While you read my words
“How strange is this world!”
Sunlight rushed in,
to hold a strand of your hair,
fell on these pages
and cried out like a child,
hurt that it could not have you.
I smiled to myself knowing what you meant.
These words of mine reminded you of the confusing
and volatile shores of right and wrong
that often you found yourself standing on.
And never knew when the land shifted,
when the tide came in.
Never knew when you changed your heart.
You thought it was strange.
But I know what your words mean,
it is same for me.
The strange feeling in my words
is a mere attempt to copy your strangeness,
So that the defeated packets of sunlight
can finally rest on the curves of your words.
I am in love with the shadows
that you have outgrown.
I find myself longing to look at the sun
and the morsel of half-cooked food
stays on my tongue
a little bit longer than it should.
The door opens with a sound of crashing waves
and so I know it is you who has come.
With my back to your face,
I smile to myself.
I have kept aside a portion
of this tasteless life for you.
The silent mornings, the passing time,
these aging bones-
don’t seem as bad as it did,
now that you are here.
With every step that I take towards you,
a part of me crumbles down to dust.
Sometimes it is my smile,
sometimes it is my fear.
And yet when I am so close to you,
when I have proved my love for you,
I cannot ask you to do the same.
I fear when you loose all that I have lost,
would you be still remain the person you were.
Would you still be that light,
which could pull me out of the rubble
of my own broken world?
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.
The keys beneath my finger
are tired of creating words and sounds,
that live too less and die too soon,
because they couldn’t breathe
in the air devoid of you.
Bigger waves of noises
drag them, drown them
and lose them to the place
where they lived before they were born.
They wait in the crowd of wannabe songs
only to become calluses of forsaken hands.
I can feel you crying .
I feel your tears on my cheeks.
I can feel your fear in my hand.
I feel the words of the lost one
falling on my ears.
I cannot understand if they are
the words I wanted to hear.
This life is getting lonely,
my heart is getting dark
and I have only you
the one who caused my suffering
who can stop me from
extinguising the flame of my mind-
the only place she is alive.
Why won’t you look for me?
Why won’t you seek me out?
Your misery could be a good excuse
for me to live a little longer.
Your misery could be a good excuse
to keep her face in light.
The days that starts with
a painful realization of the world.
The nights that stops with
this awareness put to sleep.
whom I can’t shake off from my thoughts.
All such things that happen just because they do
and not because I am any better or any worse
than anyone else.
All such things that I must accept
with gratitude and courage.
All such things and more
that falls on us
sometimes like snow,
sometimes life flowers,
sometimes like rain
and sometimes like love.
that your dream had to be about me.
That you placed all the pieces left of you
in that dream
and placed it in my care.
If only you had seen the cracked edges of mine
that were going to become your future.
If only I had known my incapability
to love or be loved.
I would not have to see your tears.
I would not have to ache this bad.
Why have you become the book I pick up every now and then,
but never have the courage to finish nor to give up.
Your severe gaze
resounds and echoes
the meanness only humans have.
But your hands melt at anything you touch
so that nothing,
is disturbed by your presence
in this world.
How did you learn
make that face
that kept people at distance
and kept them on their toes.
How hard was it
roam in this world (that you loved too much)
knowing everything would hurt you,
and knowing the defeat at the face of the war
that you never wanted
and you can never win.
How hard is it,
to burn the flowers
born out of your soul
only so people would
avoid the impending disaster
that you are not.