now that we both are standing lost
at this market to sell our heart.
now when you are just a silent mural,
i feel like pretending to miss you.
in fact, that is the only thing i do.
every day, i write something
that could make a better monster of you.
every night, i get better at shedding fake tears.
our love looks like a lost cause even now,
but it looks more beautiful
since there is nothing real about it anymore.
“it is all fiction”, i tell them.
“i am a liar”, i shout.
but they love me anyway.
they love me the way you should have,
you could have, it was the easiest thing to do.
there were so many easy things,
things that will never be easy again.
since, i have chosen the most ridiculous way to live
and the most difficult the way to die,
the only non-pathetic way to die in our love.
Drops of your sweet memories
are settled on my heart,
on this morning, in this world
where I was meant to be lost.
It is a relief that
you are here in some form,
that I cannot truly forget you.
Thankfully, you cannot come from past
to ask me whether I have been doing well.
I am not sure what I would do.
Would I lie to ease your heart?
Would I lie to hurt you even more?
I do not want to remember the life
that I am living.
I have not changed a bit you see.
Denial was my preferred drug.
Maybe I am able to love you now in some way
because you are not the reality that my heart can’t take
but another excuse to keep my eyes closed.
I can love you now
since you are not here with me
to be hurt by what I am.
I have turned my face
from every confrontation
that I cannot tolerate.
I have stuck to my thoughts
and my denials.
I continue to agree with people
whom I find agreeable
and people who can help me think
that I am thinking right.
I have not learnt much in life.
And even when I realize my dubious nature,
I am not sure whether my efforts to improve
actually improve me
or are they just lessons to act better, pretend better,
to keep my immaturity bottled up.
But I do not mind such an arrangement
even if it is frustrating,
if only I could cushion this world
from the hatred I am capable of.
The discomfort of the afternoon rains
that turns into monologues,
for the one who can never be lost.
Who can only be found in sleep now.
They say what I see,
what I feel,
is what they call dream,
just a delusion to avoid.
I can feel the ground that I walk on
and can trust the hearts that I lean on?
Why must I leave this place?
Only place where I can love
and be worthy of being loved.