sometimes.

You might be a little flustered and a bit curious as of why i do not talk in the language of my glorious times, But i know, thou shals’t ne ‘nderstand it. And i have evolved over time, Maybe one day you will too.

I know i do not prove to be an ideal hero, i killed the king for starting, But you always do find an essential goodness in us all, don’t you?
Maybe one day you’ll give me that chance as well?
Read me with the same affections you give to that book thief and that madman named harry potter someday, perhaps?

Till then,

I wait.
Yours

Macbeth

(Bottom corner, left side, the second row)