It is time that I try hard to get my heart broken and pretend that it is happening for the first time,
to claim that I trusted blindly knowing it is not something I am capable of,
to fit my body awkwardly in the kind of life that people call ‘life’
to find words, to practice the new lingo that can make something about me relatable, so that my skin soaked in a tiring tale of sadness doesn’t make me an alien,
to fill me up again with pictures of parks, cafes, malls, and roads filled with people who supposedly like each other, if not a lot, then at least enough to not let their ailing self ruin the perfect moment, the perfect teamwork, the perfect promise. (Perfection that relies on someone else doesn’t sit well with me.)
It is time I find something new that I cannot be or cannot have before I lock myself up again for next hundred heart years.
So while I am out to find something to write about and hurt about miss me my cell, pray for me. I am afraid that once I am surrounded by all that I have learned not to want, I might start to hope again. I might slip again. I might forget to see the distance that I carry in me and get disappointed by the doors that I can’t reach.
And every morning I hear wind, I hear birds, I hear children play around in me. I am filling myself with everything that reminds me of what I really am. I let my heart do what it wants, my heart wants no part in this remaking of me. It starts it’s days praying for your return and goes to sleep, thankful that you won’t.
wave after wave of cold air, of sad premonitions reached us, tried to convince us that this was a really bad idea. that on a cold day like this there were easier ways to find warmth, ways that would take away no part of us.
and frankly i was afraid. i stopped maybe a million times on my tracks. i waited for someone to call me to remind me of something really urgent that needed my attention. i almost prayed for you to give up.
but you kept walking. you kept repeating that this would be fun. so even when your hands were shaking and even when your eyes were red, i chose not to notice it. i chose to believe that your heart is stronger, that you would get us there.
you were always better at pretending for my sake. you pretended to know all the answers while i shamelessly hid behind you when doubts barked at me on streets. so when we walk on the river that could melt any day, any moment i wanted you to lean on my heart for once.
my fearful weak heart was the only thing i could give. i knew my love would last only moments and yours would last an eternity. but selfishly i held onto you. so when i kissed you and you smiled, i want to say i felt sad and guilty, but i did not. i was just happy, probably the happiest on this planet to have touched this sun, this spring, this filler of all voids, to have become the reason you will break. i really am the worst.
i stumble, fall, bruise my face, find your lips break my ribs, kiss your hate and pray for the noise of my heart for your sad voice to be silenced. pray that i don’t wake up for a long long time is ‘long long time’ enough to be forgotten? pray that the ones i love who don’t want to love me, but they do do not walk into this scene where i plead in incomprehensible words for mercy, for death of my senses for a sleep without your face, without your ruined heart pray that they do not see how easily i break. pray they don’t force my last words to be the words that have always made my heart ache i love you?
I kept typing and just when I thought this is it, this is what I want to say, 140 characters were over, the day had ended, you had closed your eyes, and turned your face to other side.
I told myself- ‘tomorrow, tomorrow i will tell you everything, tomorrow we will be happy. you may not love me again after i say all i need to say, but we will be happy, even if it’s on our own’.
I repeated this to myself as if i knew anything about your happiness. I repeated this as if I was counting sheep- sheep that have grown frail living on nothing but my words.
As another dark dream came to find me, I prayed that tomorrow may I forget all the words that can set things right. I’m afraid till the end I won’t change. I keep hoping that we keep walking together in this rain of sadness and hurt.
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.
On evenings such as these when the all the withered flowers of my heart have regained the life that once left them, when I have known what is it to die, when I have known how rare it is to find a road back to life when I have known the pain of losing, I feel even now I can try once more. I can try to hold your hand. I can try, I can stand at the edge once again because even though you are not mine yet, but the thought of days without you seems grayer and sadder than all that I have suffered. No, I won’t die. It won’t pain even if you don’t end up with me. But the possibility of a life with you has made me a bit more greedy. I have started expecting a bit more from life and you are the only difference between between my now and my dream.
On evenings such as these when the soil of my heart have been dug too deep, have seen the seasons of happiness that never stays, when it has known how tiring life can be and finding my way back once doesn’t mean I won’t be lost again. Though the memories of your smiles are as fresh as the ones of filled with your resentment. I find my heart filled with nothing but you. I am where I once was and I want to stay here forever always in love with you. Praying for one more day with you. Praying to always be the one who gets your love. Even when you are here, even when you are mine I want you more, a little bit more of you.
They forgot to teach me
the most basic thing-
to know which side I should take
to keep a check on papers, to see sense
when someone tells me what is politically right
and to agree when they tell me that identity is everything
not only mine, but of all those who live on same piece of land as me.
They forgot to tell me to fight and argue
in the name of and for the sake of people
who didn’t care about the fight,
who were fine living the way they did.
I ended up believing
that I could just exist without belonging to any shore
and maybe make my own
and pray that no one joins me
and turn my life into something to live by.
How could they have overlooked this ,
didn’t they foresee how I would sit awkwardly
midst strangers and have nothing to say
about how the world was run.
Would they consider me silly,
would they think that I am shallow
if I was thinking about the fictional character from a story
and his conflicts?
Would they judge me if the story in question was not about
wars, rivalry or mid-life crisis
but one of romantic ones with cheesy lines
that everyone seems to detest?
They should have told me to memorize lines from papers
and opinion columns
and pass it as my own,
when I was not interested to form opinions
on topics that seemed to be of grave importance to others.
I should know better than to write poems on love and sadness
when people are dying around me.
But I don’t.
I think I may have been brought up the wrong way
and there is nothing I can do about it now.
But I am not even sure whether
I want to fix the things
that I asked to feel ashamed of.
Let me show you around.
This place that you think as mine
will soon be yours one day.
Especially because you will want to own this mess
more than you want to own my heart.
And though my eyes might roll
at the sound of the word “own”
but that’s just how things are.
One day we might yearn for each other’s glance.
And slowly with unsure lips we pray for more-
for some sweet words, for a secret to keep
for happiness of a day, for hands that don’t let go.
And soon with love drunk lips we demand more-
for reasons, for time we never seem to have,
for guarantees, for becoming better than what we are.
And that day when you will have all that you demand
and still feel like I have not given it all.
Come to this room, and see this mess.
These old clothes, old words;
these unwashed plates with leftover moldy attention.
And realize why I don’t want you here-
in this museum of what I was.
This is not the world I want to share with you.
Can’t we build a better one.