I am writing this poem
because for an hour my mind is butchering
every beautiful thing in the world
to get that one line that can finish the thirst of this page.
And nothing beautiful remains beautiful
when such desperate hands
hack at it, cut it into grotesque chunks
and then fail terribly when trying to stuff them
into these mascots figures, these alphabets.
I call this a poem
because I can call it nothing else.
I call this a poem
because years ago a naive me
reached the conclusion
that the only way
a moment can live on,
a feeling can be recorded,
without the burden of the reason of its existence
is if it becomes a poem
and because the current me
doesn’t know how to deal with myself,
the current me knows nothing but to write,
and has nothing of substance that moves it’s heart.
And I fear myself
for the ease with which I refer to myself as ‘it’,
only because I became useless for few minutes.
I end up documenting my fear
of becoming empty,
of becoming blind,
and calling it a poem.
I end up felling helpless in newer ways
and I am forced to call it a new beginning
because giving every sorrow a beautiful name
is all that I capable of.
Tag Archives: beginning
I am writing this poem
I realized in my failures
that I was not nearly as good as I thought I was
and whatever I am was not worth that much
at least not in my own eyes.
And nothing I did could change anything
unless I could see the significance
of what I am and what I do.
I worked hard.
I lost sleep.
But my efforts to become worthy of my dream
turned out to be too less.
I turned out to be too less.
But somehow I was relieved to see
that even when I was empty-handed
I knew how to find my way to the beginnings
and start again.
So I couldn’t pity myself in that moment
but feel almost an admiration for this person
who didn’t know how to give up.
You stand in the middle of every green field.
You stand in front of every road, every direction
that promises me something better,
where the thoughts in my mind can finally settle.
But because you are here at the beginning of everything
I cannot find in myself the will
to begin anything new
and to leave you behind.
Now the dark corners
are the only safe place remaining.
The loveless days
are the only memory where we can rest
where we can hide from
all the passion that we wished for,
all the feelings we couldn’t handle.
You once wrote to me about the night
that hung as a curtain over your window,
about how you can’t gather the courage to see the light
until I came along and tore away those curtains,
broke your shields
so that you could see what lay beyond.
I once took pride in being the one
who destroyed all dark cells within you.
But I realized too late that you were a flower
who could only bloom in dark,
that shields exist for a reason,
that each step you took towards your fear
thinking it would bring you closer to me
was just the beginning of sacrifices
you made to stay in my world.
As I lay beside you
trying to undo my harm
trying to teach you how to forget me,
what I regret most is that
when you struggled with what you are
I was only proud of my love that could make you do all that
instead of being seeing your love
that could do what I couldn’t.
I don’t remember the first time I met her. Perhaps when things are really important, we don’t remember first moments. Or, more likely, I just met her before I was old enough to form these kind of intentional memories, before I was capable of reaching back in time and freezing an image into significance, naming it a beginning.
People talk a lot about whether men and women can be friends, as though the difficulty of friendship stopped there, as though the same question shouldn’t be asked about all friendship- can two women be friends, can two people be friends?….Is there any love possible in which one person doesn’t want something from the other that isn’t quite the same thing that the other person wants from them?
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(Image taken from :howtogetexback.org )
My heart, my house, my place for escape,
Has not been looked after and is in a pretty bad shape.
Although I see beauty in every other direction,
But my gaze is fixed on this building, for which no one has affection.
But the fault was mine and mine alone,
Whom I gave my undivided attention, are long gone.
And what’s left behind is the heart I never cared for,
A heart, that doesn’t complain for always being ignored.
But today I stand at my own heart’s door,
To ask for forgiveness from my soul’s core.
For chasing the shadows that were never meant to be mine,
For it was you who created them for me, it was you light divine.
So let’s restore the happiness you held before,
Let’s move our house to a new place, a new shore.
And remove this dust from our heart’s windows,
Let’s plant the seed of joy that forever will grow.