her touch – always a procession
of feelings that won’t leave her heart,
of everything she doesn’t have or even want words for.
i hold back her hand and it all quiets down-
the waves, the death, the crashing planes,
and the flying roofs.
the cities in her mind grow silent.
they- the tiny inhabitants, the ugly parasites
in her heart,
they look at me as if i am an enemy,
and yet smile at me, as if i am one of them.
they wait for her to smile at this, which she does.
she tells me she is fine. in the same tone
in which i use to tell her the same lie.
she leans in and touches my cheeks.
now it is my turn to go silent.
now my cities and their helpless monsters wait
to see where she leads this madness to.
The evidence of your existence –
they sometimes sound like trapped bubbles in ice,
a song no one wants to remembers,
a song that wants to burn itself down
on the steps of justice gone wrong,
wanting to stain the white marble of temples
that do not deserve worship.
They sound like dying ambition amidst flying hopes,
a revolution coming apart,
a future with limping walk and kind careful words,
a future fleshed out with beautiful breaking and selfish hands.
You told me “selfish” is a beautiful word,
told me that in the opening sentence to the goodbye,
that I am supposed to shout after your vanishing back,
to make the word “selfish” the first word,
to speak of that word with a smile.
And let the world wonder why you wanted to burn the world
for what you have never known, what you couldn’t have;
to never explain your heart, to never let their magnifying glass
and their dear sun around your tearful smile.
I tried many times
to write about you,
to tell the world
why I loved you once
even when it makes no sense now.
when the days in the sun
seem like a dream, seem like a ruse,
seem like a bait
to everything that just gets worse.
when all that we once were glad to believe in
and that we were
has caused us to write this end.
where I have my own sky
but end up looking at the fields below
the harvest, the drought, the spring, the festivals
that you live.
where your day always ends with looking for that bird
who foolishly broke her wings for you,
among the birds who only dream of flying.
I sit on the cold boulder
and film everything, just like I am told.
I am told, only for today,
I should stop sewing myself up haphazardly,
messing up the live-stream,
and talking about things that will never happen.
I have been told to put a hold
on the wonderful manipulation that does no good
to any effort my mind puts
in fixing things back.
My mind doesn’t like me much, understandably.
And I don’t like the idea of fixing anything- a harder concept.
Maybe that’s why I burn as my mind looks around me.
Maybe I should actually stop, when I am told to
but I don’t want a way out, I don’t want to look.
“i promise not to hurt anyone but me”
“i am fine like this. don’t take my tears seriously.”
“please don’t mind the doctor’s note.”
“please don’t mind the smoke in this room,
it is a temporary solution to my emptiness,
till something worse comes along.”
There is an exit sign that flies far away from me.
There appears a road
that it eats itself up .
There are bridges that I have cried over
and the fires that no longer burn.
Everything of beauty that I had in me
I have lost it here.
I have burnt my body, nerve by nerve,
for the sake of peace and love.
Let me live here
near the ashes of my past selves
near the life that cannot be,
around things that can’t be helped.
Even when I insisted
that I am fine
without relying on you.
Even when I tried to keep
only my best version in your eyes.
When I said I can solve my problems
and if I can’t, I will learn to live with them;
to never trouble yourself
with what I suffer or how I suffer.
You told me I no longer have to live like this,
to not fear dependence in love.
You lied that I am no longer alone.
You liked to be a promise
and nothing more.
You wanted to be believed
as much as I wanted to be never hurt.
So this wingless me
left my land to fly with you,
to go to a place where you can breathe better.
And you realized the effort it takes
to carry another person pretty late.
Now I am stuck in a cloud
and you are somewhere in this vast sky.
You can give me only few hours of your day.
There is a life that is meant for you
and I shouldn’t come in your way.
I live on such crumbs of you
that my heart wilts one petal,
one dream at a time.
Love can now no longer live
in a heart like mine.
That day when it rained of
bruised and dying birds
of feathers marked with colors only
an arrogant and confident cruelty can cause,
everyone looked about for an umbrella
to protect themselves from this vision
that they didn’t want to witness.
This was not the historic moment
that they wanted to be part of.
I could understand their willingness to believe
that the marks of fingers in the blood and bodies
that filled up the roads
can be called natural causes.
It was probably better
than knowing the names of people whom we may have laughed with
only to know they know how to fly,
how to clip wings and suspend the decaying bodies in air
while we asked them the directions for our life,
while we asked them to tie up our laces as a child,
while we asked them to love us, and build a new life.
I guess even the innocent
got fed up of being looked at like a potential danger
or tired of looking for one.
It was probably more convenient to come to an understanding,
of agreeing on a made-up fact
that this all is part and parcel of being a bird in the sky,
that birds should know better than to fly,
and tempt innocent humans into life of crime.
Birds at their best should just chirp joyfully
and let everything slide.
My lover, you gave me sweet words,
that I thought it can cloud my sour heart.
But as you retire into the backdrop of everyday life,
all that you promised
seems more unreal.
Another thing to wait for.
I am not good at waiting.
But I am good at thinking and preparing
for all that won’t happen.
Give me a menu of all tastes and vision
that are there in the world.
Let me decide the places we will live,
the weathers we will suffer.
Let me know of the heartache
that is not for my own sake.
Let me believe that what I want actually matters
even if it doesn’t.
The diluted versions of love
are not enough for me now.
I can only dream of grand heights.
I can only fly in a great fall.
Tell me a better lie before you leave.
I thought I am getting better
when I found a little more space in me for life
than what I thought I had.
When I stopped trying to hide it from my own eyes
and let small birds perch on its rusted edges
all long as they please.
But when they fly away, their voices
slowly disappears and reappears
disperses and dissolves in the air,
reminding me of days I existed
in pieces so fine and minute
I found myself
lacking voice, wants, or ambition.
Slowly becoming the air and food for
someone else’s need.
I find that the pain never passes.
It only forgets itself until it touches
the edges that once cut through it.
But not everything it touches has that same edge
and between the sudden encounters
with the lookalikes of what I was,
I can rest, I can breathe.
Wave after wave of blue marble
swept me up to a newer height.
I saw a sunset over avalanches
frozen and melting.
I saw the planes of memory
flying in a windless sky.
I walked through the garden
of trees laden with fruits of snow.
I came to love the momentary world
of the songs
that you often hum.
(Image taken from theredboa.blogspot.com)
Last night I got a message from an old friend of mine. The message said,” How would you define friendship?” Well, the question was followed by exchange of many sms
Which at last concluded to the point, that there is no so called a rigid definition of friendship. Its worth and its meaning are too deep to be expressed in a few words.
But, the question lingered in my mind, what is friendship? It was not an attempt to define it rather to understand its nature…Some say “Friends are those people who have the same enemies as you do”…seems right to an extent. But it never matched my case. Most of the friends I made were at a time when I was new to place and had no chance of having an enemy. I never had an enemy…I always made one. So this justification was eliminated.
Then in a book I read “Friends are people who make you happy”. Well that seemed to fit in a bit. You probably won’t make friend with a person who doesn’t make you feel good. Whenever we remember about old friends of ours, we always remember the happy times, the times when they helped us and the times we helped them. We always felt good around them. We can be ourselves around them. They don’t judge us, and we can fool around with them like small child and no one would object. Being around them gives us the freedom, we don’t get in other relations.
But what I really think it is not just the freedom we get around being friends..I consider my friends important as they are related to me by my choice…not like blood relation that are dependent on your fate….you are with them by your own will…you can leave them at any time…you can stay with them….there is no compulsion…their fate is not related to you…if they get thrown out of job, you won’t suffer…if they fail in exams..you may get sad for them but still, it doesn’t affect your life….just like 2 person who meet during a journey..spend sometime with each other and leave but still remember each other…..they love us although it’s not compulsary…they cry with us although our grief won’t affect their life…they are happy at our success although their live are in ruins….they have no selfish reason to stay with us..still they stay..through thick and thin…we may be crazy..but they don’t mind….i don’t think people , atleast me, make friends with someone just because they are intelligent..or beautiful..or funny….
God just send some angels for us …knowing how much we are struggling in life …and how difficult it is to fight this battle of life alone…When the angels come into our lives..they take away our pain….the battle turns into a journey, a beautiful journey…which you never forget for your whole life…when you look back those would be the only moments in life when you really lived your life….and looking back on the memory lane we can’t imagine a life without these angels…as if they were meant to be part of our lives….who says angels don’t exist….i believe in angels..i’ve seen them….those angels are my friends. My Best Friends.
(Image taken from friendship-cards.blogspot.com)