I make fun of his love
And his cheesy 2 a.m. poetry
He's chased her for six long years
And it doesn't make any sense to me
I say, I might be dead in six years
How did your love not die?
He says, he needed the six years
To be able to survive his life
That she reminded him of soft sunsets:
I reminded him, she was cold
He insists on her rosy pictures.
Oh, love and its blindfolds...
I laugh but he knows I'm crying
How does it feel to be loved? I ask
I wish I'd caused six moments of longing
At least six seconds, perhaps
I remember those who said they liked me
After six minutes of mindless chats
I remember being amused and flattered
But never moved by any of that
I never felt connected, I tell him
He asks me if I felt stuck
Yes, I didn't feel loved, I say,
In any case, not loved enough
I suppose it's just me, I finally say,
But I think it's too soon to conclude
He says he'll chase money now
Chasing love is of no use
We bond over our lovesick hearts
Our fragile little friendship starts
As we wait six years, both of us
To woo or to be wooed.
My silences are sprinting
They're so many, at once
There's a pimple on my wooden face
Waiting to be burst
But the silences come first
They threaten me with an explosion
I can already smell ashes
Grey, spotty, flaky, and choking
A ruined world remaking
No I'm not romanticizing
Someone else's war
All my problems are mine, okay?
My jarred edges
Reek of stale cynicism
My unlit mind
Damp and resistant to hope
I try to look like I care
Resharing brutal news
Replaying the victims' tears
I mimic activism
Lying passive in my bed of privilege
Unremarkable in my performative concern
As I think to myself
The world will always stretch, tear and burn
I am throwing my words around
Because I like their gibberish sounds
They're hurdles for the silent beams
That are racing towards me
And I don't want to be found.
I will Rest my chubby fingers Against the cool iron bars Before my white painted windows Rest my sad shaped shoulder Against a wall which homes me Rest myself
The rain sings so beautifully It is beyond all writing I am beyond all words
I can be a moldy green patch of earth Who said I’m a girl? My feet isn’t skin They’re shells And they’re beautiful
The rain falls like it knows How to empty me I am happy as I know I am not only me
I am the rain The iron bars The window and the wall I have never lived or never died But I am alive and I’m singing
Today I don’t need to write Because today I can feel Today I can be Today I can sing What else do I need?
You spoke to me and I listened
When I spoke, you smiled
I teased you so you'd blush
And it wasn't a lie
I really did laugh at your sorry attempts at jokes
But I could never call you my jaan
Because loving to talk to you
Isn't the same as love
But you refused to be my dost
And we're forever undone:
Neither my friend nor my love,
I wonder what we have become.
My childhood was inside books- Fairy tales and detective stories; Tonight when the city dies another death I clutch at my laptop I look up those books But I can’t go back to my grandmother’s old apartment and get them
I can’t go back to When I was not more than three feet high When I felt pretty And the green grass called me
It doesn’t, anymore How strange it is that the grass loses voice And I lose mine
I was nine but my little palm Could hold a world of confidence I trapped it in my fist and placed it on my hips I wore my blue frock and posed And I thought the world was mine
Now I think I was stupid Now I know I was happy Now I know, it’s childhood
The grass, the sky, the trees, the roads, Hell, even the streetlights after rain They’ve all lost their voices My old books lie dead Do they miss a blue-frocked girl?
But I miss her She didn’t care about the bad days she had She was me, some day. Now, just a third person pronoun I can’t reach
I’ll allow myself some tears While wishing she were here She has a lot that she could teach.
It's nice to have friends
But it's also not bad
To hear cotton-voiced guys and marble-voiced girls-
Strangers over group calls,
A happy little break from
Rotting in your bed and
Staring at the walls
A sixteen year old plays her favourite songs For a man a decade older I try to warn her But she doesn’t listen But I don’t listen As I keep humming the tunes The artsy man says his girlfriend loves I thank God he’s unavailable
I tease a guy, pull his legs I think I would avoid him If I were to meet him anywhere A classroom, a bus stand, a friend’s house He is rural but his tastes are global A gen Z specimen and a flirt I call him my brother and he bans me from the chat All girls in the group face exactly that And we laugh I promise to stop and he lets me come back But he’s a virgin, he says And I’m a virgin, but I only smile We all know we aren’t going anywhere Further
The older woman who sings like a star And the guy my age who plays the guitar The nerdy boy who shares great memes And the sulky teen who has big dreams All of them, I’ve known for a week, All of them have known me a bit
When the walls shut me in I let the internet win: They’re fragile and fickle But these are still bonds When I scrape for memories They won’t be gone
We’re, we know, just passing the time They tell me stories and then listen to mine, And we waste away our lonelinesses With pseudonyms and masked faces, Celebrating our virtual lives.
He was singing with sleep in his mouth
My head was full of waking dreams
Our arms melted into skin in love
My sleeplessness was soothed by it
I asked him who he was
He said he has always been,
Sometimes the drop of yellow paint
On the dusky city sky
Sometimes a bubble of nostalgia
Of familiar roads I pass by
Sometimes nothing more
Than a ray of hope
That there will be another day
Or maybe a poem I wrote
Thinking about things adore
Or complaining about those I hate
He sang to me until I fell asleep
Blessed me with dreams to dream
I don't know who he is or will be
I know he will give me wings
What would I do If I couldn’t smell The blue syrup of the sky after dawn What would I do If you hadn’t worn a dress Baby blue with innocent joy What would I do If the waters didn’t flourish In all shades of blue
What would I do If I couldn’t romanticize My slothful blues Dull, greyish and tear-less What would I do Oh, what would I do?
Welcome to my land
It's pretty
Beautiful with shades of wealth
There is nothing wanted/
Missing
We're thriving in the pink of health
Altercations, rumours, riots-
Crafted by the
Enemy states;
We are happy, we are booming
There is no need
To dissent.
No need to protest
Systemic blows
No need to ask for
Employment
No need to question
GDP
No need to push
Our government
For we are happy
We are rising
More than ever
(Fresh statistics)
We only need to
Close our eyes
And be a bit
Optimistic.
