Lose yourself

ahonarc1 Comment 
 Lose yourself
 To the winding roads under the foggy skies
 Where the mountain kisses the sun,
 The trees flirt with the wind
 And the pebbles fall in love with the flowers
 Not to be loved in return;
  
 Lose yourself
 To the city
 And it’s overlapping streets, lanes, alleys
 Houses cuddling together
 Bricks and cement infused in love
 Slender skyscrapers trying to be mountains
 But never stealing a kiss from the sun
 As the pollution brews smoke in the sky;
  
 Lose yourself 
 To the pages
 That can take you anywhere
 Anytime
 Where you become the lover and the beloved
 The hero and the villain
 Where you can live a thousand lives
 By a magic called language;
  
 Lose yourself
 To music
 Where you can feel a thousand emotions
 And know how the pebble felt when the daisy died in its arms
 Or how a hero dreams
 A villain lives
 A lover cries
 A human feels;
  
 Lose yourself
 To me
 Or I’m afraid
 I’ll lose myself
 To you.
ahonarc1 Comment 
On some days, I close my eyes-
And it becomes a summer evening.
I laugh and smile like only children can afford to,
Fresh green grass tickles my tiny bare feet.
I sit on the swing, my eyes steadfast on the golden sky
Gearing up to reach as high as I can
To outdo my brother
Who got bored of swinging
And is now playing football in the other half of the park.
The evening smells like dirt,
Sounds like mosquitoes,
And feels like a breeze.
As the sky turns into ink,
Birds begin to hurry like pedestrians in a busy city,
Returning to their nests;
And the two of us return home
To watch some cartoons,
Have some snacks,
And fight over both.
 
On some days, I close my eyes-
And I’m in a classroom
Blue walls, blue desks, grey floor and a blackboard
A trail of words leaving the teacher’s lips
And going straight out of the window like unruly toddlers crawling too fast;
Every head is either dozing off or buzzing with mischief.
A girl secretly holds her boyfriend’s hands under the desk
And everyone within a three meter radius
Throws them a knowing smirk.
Five minutes till recess- becomes a reason enough to be stupidly happy
Although my friends and I have only been playing games,
Cracking jokes, and doodling all over
The precious last pages of the notebook.
The long-awaited bell rings loud and clear,
Followed by an epidemic of smile and relief.
 
On some days, I close my eyes-
And I don’t want to open them again.
Everyone seems out of reach
Every situation, out of hand.
I open my eyes and shut them again
To remember the times
When the world wasn’t upside down to me
When happiness was so real that I could almost touch it
When I was enough for myself.
Maybe I still am-
There’s a breeze outside
The birds still return home tweeting goodnight
And the bell hasn’t rung yet
All I can do is keep scribbling on the last few pages of my notebook
And everything will be fine.

Musings and mood swings

ahonarc

A sleepless night.
Shiny, shy sparkles (let’s call them stars) hide behind the raging smog,
A sky as grey as the railway platform with nowhere to go but stare at the ever-running trains
My city’s clarity matches my mind’s.

“Would he/she/they really care if I were gone?”
Blink once, twice, thrice
Over and over again
I make my eyelids droopy with repititive restlessness
But can’t get rid of the pain.

My body refuses to shut the windows to my soul, it seems
My heavy eyes are wide open
To let in all my doubts-
They’re guests after all (or maybe they are the residents)
And my mind is many things
But not an impolite host.

I try to conjure up some tears,
Scanning my memories-
Strange places,
Familiar hands in strange places,
Strange coldness in familiar souls.
Alas
Sorrow is too pure an emotion.
Disappointment suits a cynic better
And I am (often) sure I am one.

Dry eyes, a dry soul, a dry sense of humour
I’m not out of place in my own self, at least.
That’s a relief.
Speaking of relief, I finally realise what I really want to ask

“Would I care if I were gone?”

“Would I be… relieved?”

Maybe some other time,
Some other day,
I will ask a complete stranger
“How did you know I’m broken?”
And nod along with empty eyes to whatever he thinks the reason is;
Or maybe I’ll read a bestselling self-help book
Absorb it for a day
And decide not to be broken;

Or maybe I will go back to bleak attempts at sub-par poetry
Maybe you will read it too
And the desire to die (or the indifference to death, life and everything in between)
Will be reduced to a mere poetic theme
Just like love, war and other things.

The Man with Birds in His Lips

ahonarc1 Comment

The words he spoke to me
Flew like birds,
They crossed fields and oceans
Rivers and lakes
But before reaching my city
Dropped dead before the gates.

I stood at my Palace of Wails
Wondering where the birds are
Until the wind carried with it
Bright red feathers.
I tried sewing them
To make them whole again
But all I could make
Was a crown.

Why does the Queen of Wails
Wear a bright red crown?
Whispers and rumours
Wildfire in the city
“Our Queen is changing”
The Wise Men nod their heads,
Commoners gossip and talk.

The next spring
I await his words again
But all I get is
A mass of rain-soaked feathers
In the red monsoon downpour.
So many feathers
So much pain
And I decided to sew again.
This time I made a dress.

“Your Highness
The city is concerned.
The change in you
Scares us all.
Do you not remember
Why you were born?”

I wrap myself in a grey shawl
A grey scarf wound around my head like a python
I tighten my jaw.

I remember,
How can I forget the curse
That befell this city?
The Wise Men had urged the Gods
And They made me out of Suffering.
I was to grow old in the Palace of Wails
I was not to smile nor speak
Or else the city will die.

Not smiling was easy
The Wise Men made that sure.

The city did not die,
Not those in power at least.
The common fools suffered;
They thanked my existence
Worshipped the Wise Men
Believing in all their lies.

I did not smile nor speak
As was my fate
Until the man with birds in his lips
Stopped at my gates.

He had looked at my soul
Read all my words
Which no one could hear.
My lips had curved into
A forbidden smile.
The Wise Men found out;
And the man with birds in his lips
Was sent far away.

I still waited for the red birds
To perch at my window sill.
Spring passed,
Monsoon too-
The dry winter arrived.
I had almost given up hope, when
On a cold winter night
One by one
A parade of red birds
Marched into my room through the window.

These birds are alive!
Was this happiness I felt?
Before I could know
The birds began to leave
One by one
The parade of red birds
Flew out.
Each of them had shed feathers on my bed;
It resembled a small red hillock.

This time I did not wail
I sat down to sew.
Not a crown, nor a dress-
I made two bright red wings.
I finally understood
I finally flew
To the man with birds in his lips.

Rain

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I hate it
When the breeze is pregnant with rain
My nostrils taking in
The maddening petrichor
And suddenly my head
Which I always hold high
Needs to rest on someone’s shoulders.

Monsoons get you drunk
Even the dry ones
Where you spend hours thinking about the rain
Complaining about the humid stifling
And even a slight shower of rain
Can make your mind long for a dance.

Do the water drops in the downpour
Attract my tears?
A cohesive force?
I still don’t know
How the raindrops streaming down the window pane
Bring teardrops to my eyes.

Raindrops stream down the barren land of skin.

The nature outside invokes the nature inside me
The stream flows
To where
To whom
Who knows.

I hate it
When nature sings her sad song
And dances to its spitter spatter beats
And all I can be
Is a needy little fool.

Void

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‘Melancholy’ by Albert Gyorgy

Sleepless nights and aimless rides
Where’s it taking me?
Why is it so hard to know
Who I want to be?

I have no big dreams or plans
No adventures to tell
Nothing seems right enough
No one does, as well.

Everybody goes through this
Everyone’s a mess
I just wish I found a way
To hurt a little less.

‘Hurt’ might not be the word-
It’s emptiness I feel
Nothing really matters, Queen,
Nothing’s really real.

I find beauty, I find joy
Sometimes I do laugh
But a hint of void remains
Nothing seems enough.

Ablaze

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I’m burning
The red fire inside the core of my body
Rises with its million tongues
The veil of smoke makes my silhouette a blur
I am burning
And I don’t know how to stop.

Put out the fire!
It’s an unholy disaster
I am an unholy disaster
I can’t stop the fire, Baba,
I tried bathing in the Ganges
Almost drowned in my own tears-
My rotten flesh still charrs.

Why am I burning, Ma?
Was I not a good girl?
Appropriate is my nickname
At least in society, I am
Miss Prim and Proper.
I know I show my teeth to you, Ma
I don’t know who else I can turn to.
I really am sorry.
Is that why I burn?

I have the need to please them all
Be cool
Don’t be that all-hating girl
Finding problems with the world
Especially when you can do nothing about it.
Especially when you believed you could.
Ignorance is bliss
Don’t set your expectations so high
That they almost touch the danger sign of ‘Ideal’.
Ideal isn’t real
The red flags aren’t either, convince yourself.
Bury your head in your rabbit hole
Maybe you’ll extinguish those deadly flames.

Who does those flames want to touch?
Why are they so angry?
There are fresh eyes opening inside my soul
They see too much
I don’t know how to shut them
The rabbit hole is too far away now.
Cynic turned misanthrope?
I refuse to be that one.
There is good, I have seen it.
I have, I must remember that.

I yell and scream at my own burning self
Until the fire calms down.

I’m numb now, the blaze is over.
Looking aimlessly at the city’s skeleton
I distance myself as far as I can.
Survival needs escape.
I don’t know who’s there with me,
But I can still feel
The flicker that lives on
In my eyes.
All that the flicker needs
Is a trigger
And I’ll be ablaze again.
I don’t know how to stop.

Perfection

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Freeing up my heart and soul
I drink joy from your eyes
Flying past my darken days
I soar across the skies.

I’ve met you in all my dreams
We’ve held our hearts as one
You are me, I am you
Our days have just begun.

Don’t lose hope, I love you,
You’re the perfect me
I’ve searched for you everywhere
You have set me free.

Mirrors on the wall don’t know
Perfection is false
Stop looking for ideal selves.
We’re human beings, not dolls.

I don’t look for you anymore
I now know I am you
Imperfection is the perfect choice
The rest is all untrue.

City

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Let’s get lost in the city.
We can’t count the stars
Because the smoky clouds have won.
We have lost-
Ourselves
But not our dreams, not yet.
Your eyes have all the stars I need
My dreams are all yours,
Let’s paint our passions together
Into a pretty rainbow
And the smog will be lifted.

The city is sometimes so grey
Straight lines,
Boxes…
Traps?
The skyline is mapped out in sharp angles
The round sunset is such a sight.
Let’s count the people,
How they speed up their lives.
Find leisure in a city dweller’s paradise.
No one seems to remember their dreams,
The dreams that drove them here.
Running for life, they run away,
Round and round in circles.
The watchful city smirks.

Exhausting landscapes and construction sites
Grow, grow, grow
Metropolitan giant,
Grow but don’t eat up our dreams.
I won’t look at the shabby alleys
The slums we pretend don’t exist
I swear I’ll gaze at the palacial malls
And forget the flaws of the city.

I was born here
I know how a city crushes someone’s hopes
While nurturing another’s.

Let’s get lost in this city again
Sacrificing our bodies and souls
To the urban gods
And maybe one day
The city will listen to us,
The city will care,
Embrace,
Love,
And the city will be all ours.

Music

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Stop the goddamn music
Just stop it.
No I don’t want to dance
My body rejects your happy beats
The lyrics don’t talk to me
Who are they made for?

My ears have been fed with generic
Western music
Bollywood
Bengali songs
And every time you play a song
My linguistic identities change.
Who the fuck am I?
In what language do I love?
Or exist?

English is too formal
A dress which I once borrowed for a day
And never returned.
Hindi is an ornament I bought for myself
Only worn on special occasions.
Bengali? It was always with me
Restricted reach, taken for granted
Nothing too special.

I’m sorry
It’s not your fault that
My ears are repulsed
By every tongue I know
Since I know not which one is mine.

They say
Learn the language of love
What the fuck is that, pray?
I’m sorry I’m angry
At myself, really
Confusion is choking me
That’s the only sound I hear.

Did you put on another song?

Thanks for holding my hand.
I used to be bored by instrumentals,
I never knew
That’s how music truly speaks.
Perhaps,
I don’t need a language anymore.