he sings the most beautiful song.
that the sky becomes a reflection of the heart
that he can barely carry in himself.
the words on his lips
they break, they sound different,
they sound like the first cry of a baby-
the violent coming to life.
they run and collide and shatter
against the rough indifferent surface
of this dying world, a not-so-bad world.
he becomes a not-so-bad singer.
as he runs out of breath and love
someone places a coin of gold in his hands.
he means to feel grateful for this compensation,
but all he can do is hold his tongue, hold his tears.
hold his bitterness in himself
and sing another song dreaming, waiting
for an honest reply, a genuine care,
an understanding gaze in return for laying bare his humanness.
Tag Archives: different
Sometimes I fear you –
the way you can make me want to change,
the way you make me act unlike myself.
I doubt that maybe I am too easily convinced
and too easily affected by your existence.
my effort to become someone you deserve
how is it different from the insincerity
that I have always shown to this world.
When I grow tired of this act
I might end up making you the excuse,
might call you the liquor that I regret giving control to.
I am already finding it easy to resent you
for everything I do wrong.
“You have changed my life”-
is the sweetest sad thing that I never want to say.
Though the sky is filled with lights
the nights on this land are lonely as ever.
Again I am in love
with a part of sky,
with things that we call heavenly
only because they are out of our reach,
only because they are not ours to keep,
because every god seems to love them more.
I end up on websites or with books that say
“this is how the universe looks”
“this how the stars are born”
“this is the most beautiful cloud you will ever know”
“this is something your tearful eyes can never see”.
That for every drop of light
there are an expanse of emptiness
which we cannot imagine.
That we are small and we are insignificant.
Funny how the love for things
that I thought couldn’t possibly hurt me
also takes me down the same path.
The path that I walked once
holding the hands of someone
made of flesh plastered with signs
of caution and warnings.
But it is different now.
I guess the difference lies in who tells this news to me.
If I am nothing, if this hurt that I feel because of you
is of minor importance,
if I have a life that will be easily forgotten,
then I do not have to kill myself only to be remembered well.
I can forgive you for being human
and myself for not being humane enough.
You can come near.
I look different, don’t I?
All my words sounds unconvincing, don’t they?
A bit shabby, almost a contrast to my past,
But would you believe me if I tell you
that there is something in all of us
that never changes.
The one thing that we chose to be
in spite of all
we have to loose for its sake.
For me that was being your friend.
Even when my skin became paper-like,
even when my heart hardened,
I put all my will and all my effort
in keeping that one door unharmed and unlocked
through which you an come back
and see the me who has not changed.
I was never good at waiting
but still I have learned.
Your absence has taught me
what nothing else could.
Though it doesn’t make me better or worse,
at least it makes me better suited for you.
I believe we can change
and stay the same
at the same time.
I could be anything I wanted
but not her.
She thinks too less about wanting the right things,
about wanting things that are lying around in
the debris of Lego buildings broken by
hands of a small gods who gets bored easily.
If she really wanted to feel
what fulfillment feels like
she could have walked through the gardens
that were made for soul like hers
(or should I say gender like hers).
It is better, I can vouch,
better than wanting to go to places
where she is not wanted,
where they would ask-
“why can’t she read the situation?”,
“why can’t she keep peace?”,
“what are these demands that she must have
when she has lived without it all her life?”,
“how is she any different from others
who know how to take the equality that we are offering
without wanting a share of ours
wanting to be a bit more like us?”.
I can understand all that
but she doesn’t
and there is no way that
I can make her see the pain she is walking towards,
make her hear the names she will be called
just for asking what everyone else wants to ask
but fear being in wrong terms
with the people who run this world.
You are a thorn in my heart
that only hurts, that only digs deeper
when in rare moments
I find my way to doors in my life
that can’t be opened now
and I stand helplessly in front of you
whom I no longer love.
When you utter the same words
but they sound different
and I realize that I have never been around
to notice this change.
We may walk in a present
disconnected from our feelings in past.
We are nothing to each other now.
Your sorrows are no longer due to my mistakes
and I feel nothing but relief for that.
an unfulfilled dream breathes in me
refusing to die,
for it is happy to have you around.
Today, you are more beautiful that I remember you to be.
Today, I feel we are almost invincible.
It is funny to say out loud this word “invincible”,
when life proves again and again
how it is just another consolation to our mind,
a fence to fend off the reality.
So that we might know of happiness
without being burdened by the dark screen of the approaching end.
But today I am ready to put up these fences that I do not believe in,
if it could me help me create a better memory of what life was.
Maybe I can learn to be blind in a different way,
that what I have been till now.
for this day
you see in me the the love that you always looked for.
I hope you remember me this way
even when this brightness, this happiness
and these fences fade away from the landscape of our lives.
I looked up at the confused giants
and puzzled at their ugly voices
and deformed faces,
how they hold onto stones and branches
how they hold onto papers,
and threw each other off cliffs.
But what made me sadder was
that no one who was thrown off those cliffs ever died.
They just keep coming back
looking a bit different, speaking more funnier
and acting more mean
and throwing each others down again.
No one ever died here.
Everyone lived and everyone wanted all this to end
but no one wished it more than me.
I was made to believe that the little blood I have in me
is their doing, is their gift.
I wonder how much time it would take
to empty myself from the traces of this violence
and memories of people I grew up calling my family.