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.

 *

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