so my blue dream is not even mine now. i am just a mesh of people who hate me. their fingers are my fingers now poking my skin, endless railroads of red are built with their nails that they do not even cut before they sell me their fake love-filled eyes. their eyes are my eyes that wants to smash every reflective surface where i fall. every reflective thought is just a poison. a poison, a gossip, an untrue version of me running wild in the minds of those who look at me. they gossip about me so i gossip about myself , whisper my secrets into the air or better, into the ears of lovers who are chosen especially for their talents in indifference, vulnerability, and emotional violence. lovers who can break me – are all that i want. i need someone else to do this breaking for me because i am coward who can’t move towards the end i want, and also because my hands are busy. i have more things to do. i need my hands to tear my talents apart in the name of value, tear my feelings apart in the name of my worthlessness. i need my hands to paint again and again. paint indifferences on my insecurities that come a bit too often to the surface of my skin now, paint laugh lines on the bleeding corners of my lips, paint dreams of love, moments of hurt, grand betrayals on my otherwise lonely mind, paint humans that match the shadows in me, painting causes and assurances. i must paint. i must paint a reason- a reason why i suffer so, why this world works like how it does, why i must break as the world breaks, why i must break even for fixing this world. i must paint a face so that others don’t break at the sight of my face. i clip my nails everyday so that when i become someone’s ghost when someone suffers because of me at least my hands won’t leave them scars.
The “sweet escape” is now more expensive and better hidden in a packaging devoid of bubble wrap and crumpled newspaper (how does that even work?) I can no longer remember why it caught my eyes. But such things normally do, so I don’t question it much. “Such things” almost always refers to things that I will always see and be drawn to, but never get near. And I am not talking about the bare minimum semblance of love, or the friend who must eat food without me to feel accepted in this world. Now that is out of the way, we can all imagine with utmost accuracy and pity everything that is definitely on this list of mine. Things I know the price of because my pockets are empty. The kind of empty a drop of dew feels in front of a desert(even the smallest one). This is not even a smallness fueled by insecurity or class consciousness. This is the lens of pure objectivity at work, which I sort of stupidly relied on to cure me, stop me from showering my attention to something that challenges my place in world in the wake of release of a random new replaceable product in market. which is sort of weird because I do not know the price of the meal I eat or the clothes I wear – I feel them. So I know better. I really do. But the billboards that fly over the cities -abducting cows, and UFOs, and fixed deposits, and basic sanity- make me want to dial the number to someone, anyone who can get me a card that, I am told, can get me every luxury I do not yet deserve. To my credit, I never dialed that number simply because wanting something that was designed to be wanted seemed stupid, poking a hole into the balloon of my existence for it seemed stupid. In the list of more stupid things I can now “not want” are grand expectations of a basic acceptable life, minimum respect, of love, of family, of wanting a fair chance at a dream, of food that tastes like food, and air that doesn’t clog my lungs. I am told that at a price one can have them all but to the one who is barely afloat it sure is a stupid thing to want.
We once loved this world more than ourselves. Now we just like everything only as much as our own temperaments and thoughts permit.
The oranges reminds him of view from his broken home, the sour taste of everything that should have been beautiful.
The glowing beads fill my mind with the images of meaningless gifts, the faces of men and friends that always fall short even in the face if my plummeting expectations.
Going out of our way to hide is the measure of our love somehow. We sit across each other for every meal and talk about things that make sense, everything and anything that can’t cause more harm than the things close to our heart have already done.
I feel the rustle of a world buried deep in me, he must feel the same. But the world that is lost and the hope that is no longer mine can only do so little. There is a happiness that doesn’t look enchanting. There is a kindness that isn’t grand. There are things only we can be for each others even if there are thousand things we can’t.
I would have told him “I love you” if I didn’t know how hearing these words have only made him cry. He lets me love within the boundary of my temperament and thoughts, he stands by these walls and knows why they are for.
“you make me forget the unpleasantness of my life. so i will call this love. calling you my love is the only way that i can depend on you without feeling weak.”
“i dreamt of you sitting and singing on the blue couch of my childhood home. home that my parent’s respective loves burnt long ago. you remind me of hope now.”
“i hold your name more dearly than your hand, because your hands are so human that i can’t seem to love them the way i love you. i stop myself from telling you how my own humanness makes me hate myself. have you heard of the heart that changes it’s mind too often that abandons as easily as it takes up new obsession, that makes us miserable even when we should be happy, even when we have all we want. i have that. you have that. that’s what i hate. that’s what i fear. i stop myself from telling you how often i wonder that even this love for you might be a grand way of looking at the easy way out.”
I heard her again complain about warm hands. A hand that remains warm, always warm, so warm that it almost becomes a fault, a flaw. That it turns into blame, into words that make no sense- “I could have loved him if he was not so good. Good is suspicious. Good is bland. Good is you when you try to be something you are not. He cannot know my heart, if he cannot be human enough to sin”, she said. I wonder why I never met them – the bland people who would be good for my heart, whom I seek in every hand I touch. Maybe I confused grand gestures, big promises, passionate gaze for goodness too many times. I wonder if it is just my weakness, my weariness that now wants someone harmless to live along with.
You who took so much space in me you who created stories in me, put up grand shows of light and shadows in me you who spent your nights naming every star, trying to claim my sky- at the end, you were too easy to forget.
Or maybe sitting in this world where everything is yours, I find it hard to realize your lacking. Maybe my heart is no longer here with me to even want you back.
I have got something against
most words and most sentences
that proclaim that everything is achievable,
that dreams come true,
that life is perfect picture if you want it to,
that everything is in our hands,
and happiness is ours if we have to courage
to step out of the shadows of our fear.
Because I may have lived just over 20 years but I have feel like I have lived a lot and I think it is unfair that I feel so old and weary already. I feel I am disappointed in many things, many small things, things that I could have easily ignored, things that I could have got used to if I was aware of their existence before reality crawled into my world without any warning.
So when I cross my path with these filtered picture of this world
the fun, the bright and the confident who deserve the world.
I am sad, because that is the world I have never seen,
that world doesn’t exist for me.
In the world I see not everything is achievable-
somethings are and somethings aren’t.
Dreams come true, but not always
mostly we end up changing, skipping and down-grading
till we reach the ones we can achieve.
Life is not perfect.
Yes, it is the biggest gift,
but it is not perfect and it all doesn’t depend all on me.
My life is more in the hands of others
than I would want it to be
and helplessness comes in all forms
dressed in the form of situations that no one else can see.
Helplessness is as real as our dreams.
That out of the shadows that we hide in
it is not all warm and sunny.
The rains, the storm,
the climate of life is not same for all.
So all these quotes meant to motivate
don’t mention the subtext
don’t mention the terms and conditions,
the cases where they don’t apply.
I would have coped better with these small hardships
if I expected them when I chose my dream.
I may have taken it as my grand adventure,
if I didn’t feel duped or betrayed half of the time.
Maybe then I would not feel obligated to always have an excuse
to give, for the times when I fell short of the default way of things.
It would have helped or perhaps consoled me to know
that everyone has to work hard, has to sacrifice a lot,
that many struggle for years and sometimes for their whole life
to get what to they want.
Or maybe I am just bitter cause someone else is living a better life.
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.
Nothing scares me more than people
who seem to know a lot about world,
who seem to know every answer
to every problem.
Especially when the answer
is that the weight and blame of this
only lies on shoulder of few.
And answers mostly revolve about how
not every one is equal.
I urge those people to make their homes in these
boxes of labels that they use as weapon
against people who were just living their own life
and live their life avoiding any thing
that might break their illusion of self-righteousness.
For that is all they have.
Nothing scares me more
than a person who thinks
what he thinks is best for the world,
who thinks that emotions and lives
are disposable things,
in front of the grand plan he has
for himself and this world that only he supposedly owns.