To be unlucky in love
to have your heart broken again
and again
and yet again.
To feel as if you have been used
and to a certain degree been willingly abused
To know
that somehow you have known all along
that past can’t be turned into present
that present can’t be turned into future
but yet you gather the pieces again
to assemble something
that resembles a heart again –
a little bit more bulletproof than before
battered
and ridden with holes
still vulnerable anyway
only to be offered
and rejected yet again
back and forth
back and forth
and to be back to square one again.
Is there an end to this?
Or maybe you can expect
everything and anything but love
in this ultra abundant world.
Is there a medicine
to let go
and get right back up?
To accept
but be incapable of feeling love?
Is there a poison that turns heart into a stone?
Is there a way you can move on
unmoved?
How do you find hope in this mess?
How do you find strength to lift this off your chest?
And how do you stop being a fool?
How do you follow the unsaid rules?
Is there a way that memories can be erased?
Is there a way that fresh starts can be made?
And yet nothing changes
You continue to stay who you are.
Is there a way to stop bothering?
Is there a way to stop longing?
Is there a way to accept the abrupt endings?
I know there’s nothing wrong
With being unlucky
Perhaps there’s a latent desire
to be ultimately left alone,
With amicable traces
of now dormant volcano of emotions
exploding now and then
everytime, everytime when
I find you.
But you disappear
terrified
petrified
to become another forbidden name in my history
In late night drunk thoughts;
What if this?
And what if that?
A ghost
An idea
A dream
Now lost forever.
Tag: poetry
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Lately,
words have been failing me.
Lately,
it doesn’t seem like there
was
or is
or will be
any point
in anything that
I have ever done
or would like to do.
Lately,
the world has been failing me.
And even when it wasn’t
I feel like it always was –
more lost than ever before
because even the dream’s
been temporary lived and gone.
And there isn’t a new one that could replace and stay.
And the old one doesn’t go away,
like a ghost haunting an old house
wanting something
and yet it’s just too late;
Echoes of a dying wish,
the life is gone brother!
And you don’t matter,
you don’t have any matter in the first place.
Lately,
I can’t speak.
Because I don’t really think I have anything to say.
I feel old in my youth
as if I have already lived way beyond I was supposed to.
Lately,
I have discovered a bit of joy
in being
at an utter unease with everything perfect
or could have been perfect.
Here I am with the evening breeze
romanticizing the distant chaos again.
Lately,
I have been feeling weak –
A familiar face,
hanging around with a dictionary definition
ensuring that any sort of hope doesn’t escape
and corrupts me all over again.
Caution:
Don’t fly.
Because you are not a bird.
Hues of the autumn
amber, orange, brown
like leaves you fall to the ground.
Dissolving,
take away this pen
take away my immortality
I don’t want to be remembered.
I don’t even know what I am.
So why should you? -
You don’t need more books.
You don’t need more clothes.
You don’t need to smoke.
You don’t need to eat meat.
You don’t need another cup of coffee.
You don’t need to check your phone again.
Those who show off are showing off the wrong things.
Those who are jealous are jealous of the wrong beings.
Social media is not equivalent to being social.
Watching pornography is not equivalent to having sex.
Real people appreciate better than a tap or a swipe.
That new tinder date is not the solution for your boredom and loneliness.
Some conversations are not scripted.
Some pictures are never captured.
Some moments are never created.
Look up.
Most discussions are limited to football, booze, sex, and drugs.
That doesn’t mean Purpose, Meaning, Morals are not important.
Humans are social animals.
If you are isolating yourself, you are more prone to mental illness.
Tranquilizers won’t cure your anxiety.
A purpose might.
A deep meaningful relationship might.
But most strings aren’t attached.
Time is a luxury.
Run, work, run.
Your job is exhausting.
Money, money, money.
Somehow you still don’t seem to have any.
Just more goods to show off,
And a guide to subtle exaggeration;
Moods, and Basics
“Random inspirational quote”.
Noise can be made.
Noise can be muted.
Look up.
-
Is to think about you,
I search for the tiniest of our memories
in the remotest corners of my heart
stringing them along in
a new narrative
every day
every night
like a mini theatre in my head,
I watch the same films,
same characters,
same scenes,
reach the same conclusion.My new hobby
is to have imaginary conversations with you,
even though mostly,
in reality,
you spoke too much
and I didn’t at all
but now I say it all;
your part
my part –
things we would have never said
things we would have never done,
You are so painfully interesting in my imagination
I long
and I long
wishing that you are near and real,
tangible,
lovable,
knowing perfectly that if you are with me
all your imperfections are real too.My new hobby
is to idealize you
and then to wonder how you aren’t ideal in fact,
my new hobby
is to clutch your memories close to my heart
where no one can steal them,
my new hobby
is to wonder
whether to tell
or not to tell;
whether to text
or not to text;
What even?
Why even?
How even?
Rather be satisfied
with my mental conversations
and everyday memories screenings
than to awkwardly reveal my secrets to you,
What to do?
What to even expect?
Would you even understand what I mean?
I am scared that in the end, you will leave me on seen.Nevermind though,
You are and you will still be in my thoughts.
Silent suffering,
Mysterious rejoice,
It seems that’s my new hobby. -
Hope is that someday it would make sense
Or maybe we’d to learn to accept the senselessness
Hope is that someday we would find order in the chaos
Or maybe we’d learn to deal with the high entropy
What, when, why, how
There’s no ignoring
There’s no escaping
Things happen;
Painful ones, joyful ones,
People happen;
Interesting ones, awful ones,
Who’s wrong?
Who’s right?
We are, in the end, just lines oriented at a random angle –
Converging, intersecting, diverging,
Maybe we make sense from a plane above,
Maybe our experiences together are infinite hues splashed over a vast canvas,
Maybe, maybe there’s a reason
Maybe, maybe there’s an answer
Hope is that someday our beautiful mind would find beauty of his own;
Hope is that till then, he wouldn’t give up hope over fears unknown.*
-
My eyes flick open again,
Just as the sun wakes up,
Just when the moon falls asleep,
Too cold to step outside the blanket
Too late not to.
I gaze outside, tad bit drowsy,
tad bit curious,
tad bit joyous,
tad bit furious.
The buildings display quite an opposite effect of sunlight on them,
Reverse tanning, to be precise,
I can’t possibly count the shades of green I see,
I can’t possibly count the kinds of flowers,
The kinds of bees,
The kinds of buzz,
The kinds of me.
What’s wrong?
It’s too early.
So what?
I can’t sleep.
How come?
I can’t sleep.
What’d you do?
I can’t sleep.
Why’s that?
Maybe,
Maybe these days I am dreaming with my eyes wide open.*
-
I fear I won’t live again,
I fear death,
I fear I may wake up in the hospital tomorrow
complaining about migraine which maybe actually turn out to be tumor –
a beautifully malignant one.
I fear cancer
because cancer runs in my family.
I fear cardiovascular disease
because that runs in my family too.
I think I also fear every other kind of sickness,
irrespective of how related they are to me by blood,
for who knows what’s coming for me?
I fear pain,
For I have witnessed it in action too closely;
Most of it has been forgotten
but the handful of remnants are enough to haunt me for the rest of my life.
I fear grief,
I can’t even think of it,
I don’t want to think of it,
I have been his neighbour, maybe his roommate, may grief himself,
Anyway, now I want to stay the fuck away.I fear love,
I fear people might abandon,
people might disappoint,
Someone might wound my heart,
And what if it’s never healed again?
I fear dreams,
Often I dread that they are delusions,
Often I dread that I don’t love them enough,
Often I dread that I am running out of belief.
I fear future,
For there are so many things that I don’t know.
I fear past,
For there are so many things that I don’t know.
I fear present,
For there are so many things that I don’t know.
I fear knowledge too though,
I fear power and the new avenues of choices it might open.
I fear hope,
because I fear failure,
I fear happiness,
for I fear success.(What if I lose it all once I have it all?)
I fear my purpose,
Or lack of purpose,
I fear I may be meaningless after all.
And I fear that I fear too much.I want to freeze
in this moment,
ice cold,
unblinking,
motionless.
Maybe I should be a tree,
I want to be a tree,
Bloom in various hues, through various seasons,
Overhear the conversations between birds and squirrels,
Dance in rain,
And bath in the sun,
Have people marvel at me,
Have people love me,
Have people chop me down.I think I fear end,
I know I fear end,
And if this is the end –
I fear I just have to deal with it.*
-
Well, why not?
I am tall.
I am skinny.
Yes, I walk with a slouch,
Yes, I am not exactly photogenic,
but they can work on me, surely!
There’s always the training,
There’s always makeup,
There’s always good lighting and good photographers,
And there’s always Photoshop.
But still model?No,
I am more qualified to be a coat-hanger,
Because…model?
Who the fucking fuck is a model?
Yes, I would like to be a model who tells you
that it’s okay if you have the talent to fall simply by standing, wearing a footwear that’s flatter than a coastline,
that it’s okay if you spend an hour searching for your lighter in your bag and find it in your pocket instead.
Yes, I would like to be a model who continuously wears the same sweater for three weeks and will continue to wear it for another three.
I can be the kind of model
who fumbles with forks and spoons,
who fumbles like a fucking cartoon,
who fumbles and tumbles
everywhere, every time.
Every step she takes
is an open invitation to all kinds of disasters;
Sudden climate change and alien invasion, all together.
Yes, I would like to be a model
who doesn’t have a sophisticated accent,
whose language doesn’t have a single trace of eloquence,
who could use a phrase like ‘fucking fuck’,
whose opinions are crude and brutal and maybe even stupid…Maybe I could tie my hair in a french twist,
Wear suave shirts and trousers,
Wear long eyelashes and mauve lipstick,
And pronounce mauve the correct way,
Use contact lens that makes my eyes hazel,
Nails that make my hands an artist’s well-crafted miracle.
How tempting!
But how far away…
I am more likely to visit North Korea than this.
But thanks for suggesting,
Thanks for asking,
I would like to ask you back though,
“What is a model?”Give me the centre stage
And I can’t, just can’t, greet you with a stone face
that tells you I am miles away from your wildest dreams.
I am not miles away from your wildest dreams,
I am there as the background in the most mundane ones.
Give me the centre stage
And I would pull you close,
And peel my heart,
Ask you to trace the scattered bits of self esteem
bit by bit,
tears by tears.
Together maybe we can discuss the utter misfortunes
of my privileged life,
of your privileged life,
about how bad we are,
about how worse we could be.
Peel my heart further
And if I show you my pain,
would you judge me for being ‘artificially complicated’?
And if I show you my insanity and wild happiness instead,
would you judge me for being naive and shallow?
Peel my heart
And if I show you that I am as equal as you are
would you judge me or judge yourself?So what model?
I am the coat hanger.*
-
If you tell me that I am beautiful, I will be offended.
If you tell me that I am ugly, I will be offended.
Don’t waste that cheesiness on me –
If you do, I will be offended.
If you don’t ever, however, I will be offended.Tell me I am too tall, I will be offended,
Tell me I am not tall enough, I will be offended.
Tell me I am pretty,
I will say you don’t mean it.
Tell me that I am not,
I will say you are mean.
Tell me I am too thin,
that you are almost almost jealous,
I will say I badly need the gym,
And wonder how you’ve been callous.
“Your teeth are like pearls”
“Your teeth are like cat’s”
Whatever be the case,
I will try to conceal them while I chat.
Tell me to lose those specs –
So much better I might look without them,
Have you seen the dark coffins of my eyes?
What will I do about them?
A major concern as it seems –
My smartphone beaming with an awkward photo,
Snap a couple more sefies,
A game similar to ‘Lotto’,
A jolie, filter dipped face now finally bears my name,
And I will still be offended,
How I don’t actually look the same.
Tell me I look tired,
Had the previous night been rough?
Tell me I look sick,
Did I not sleep enough?
Why do I look so stoned?
Why do I look so drunk?
I guess my face carries a mystery,
A lot of myths to debunk.
Tell me I am smart,
I will judge you for being dumb,
Tell me I am a fool,
I will say you are an arrogant scum.
Use all the beautiful adjectives,
And I will ask, “What do you want?”
Use nothing, nothing at all,
And still that shall haunt.Maybe, there doesn’t exist a compliment
That could bring a genuine smile,
So, I guess my offense isn’t your fault –
I am just stupidly vile.
Tell me it’s not the case, I will say you pretended.
If you don’t, however, I will still be offended. -
Sure, it’s beautiful –
This ending day;
Crimson, Magenta
Tiffany, Tuscany
Why are the birds departing already?
Wings dispersed like charcoal ashes in the air,
The street lights shining like a long diamond necklace along the roads.
There’s moon on the other side
The love birds must be exchanging a cheesy dialogue or two.
This public display of affection makes me uncomfortable
But the moon alone makes me more uncomfortable –
For the night shall be gloomy,
Cold and restless,
Unsettling.
I am hoping you two understand human mentality more than I do.
You have been here much much longer than me after all.
You have witnessed thousands of lameness like this being written right here
And you will do that in future as well.
But here’s the thing –
Sun, stay here for a little more while
Moon, you can stay too if you want
I am just not sure if I am ready for the darkness yet.
Don’t leave me with my disorientated freezing heart,
I could appreciate some warmth right now,
The warmth that’s safer to obtain from you
Than a heartless lover
Or a bottle of wine,
Or a puff of smoke.
Don’t leave me just yet.
My treacherous mind is scarier than the ghosts outside.
Don’t leave me just yet,
Hear my plea if only you can.
Another day will be passed-
A new link of disappointment added to the chain
A new day dream of what could have been.
Be the present,
Don’t be the past yet.
I am not yet adjusted to your ridiculous speed.
But you won’t listen, will you?
You will say you are coming back,
With another dawn,
Another day,
But it is not the same!
It’s a different date.
It’s a different day.
It is NOT the same.So, you have gone,
The dark starless night.
Maybe I could still fish you out of the horizon,
If I am patient enough
If I am quiet enough
But you have gone.
Gone.
Maybe someday I might visit you again through a time travelling machine.
Gone.
Or maybe just skim through some random memories
at a random day
reading a random diary entry
or listening to a random old song.
And I would long for you even more,
But gone,
Gone –
That’s what you are.
“Move on,” you say,
Like a person apologizing for not loving his lover back.
I will, of course
Not that I have any other choice,
I need to live in the end.
But I wish there was a pause button,
A rewind
Or even fast forward
But too bad;
It’s much more simple than that
Once you hit play,
The only thing you can press
Is Stop.
The Turquoise Ink 