i am delusional
i feel that i am broken
when i am not
i feel that one of these days
i may finally cry for you
but i don’t
i am in love
with being broken
with being out of place in this world
you are again losing
against my obsessions
today again i am planning
to visit my past without you
today i am again writing about, talking about
things that unnerve you
you are becoming insignificant
as you always feared
my pretentious love runs deeper that your real one
but i didn’t want to let you know this
fearing that you might get hurt
fearing that you might hurt me more for that
of all the things i have loved
i have feared you the most
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.
I want to write about the boring,
about all that is insignificant,
about the trust that lasts,
about the promises that are kept,
about the things we don’t have to beg from god.
I belive there must be some things in life that goes as we wanted to,
that didn’t take our effort, our prayers to go right,
that fell into place so naturally
that we didn’t even notice the ease they gave us.
The boring that is neglected, that is mocked
must be a dream for a person I don’t know of.
The days of charity and donation,
the realization of the lack that we don’t experience
hits us only briefly,
gives us only short lived sadness or gratitude
and a bit of pride (that has a little longer life)
in ourselves for venturing out of our boredom
to witness the lacking of others,
to distribute a bit of what we have in abundance.
But I am not that changed,
I am not that affected.
Tomorrow when I wake up
I will forget
about the stomachs that are never filled,
about the dry glass and throats,
about the darkness that night brings,
about little curious eyes that will never see a book.
Tomorrow, again I will shamelessly
write about my need for love and acceptance.
But that is how I am
and with time I have learned
not to feel guilty for being like this,
for that is the kind of human I was made to be.
I will only be bothered
by the small bruise on my face,
the small cuts on my hand,
even if I know the existence of greater pain,
for that knowledge is not an anesthetic .
I am a petty creature like that
and I can only really feel my own loss.
“We are stronger than we think.”
I always avoid saying such nonsense.
I have always hated words
that have no meaning ,
no real sympathy,
words that almost sound like:
“shut up! stop crying! we have had enough.
don’t make the atmosphere so depressing.
we can’t help it.
you can’t either.
why bring up such topics.”
I never wanted to sound like that to anyone.
I don’t want to be one of those who
consider consoling someone
equal to convincing them
that what they considered precious,
what they considered life shattering
that what the grieving cares for is nothing.
But then, what are the right words?
“We are stronger than we think.”
To spew such nonsense.
Even when I said that to her,
I wondered why I said that.
Have I been surprised
by my strength ever in my life?
But I remember feeling
that my happiest days have walked past me,
when I realized the futility of life, of my life,
And how I somehow made it to the days
where I found something to look forward to,
where I found myself between people whom I could love.
that I could wait for such days
in spite of the misery that was once unbearable
must mean something.
To wait for something that may never arrive
must require some kind of strength.
To loose every paradise we stumble on,
to bleed every time it is lost
and to still believe in the concept of paradise
must require something more
than the strength we think we have.
I want to ask,
“Does my love matter to you,
when your love is all that matters to me?”
But I don’t.
What good is it,
to hold onto such hope.
How much could you love me?
Already I dissolve in air
the moment your eyes leave me,
how can I let your lips touch my name?
What will I do if I lose myself
when I lose you one day?
But day by day,
my fear to come closer to you
and your unawareness of my wavering heart
are becoming insignificant to me.
It won’t be long
before I forget the reasons I hesitated.
It won’t be long
before I get drunk on the future that I has not even started,
before I realize that my biggest fear was not
that I would be broken in your hands
but that I would change even when I don’t want to,
that I would forget how to love you
and that you would be the one
who ends up broken.
Even though we know
we will end up being disappointed in ourselves
we still want find that same mirror
again and again,
expecting to see something different.
Hoping that it will work out one day.
Hoping one day our faults
would be too insignificant to matter.
Relying on the surety
of the forgetfulness of the world
than the forgiveness that we couldn’t dare to ask.
But even if the world forgets,
even if our skin grows anew,
even if our sins become untraceable,
these eyes of ours
remain the same,
always lingering on the spot
where we have buried our past.
Passing of time does nothing to reduce our fear
of being seen for what we are.
Even when that image of what we were
exists nowhere in this world,
it is the only way we can ever see ourselves.
You are beautiful,
because whenever you are amused, surprised,
sleepy, curious, interested or irritated,
you look like a child
who can hold my hand
and be really happy
when I offer you the cheapest candy.
And I can be the child who feels pride
because of your smile.
So even if I am gifting you
something so insignificant
as my weak heart
you wear it as if it is your shield,
even when you don’t need one.
The first half of my life
was spent following the lines drawn by other
and second half spent on searching and choosing
the people who will draw those lines for me.
My liberation didn’t come as a cloudburst
but only as shower.
It only came as the the control of smaller
insignificant parts of greater machinery of life
that continues to ignore my wish and my will.