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Friday, March 25, 2011

Last night.

Suspended mid-air,
into the particles,
the tiny little specks of this universe,
a parallel world
of bliss
and soft tears
rolling down my cheek
as you say what I've wanted you to say.

Suspended mid-air,
into the molten lyrics,
of the song you're singing to me,
my lullaby
just mine
words you strung together,
beats you formed
to bring us closer, over all this distance.

Suspended mid-air,
and just then
I jerk,
I'm free falling..
spinning towards nothingness
and gravity
free falling..
but you catch me this time..
I fell right into your arms.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Meray Log.

I miss writing here. I miss when life was easy. I miss when we didn't have to pretend or be scared or live in a constant daze. I miss school, though I never say it. I miss the girl I was because I hate the girl I've become. I look in the mirror and see a stranger stare back at me. I miss a lot. Even when I pretend to have a great day and smile, I do still miss all these things, my things. I miss my staircase and my chhat. I miss running down those steps to a honking red roadways bus, or a blue bike, or a forever bumpy auto, or a white alto, or a worn out zen, or a white santro which was the only for which I could make it in time for mostly and didn't keep waiting. I miss hiding my breakfast in a new place everyday so that I wouldn't be caught by Ma or Papa. I miss walking on those roads to run some errand for mum that I would be lazy about and then buying a packet of maggie, tearing it apart and hiding the packet of masala in my jeans pocket. I miss walking Priyamvada home and then taking that dilapidated road back, texting or on a call all the way back. I miss waking Kartik up. I miss my phone flashing Papa's name, and me pulling away from whatever it was I was immersed in. I miss reading Ma's incessant texts when I went out with friends. I miss going out with Ma to anywhere and everywhere, exploring ways we didn't know and buying things we didn't even need. After yesterday, I doubt so much of it. I feel like every step I ever took in anyone's direction was actually just pushing them away. I miss being the reason someone smiled. I remember flashes of expressions when somebody would become incredibly happy just to see me or hear my voice or read a text. Now maybe that was all a facade. Maybe they weren't really smiles at all. Maybe I don't have the capacity to make someone happy afterall. Maybe Abhinav is right. Maybe I don't really know what it's like to have friends because all my life I have just had douches. Maybe Shail is right too. Maybe I give too much of myself to people in the hope that they won't leave me. Maybe my way to stay attached to people is to go out of my way, so much so that they can't do without me. Maybe my way to earn love is as a charity because clearly nobody could love me for who I am. I miss my mom whispering stories to me at night. Stories in which I was a princess and I too had a happily ever after. Maybe the only people who will ever understand me and accept me for who I am, are my parents. Maybe it is meant to be this way. Maybe all my good deeds were paid back to me with debt in the form of my parents. Maybe my poems were meant to be heard only by my mother as I recited them in the bathroom, under the shower. Maybe my words were just supposed to be read by my father as I scribbled them on paper napkins in restaurants as he taught me how to use the knife and fork.
But I will miss singing my poems to the world.
I will miss writing here, to the people I thought were my world.

Monday, March 7, 2011

My first lyrics.

Sloppy pieces of disentangled misery,
Pour me into a haze of a kind;
A purple one that somehow will blind,
Even the sharpest sense of mine.

Birds are chirping melodies aloft,
and yet it's the funeral march I hear;
It holds me captive in this cage,
the bars of which I cannot break and disappear.

Dead corpses sing lullabies to me and,
Ghosts, they hold me in their arms;
The world collapses but dreams set free,
What I once wanted is not what I have.

Oh sweet death, would you be painfree,
And do you promise to not bring guilt;
I feel this shame I carry forth,
of knowing less and knowing still

I know, I know, no sense we make,
As I add one plus two plus four;
As in everything else, in this arithmetic too I fail,
and end up in this world alone.

Dead corpses sing lullabies to me and,
Ghosts, they hold me in their arms;
The world collapses but dreams set free,
What I once wanted is not what I have.
Is not what I ever have..
Is not what I ever get..

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Order for none?

I really want this monotony to break, I need it to break.
I need my lungs to stop collapsing and my stomach to stop going grrrrr grrrrr.
I need to stop this head pounding feeling in my brain. It's like every nerve cell of my body is screaming for food and something sweet and something nice and something, anything to nibble on that I refuse to give it. What then am I feeding on?

I'm feeding on hope and faith and love. 
And trust me, they make the world's best feast.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Guess who's back? :D

Okay, sincere apologies for the previous post. Dementia hit me perhaps. Or maybe I have MPD man, but I'll talk about that some other day. These other things I want to talk about just keep piling up somehow. Anyway, more on them some other depressed moment of my life.

For now, I am enjoying this. Bliss.
I think today is the best day I've had in a really long time. The last day that came close was 14th Jan, wow, what a day that was. Just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. But this even tops that! Like this is not just a bubble of happiness inside me, it's a whole fucking gigantic tubewell of happiness! Or something even bigger but just can't quite place it yet.

A perfect day, a brilliant day, an awefuckingsome day. YES. w00t w00t!
I'm high on happiness!
ME, the pessimist so it's big, huh?

I doubt anything can ruin this anymore. This day is going down in history. Or wait, should I still consider? Someone who could burst my bubble perhaps?
But I just told you darling, it's not a bubble! It's something much bigger so unless you drive a dagger through my back, I don't think it's changing. 

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Crossing over.

It’s better to cross the line and suffer the consequences, than to just stare at that line for the rest of your life.