I hold my fist close to my heart,
I hold your hand tighter than ever.
How long has it been since we last saw each other?
How long before we meet again?
These few hours that separates
our periods of separation,
these hours have become minutes,
have become question marks
that we pretend we can’t see,
have become the silhouette
of the better women of your stories,
have become the words I never got to hear.
They remind me of your skin that bloomed and withered
without knowing my skin.
I have told myself numerous times
that it doesn’t matter.
I have tried my best not to be bothered,
but it is becoming more difficult
to feel that I am still loved by you.
And again you kiss me with caution,
hold me close, only to let go.
Again all I see is you
moving towards something I cannot understand,
leaving me in a life that I cannot accept.
Tag Archives: minutes
I hold my fist close to my heart,
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.
She looks at the clock.
The time tells
in 4 hours her husband has to leave,
she woke up too soon.
She wakes up and looks at the clock again.
In 20 minutes he will need his daily tea,
he sounds bitter all day
if it is not the first thing he sees.
She will have minutes to cook what he likes,
to check his ironed clothes and polished shoes.
Few more seconds till the door closes
leaving her in his house,
surrounded by his belongings,
and with the clock that has no plans for her.
and sits till she can’t feel this sting.
She looks at clock once again.
9 hours more for him to come back.
It has been ages
since I wanted to sleep.
I feel tired and exhausted.
I feel an urge to dip myself
in cold cold water.
So I could get rid of this heaviness
in my soul.
I feel like running and crying
and speaking all the stuff
that make no sense.
I do not remember the last time
when I wanted to sleep.
I sleep because I have to.
I am not short of sleep
I am short of hours and minutes
to live my life.
I want to stay awake
and see the clock ticking by.
How pages of book sound different
when turned at the silence of night.
I mean to read poems all night
But I never seem to read enough.
Just a little.
to remember how vast this void is
that I’m trying to fill.
How impossible this task.
How less the time.
Boarding that midnight bus
seemed a lot like running.
Just faster and easier.
Less painful for legs and lungs.
Less real than wind on my face
and ground beneath my feet.
It’s just sitting here in comfort
and counting seconds, minutes, days and breaths left.
It’s just looking out,
and knowing a secret.
A secret only my eyes
and occasionally my ears know.
That we are so moving so much faster
without moving an inch.
Like we have changed so much,
without realizing it.