It’s not over.

It won’t be over just like that.
It’s not like turning off a faucet.
Pick up the strands tenderly,
There’s some yellow in there,
Touch her. Roll her over your fingers
for she knew what you did when
you thought she wasn’t looking.
Let her slowly slip away.

Let go of the strands that
they keep handing over to you.
It’s not your fault.
Do not think twice.
Rip them off.
That’s not your burden to carry.
Drown that guilt away.

It will be difficult,
Watching what’s left
of the damage.
“Blue sky, think blue sky.”
Bullshit.
Let not the darkness blind you.

And trust me;
actually, no. Trust the air around you
Trust the yellow that slipped away.
Trust that gut.
Believe in your backbone,
it’s a rarity to have one.
And know, that once it’s over,
You’ll be free.
And please, remember,
It won’t be over like that, still.
It’s not like turning off a faucet.

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The balance

It can be more than just black and white, right?
It is so much more
Than the balance,
Than the set patterns,
Than the cycle that keeps moving,
Slowing down where it needn’t,
Pacing on where it shouldn’t.

Life’s much more
Than the monochrome
or the colors,
Than the joy
And the smiling eyes
Watering where they needn’t,
Burning where they shouldn’t.
It is so much more
than a full stop;
And so I put my trust
In the black and the white
In the fire inside.
And I move with the cycle,
Slowing down where I need to
Pacing on where I must.
I take the monochrome
and I take the colors
I hold on to everything that’s inside
And I let go of the balance for a while.

I can be more than just black and white
Or
I can just…be.

Silver.

The first time I recognized silver

was in a star, on my report card.

It wasn’t gold, for exceptionally good;

it wasn’t bronze, needing a lot of push;

it was an acceptable silver,

for those who got by.

 

It took some sweat to see

its tinge between the black and the white.

It crept up, eventually. And always

kept the poise: stripping yellow off its bright,

Adding glitters to the darkest blue.

 

The universe made more sense, now

that the extremes were all sucked dry.

It kept me looking for further more;

I got through, I got by.

 

The cloud stood bare, the lining exposed.

I could move up and ahead,

I was all set…

 

Until

 

I drew with silver

and out came red.

12

तीन महीने पहले
खिड़की के नजारें अलग थे

एक समय चिड़ियों को देख
मैं तुम्हे खयाली कहानियाँ सुनाया करती थी

चिड़ियों के साथ मिजाज़ का आना जाना अब भी है
पर अब,
तुम्हारा पता बदल गया है ।

Telescopic Impasse

11102882_806549989394929_6020788098817914144_n
Walk soft with slower rides.
They’re the treads.
Of my messy insides.

The fucking winds.

Such unrelenting harshness
On my pretty face.
But these eyes
Won’t drop their gaze.
They search his lines and rings.
His face.
Frozen on clean sheets.
Memories of unsaid things.

Rain used to be fun.
Now annoying?
I am unsure.

The caustic slow burning would endure.

For I am the favorite friend.
He’s true.
Clay for playtime madness?
Take my heart.
Till your fondness
Allows for all that.

But I’m his and promised, how!
No other shall taste the feel
Of his lovely warmth now.

I stand and observe.
Absorbed intimacy and affections.
The ancient horrid game
Of mirrors, tricky reflections.

This mind’s rationale
Heart’s twisted bent.
Two languages –
Same damn content.

The incomprehensible affair
Of wrong translations
Dry humor to our tragic despair.

Is this enough
What’s that?
Good and nice.
Easy.
Let’s put stamp on it
But which one?
Uncertainty is the bitch, hon.

His pain would bleed my heart out
Transfusions – no match they say.
I hate bad investments.
People are the worst kind anyway.

I like the rain.
I could try keep falling.
Till pneumonia catches me first.

Relevance of sympathies are subjected
To efficacy at receptor’s risk.
Dead eyes, broken ears won’t do shit.
The pain is yours.
Transfers can’t be fixed.
Got the tech for that?

No. It doesn’t fucking exist.

Our Musings on Us

0028

You know it well, when I sigh.
And drop hints of my attention.
The disguised doubts of the why.

Maybe you prefer me as the hot one.
Sliding up your skin.
So we can believe it’s for the long run.

But how you block the noise
Inside my head, those looks.
Your slight shivers at the surface of my voice.

I would lie beside
While you search your screen.
My curves getting cold in imposed ignorance.

But I wonder sometimes, could I burn.
My intestines – if that’s what it took?
Desperate purge, of this sordid hunger.
I would give up the chase.
And let the smoke waft away at my face
My dark pungent stench, for you.
To dream sometimes, maybe remember too.

A Heady Commotion

uncertainty-of-life

No reason for anguish no reason for pain,

Trying to find some lucidity but it all seems in vain.

Looking at the faces with every emotion feigned,

Rather than unveiling the masks, I prefer to take the blame.

 

Feelings running short of being expressed,

Decipher life so much that you end up possessed.

Fears remain unanswered and concerns remain unaddressed,

But no stone is left unturned to ensure that everyone is impressed.

 

No place to go, no acquaintances to find.

If only I could have caged the mind.

Tired of being nice, tired of being kind,

Disgusted of always being put on the grind.

 

Neither that hurt to turn rebellious,

Nor that calm to ignore it as frivolous.

Comprehending people shall always remain tedious,

Two-faced sycophants with souls so hideous.

 

People say that each of us is here to serve a purpose.

What I see is the ringmaster running a circus.

Even if you are caged you are supposed to entertain,

Without the assurance of anything to gain.

Dancing to the tunes of a future so uncertain,

Makes you wonder why you treat your emotions with such disdain.