The Window

The white smoke rapidly escapes the distant chimneys –
Two brothers standing side by side through thick and thin.
Oh how they burn!
The waste less,
my heart more,
like red hot lava coated with grey ashes.
I gaze and gaze,
Hoping you would look back.
Shush! It’s a secret.
No one is supposed to know,
especially you.

The cold creeps into my skin,
every strand of hair gives me a standing ovation
as if thoroughly entertained by my bleeding heart.
It must be funny, I understand,
How the void is bigger now.
Hadn’t I harboured enough man-made gods inside that you had to leave me with another one?

The scattered shards of my obsession
spill over the pages again.
I am refraining from an open acknowledgement because…
Remember it’s a secret?
Why do I always end up exchanging love for indifference?
(Provided it’s love at all,
maybe just a temporary imbalance of hormones)
Surely, I think, I don’t deserve this.
Surely, you don’t share the same opinion.
What am I though?
A walking placard for “Use me”?
or maybe just a stinking landfill.
I admit that my notions of love are absurd.
You would slip into my ink much before than my heart.
Still, does that justify your cruelty?

I stare and stare,
I wish I could be the bird tottering about the green,
I wish I could be the amber leaves; lifeless and beautiful,
Or the raindrops eventually finding their path to the drains,
Or maybe a candle burning with all its might when the sun soars at its highest.
But I will get along
with another poem.
Dream another dream.
I will get along,
There will be more birds.
There will be more skeletons of trees flaunting off a leave or two.
There will be more colours
as my heart paints itself grey.
There will be more humour
as there will be more disappointment.
There will be softer sounds of my sobs,
as there will be more melodious notes of another beautiful song.
You will be there in my head, like so many others before, like so many others after.
I am not even sure if I want to forget…

So I watch a little more,
Through the vague reflections on the transparent glass of my window,
Abstract figures, abstract thoughts, abstract future,
Where I would trade love for uncertainty again.
And of course blame myself to the point that I am drowned in my own tears or something.
“No regrets”, and I shall regret even more.
But I will brush the hair off my forehead,
I will put on a red nose, a gigantic smile.
I must look like a clown,
As pathetic as it may sound.

Worry not though,
The grass is still chartreuse,
The sky is still misty and magical.
Sure you wouldn’t look back,
and I would turn thousand different times,
thousand different ways.
The fault is mine;
It’s cooler to be apathetic after all.
It’s cooler not to be hurt.
But what can I say?
You have your drugs and I have mine.
And whatever it may or may not entail,
I am addicted;
I have always been and I always will be.
The wet pages, the blurred margins, the smeared ink and the slurred words being my rehabilitation.



Day Seventeen – SOS

is the signal that I should ideally be sending
Because the need to abandon you seems quite apparent.
But at the same time, how do I get rid of my ferocious temptation?
How do I get rid of my ecstatic obsession?
I admit I might be required to be rescued,
I agree I might not be completely sane,
But wouldn’t you throw an act of blind faith just once again?
I can’t differentiate between distress and endearment,
So, here I stand at the juncture of choices;
To be or not to be—


This blog series is a part of a 30 Days writing challenge, which is as depicted by the picture below (Special thanks to Pinterest):
Writing challenge - May'17

The crush

You really have to loathe or love the enormous capability of your body to feel various things – Remember the times when your brain just relentlessly makes you search for an appropriate word for how you feel, when it makes you scowl at your insufficient vocabulary or keeps you wondering what sensations you are going   through; those moments that appall you and appease you at the very next second. It’s simply outstanding. Sometimes you are sinking in happiness and you have no idea why, sometimes you are this great entertainer and you realize that you never meant to socialize let alone entertain anyone, sometimes you just want the whole world to fuck off, sometimes you want to hide in a little corner of your room and just make out with solitude , sometimes you are too sad and hence you go creative, sometimes you have had the best day ever and yet all you want to do is sit and cry, sometimes you want to get high, sometimes you want to rise up in the morning and breathe in the fresh cool air, touch dew drops and witness sunrise, sometimes you want to talk and just go on talking, sometimes you want to embrace silence and there are those times when you grow obsessed ; with a book, with a band, with a song, with a movie, with coffee, with cheese, with a blog, with a website, with an actor, with a poem and suddenly out of nowhere…

With a person.

With a god damned person!

How do I stop thinking about him? Like is that even possible? Can I just stop myself and pretend nothing is there and breathe as normally as I can? Can I stop talking about him? I am sure my diary is bored. My friends are bored. And it’s high time that even I get bored! So can all this just not happen anymore?

“Of course it’s possible!” says the sensible and smart voice in my head.
“Why wouldn’t it be possible?”

Okay, if you say so. I guess then the question isn’t how to stop thinking about him. Question is do I want to stop thinking about him?

“Say yes! Say yes!”  – says the sensible me.

Yes. Yes. Even if I say this a dozen times it wouldn’t make it any true. It’s not true at all.

The insensible me turn to the sensible voice in my head and ask – Why can’t you admit what we are really going through? What is it that you fear?


And soon my brain starts to wander among his memories;
His smile, his laugh, his peculiar sense of humor, his voice, his touch, his hair, his eyes and the fact that he has no idea somewhere someone is this obsessed with him.

“Fuck. Dude, what have you got yourselves into?”

The sensible me finally breaks the silence by answering the question with another question.
Not cool. Not cool.
What have I got myself into? How the fuck would I know? Like I can control what I feel! Do I ask my brain to flash his image in my head whenever I hear a song we both love? Do I ask my brain to nag my own self wondering if it’s right to talk to him or just say hi or just send him a message and wait for his reply like I have nothing else to do? Come on! It’s not deliberate.

You don’t have to say it miss sensible. I know it’s miserable.You have best intentions in your heart. You want to grab my hand and keep me from falling.

That’s awfully kind of you. Have I not mentioned that before? That really is. I hope you are able to execute this plan of yours. I do want you to. I know how much you care about me. And your plan is flawless! Because what’s the point?  I sit here and make these little love notes, dream with my eyes wide open, imagine weird possibilities, smile for things that are unlikely to happen, blush over a stupid name, be happy just over the prospect of meeting someone and what does that someone do?

All the things he normally does. While I throw away hours thinking about him, whom does he think about? While I spend my nights dreaming about him, whom does he dream about?  While I talk to him wondering what bliss that is, what does he wonder about?

Insecurity and boldness hits me at the same time. The sensible me who is so sensible and so sure about how only stupidity can embrace me pleads me to throw this entire obsession away. It’s leading nowhere she says. You will end up hurting yourself she says. Trust me she says. You will know when it is meant to be she says.

There is such convincing confidence in her voice. In front of her the bold I, to her horror, starts to doubt her own self. She is standing there with one of those not-so-desirable dazed look on her face. She opens her mouth and closes it again. She tries to speak up and nothing comes out of her. Not so bold after all, is she?

“B-but…” she stammers and the word just hangs there in the air. Floating and waiting.

Floating and waiting.

Floating and waiting…