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Tag: life
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I think sometimes you are borrowed,
and it’s a strange transaction
because when we borrow something
we are supposed to give it back
but when I borrowed you,
I was supposed to make you mine permanently.
I am sorry, I tried, but I couldn’t do it.
So I returned you,
and paid the interest for returning you.Dear dreams,
I think sometimes you can be stolen,
I didn’t know that could even be done,
I didn’t even know I had you,
But now you are theirs
and I wonder how once you were mine,
and how I never realized
but maybe I see you
only when I see you with someone else.Dear dreams,
I think sometimes you can be faithless,
I loved you, and gave you my all,
I was possessed, I was obsessed,
You were a miracle, you were magical,
I thought we would last a lifetime
until one day you left for good.
You never gave a reason,
for such a brutal decision,
but what could I do?
I still wait for you.Dear dreams,
I think you can be too dreamy.
Sometimes I think I’d overdose
on the amount of hope you give me
consuming my days and nights,
over things that will never come true,
but you’d still find that little silver lining,
tease and dance with reality,
all my waking life
and yet still be a fantasy.Dear dreams,
I think you are beloved,
at last, at least,
I don’t know what I did to deserve you,
I can’t even recall how or when we met,
but I am glad it’s us.
Sometimes I am scared about how I will make it work,
sometimes I am sure that either one of us would be a jerk,
but it is what it is now – you and me,
maybe not eternal,
but together we can create something that perhaps lasts eternity.
Together we can at least try.Dear dreams,
I think you are deceptive,
Where does all the pixie dust go when you become real?
How come you become so normal and ordinary
when you stop being a dream and start being my life?
When your flaws overshadows your beauty?
When my complaints overshadows my gratitude?
When you are my present, you don’t seem like a present,
and the old you evolves into something new,
and the old chase continues.Dear dreams,
You are strange but here’s the thing;
I still see you.
I see you when I am asleep,
I see you when I am awake,
I see you when I don’t see you,
I see you when I can’t,
I see you when I want,
I see you when I am not supposed to see you,
I see you all the fucking time.Yours,
A Dreamer*
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I think I may welcome you
when you come to my door,
although I may not welcome
the road you take,
or the road you make me take
to reach there.I understand the beauty of your brutal work though;
You end things
so new things can begin,
The world cannot run without you.
You are the harbinger of freedom,
liberating mortals from pain,
albeit yes,
You gift grief to the ones you leave behind.Perhaps in the future, we will live longer,
Thousand instead of a hundred,
Million instead of a thousand,
but even for the immortals
Life is ultimately short.
Even the universe has to die at one point,
And when it does, does it think it happened all too soon?Some would grieve when I would leave,
Some won’t even notice.
If by chance I am well known,
Perhaps I would be remembered more,
my identity, my life,
analysed, scandalized
interpreted, misinterpreted,
Perhaps I’d inspire, or called a liar,
but thankfully, regretfully,
I would be too dead to do anything.And for that peace,
Death, I am grateful.
Perhaps it’s easy for me to say
when I am not dying right now,
perhaps it’s just a petty attempt to accept
that if I am born, I’d come to you,
I’d die, and I’d go
to wherever it takes to complete the circle.
So why should I be scared of you?
You are a part of me,
You are inevitable.*
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Oh great,
There’s another day to greet
Job well done the Sun & the Earth!
Congratulations on this yet another birth!
How do you do this over and over
billion years & beyond?
Don’t you get bored?
like I do, in a week,
(Or in a minute these days)
Waking up; Eating, attending that meeting
Faking it; Progress, and that breathing
Making it up; My existential meaning.Do you make things up too Sun?
Apart from Helium?
And everything that comes with it?
Do you do something new too?
In the context of doing the same old things?
And does it bring any joy?
Or do you wake up grumpy one day
and write a poem too?Do you ever feel tired?
Like you just can’t take it
And if you take it, you’ll break it
And if you break it-
I don’t know,
Do you ever feel disappointed?
Do you ever feel depressed?Okay stars forbid,
let me be a little less morbid;
Do you ever feel delighted?
Do you ever feel that you are in love?
So much in love
that you need to calm yourself
remembering that it’s temporary
this infatuation, this obsession,
this fear, this aspiration,
secretly hoping that it lasts a lifetime
but even with your eternal existence
that eternity comes to an end.
You come to an end.When you do, I would be dead by then.
But would you remember me though?
Do you remember things?
Do you ever tell our stories among your fellow starmates?
I am sure you don’t speak any of our stupid inefficient languages,
but do you speak in vibrations?
Do you speak in music?
Are you a musician?
Do you play those strings or waves or particles?
Can I hear it?
Can I already hear it?Does any of it matter though?
Or all of it is an anti matter?
A stupidity to joke like that –
What a cute little thing to do,
Why am I wondering about you?
Let me return to my trivial issues;
Look for a home, pay those bills,
Eat, cook, work, forget to exercise,
Say kill me now all the time
But be shit scared of death and disease
Take people who love you for granted
Run behind those who treat you like shit,
You know small little avoidable human problems like that,
not a mammoth helium manufacturing machine here-
just a modest suffering production laboratory.Do you ever feel pity?
At the stupid things we do?
Do you ever feel enraged?
How we destroy a part of your creation with our creations?
Do you ever laugh at our hypocrisy?
Do you ever cry?
Do you ever feel anything?
Or do you feel these things through me?
Your stardust in my veins,
My thoughts bursting in your solar storms,
I know I ought not feel so grand,
I am still tiny, and miserable,
and so grumpy, and so mad,
and so impatient to change things,
But still, I wonder
do you ever?*
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My room;
A room full of possibilities,
It faces a giant window with purple curtains
where the sun sets in the shrinking sky,
among the concrete with a dusty sigh,
where pigeons shit low and soar high
and the vehicles screech nearby……beyond a collage wall with yellowed art pieces
waiting to be repaired,
offering support to a bed waiting to be cleared;
Filled with bags, different kinds – big and small,
And some clothes and some books and some more stuff
Waiting to be placed in their designated space
inside an overflowing cupboard.On the other side lies the table
in more or less the same state;
A cup waiting for its taxi to the sink
A sanitizer born in 2020 waiting to be used
A speaker, I am waiting for to get charged
A match box waiting for a hiding place……and a sketch waits to be completed
and after her, a few others as well.
And after that a poem awaits creation too,
under them an old CPU fights scrapyard,
while dreaming of a museum,
while my new CPU- my office laptop
dreads being used yet again.Somewhere in this clutter
lies a few old manuscripts,
waiting to be used, some what abused,
while dreaming of being a part of beautiful book
and a giant teddy lies on the bed
gathering dust and battling an existential crisis.
Like those unfinished drafts.
Like me.My room could be an office,
Could be a secret lab,
Could be a studio,
Could even be a gym,
But it’s none of that –
It is a waiting room;A room waiting to be cleaned,
A heart waiting to be fixed,
A dream waiting to be realized,
A love waiting to be loved,
A life waiting to be lived,
A beginning waiting for an end,
And I am waiting
(might as well be a professional waiter now)
waiting for those possibilities
to be possible someday.But it seems not today.
Or maybe it does,
maybe there’s a little bit,
coming to existence,
Just a little bit
day by day.*
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Karma; what goes around comes around.
as if telling you
that maybe, slightly, I don’t know, I feel
eager or a bit obsessed, is going to change my
Kismet or yours; because I think I am fated to be
unlucky when it comes to this
meaning all my tiny little
expectations with love, what seems like love, don’t
necessarily or even remotely meet yours.(But what if, they did?)
**
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. It starts small
with a tiny wormhole at the bottom of your purse
Sucking your hair clips
your rubber band
your pens
your masks
your peace of mind…And the wormhole gets bigger
your helpless regretful forgetfulness
engulfs your scarf
your earphones
your wallet
or your beloved water bottle
that you left at the restaurant
in the auto
in the mall
at the hotel
in the train
where it was finally lost for good.
About time we close the wormhole
but damn,
it only gets bigger
sucking your gold earrings
your car keys
your phone
your ATM card
your job
and your sleep.Oh fuck you,
Will you stop?
Of course not, will upgrade!
Why just things?
When we can also lose trust
or your hope, or your health
or your time
A minute, an hour, a year
or an entire lifetime.
Let’s lose people
your ex
your friendships
your relationships
a person you loved the most
or a few
or maybe just you.Where do I find them?
My time,
My memories,
My people,
Scattered in bits and pieces
in places I can no longer visit
How do I ever find them again,
my lost things, my lost self
that I miss so much?**
The Turquoise Ink 