“Long time ago” is a dangerous neighborhood.
All its season are holograms of perfect world,
the illusions of rain and snow and sun,
the illusion of hearts still beating under the non-existent skin.
The technician of this a weary magic
lives beside the empty park in the middle of my heart.
He knows the perfect days to make me cry, to make me see.
He invents new people, new details.
Sometime these are fake stand-ins for the what he has lost
in his war against me, all that I intend to forget.
Sometime they are what I failed to realize,
people I didn’t get to love.
Most days I can’t tell the difference
between the words I have forgotten
and the ones I will never hear
has post offices with stamps of words I no longer mean
stuck on its wall.
There cars and houses and roads and rivers
owned by people who will never die.
They all gather on my birthday
in the cemetery of one grave.
They sit on the endless green grass with their picnic baskets,
with the kids I will never have, with the pets I will never keep
and look into the eyes that will never look at me.
They smile knowing something I will never know.
my sad winter sunshine
i am here for you.
we can stay sad for however long you want.
i don’t remember the happy you.
i am not hanging around to see your other face.
i have no affection
for what you are trying to become again.
i loved rain once.
now snowfall is my new thing,
you are my new thing-
my old love in a new skin.
the sky is endless, the time infinite
we have long way to go
before we become anything permanent.
as i walk among all that should be ruins, i feel humbled. i feel stupid to think that these small sorrows of mine are something that could end this world.
i find another overused word on my lips again – promises. they remind me of promises. they remind of having something more important than ones own life. what does it even feel like to have something like that? do i even want to know?
i wonder who dreamed of a place like this, where all the birds seem to be running away from same things as me.
here, maybe here, i could forget all that i shouldn’t forget. here, maybe here is where my endless toil, my yearning meant to take me. this is good place to end, to kill my love for this world, to kill the hate i have for myself.
there is a land of promise
that only promises an end.
end to everything.
a painless but a sure end.
i wondered if i should dream to be there.
if i would be able to say this aloud
if i can say,”i dream of an end”.
if you ask “end to what?”
what shall i say? what i should i answer?
how does one begin to answer such questions?
the questions that do not mean anything
till they have an answer.
then those questions become regrets,
become point of no return.
an end surely is better
than the unbearable stretch of time,
the long life
that lies after the such questions.
how can you look at me the same way
when you know that my monstrosity and my weakness are the same?
how will i be able to pretend or play dumb?
surely an end is better
the endless days of pretend.
an end is better
than carrying the burden of this life,
this life that i don’t want,
than loving you and loving myself
with closed eyes and closed heart.
I want to love you with the sincerity that I don’t have.
I want to want you desperately, even when I am fed up with you.
I want to look at you as if you are my everything
even when I know that you are not.
The only thing that stops me
from being the love that I dreamed of being
are my own shortcomings.
I am not patient.
I am not true to my words.
I do not hold an endless sea of love in me,
you might only find misdirected anger,
petty grudges and resentment in my heart.
I am too sensitive, not in a good or sweet way,
but in an irritating intolerant way.
I am someone who wants all sweet things
but have only bitterness to give back.
In my spare time
I make list of what I lack
not to improve
but so that I have ready excuses when I need them
and I only need them with you.
I need them so I can stay selfish,
so that I can continue to be by your side
and not fall apart with shame.
I know you deserve the world
but let my greed win for once,
for this life
close your eyes on everything I do wrong.
My love may not be great or even good enough
but I love you
even when my love for you and want for you
makes me the worst person in my own eyes.
That must count for something.
Make this one mistake for my sake,
let me have you for this life.
There was a melancholy in
looking up at the endless vacant sky
and looking for the invisible presence
of someone to depend on.
To wear these ideas
that were guaranteed
to sort my life and mind.
Except it felt like clothes borrowed.
I had to either return them
or throw them away.
Have you reached that part of your life
where the seasons don’t matter,
and time doesn’t matter.
And the only thing that occupies your mind
Because it is the only thing
breaking in this perfect world
and you know not
how to keep this perfect thing going on.
The silver moon stays in the sky
while your eyes become useless
as the hands of god scribble endlessly,
so that the moon crumbles only in your eyes.
If you haven’t reached that part,
I hope you don’t.
And if you are already there
let’s hope we can get out of it .
For the only hope I have is-
if only I can hold myself together,
there is still that beautiful world out there
whose memory keeps us alive this season-less land.