I find myself more broken that I was before.
I find myself praying to every deity who did me wrong,
who never cared,
praying that they changed their mind,
hoping that maybe today they will find me pitiful enough
and finally see me as one of their child.
And while they continue to stay silent and cruel and distant,
I tell myself that they are doing this for my own good,
that all love cannot be the same.
But these days
I can’t even believe these words
that kept me afloat for so long.
So now, I have found another lie to tell myself
that “everyone suffers like me”
and though it is enough to stop me from tearing up
but the pain doesn’t pass,
and it is no one fault but mine.
That I continued to need the love
that didn’t need me back.
You ask after my well being
and I answer something along the lines
of what you have heard before,
an affirmation to the answer you want to hear.
You must have heard it enough times
to know it to be false.
You must have heard it enough times
to know that it doesn’t matter.
You have heard it enough
to realize that there is no point in asking
but we must keep up appearances.
Those who are drifting away
and those who are at shore
must act as if they can still see each other,
must act like humans who care deep inside.
And believe that caring deep inside is enough,
that being sad inside is fine.
A drop of me falls on your leaves,
falls from your leaves.
The rain of love
finds you again
even if it is without me.
The ground of reality
hits me again,
asking me to give you up.
It tells me that
if I wait enough,
wait long enough
I will find you.
And by finding you
only I will be ruined.
I couldn’t look into the eyes of the people I knew all my life
or even people who never knew me.
Every morning I woke up
I felt I have left a part of me in the nightmare
of the last the day.
I was afraid that with every hello that I said
I will leave open a crack in my mind
for people to look into.
That all that I had written on paper
is printed on my skin.
I was afraid that if people knew of my condition
I would not have enough energy or excuses
to refute their point
if they put their suspicions in words.
I was afraid of lot of things
for a long time
and most of it was to be seen in a way
that I didn’t want to be seen.
Are we just each others excuse,
just a means to tie up this mind
to a worry and to a calmness made of flesh.
To end our tiring travel
between the states of “living-with-wavering-doubt-of-whether-to-exist-or-not”
What happens when we are no longer a good enough anchor for each other?
What happens when we no longer want to be moored
to the reasons of this world?
From where I sit
I see the beauty that moves my heart
and makes me realize
why I am alive till now.
And though I love you
and wish to see the world with you,
I could never gather enough courage
so as to tug your sleeve
and ask you to follow my gaze.
I fear you will look at what I see
and mock my eyes, my mind
to be fascinated by the things
that for you are trivial.
Worse, if you take me away from the beauty I found
for you know better things.
Worse, if you refuse to look back
for you have better things to do.
I wish I could tell you my heart,
tell you my fears, tell you about the minutes
of my life where sometimes I feel I am trapped,
and sometimes set free in a world I cannot share with anyone.
It is enough, I guess, that I can hear your steps beside me
and believe that we are in the same world,
even when we are not.
Her fingers brushed past my skin,
in a hurry to avoid what I am.
As if she knew what to avoid, what not to remind,
what must not be spoken – for the love to remain.
Only after I learnt to let my footsteps
be taken by the waves,
only after taking myself out
of every unsolved equation-
I knew enough of world to know
the scent of tears on her face,
even when her happiness was believable enough.
Once her fingers had brushed past my skin
in a hurry to avoid being found
as if she knew all places to hide, what not to show,
what not to be – for love to remain.
There was no breath left to let out
as I throw myself down the stairs.
And every step that I tumble down,
I feel breaking bones.
Muscles and knuckles
losing another bubble of a happy memory
that I once thought would be enough to keep me alive.
My broken thoughts rush into my blood
into my empty lungs,
almost convinced that this the last
they will see of me.
And I never tire out.
I never feel sore enough or pained enough
to stop myself from doing this to me.
But while I took you for another wall
that existed to break me,
another voice to help me fill up
pages of essays of self-hatred
and regrets that do not forget me.
You became the arms that hold me, lift me
And carry my burden of life along with me.
And for first time
I want to live better.
And I want you in that better life with me.
I wish I was empty-handed
at the end of our story.
But I am left with your memory
and anger at myself for
not being enough.
Life would have been easier
Love and concern
are not something that grows
naturally in my heart.
I have never known a time when they have.
Even if I have put fake flowers
in this garden of mine,
it is only for your sake.
Don’t you think I care enough
to tell you the words I can never believe.
Don’t you think my love is enough,
if it wants you to sit in the shade
of the tree I have made leaf by leaf.