I imagine the sun settingflowingdropping into the crease of buildings
A mellow skyline, pink and rose and yellow and blushing
I imagine everyday beauty
I am inside a small room and I never go out.
My house is only two storeys high
My ambition no higher
I crave the softness that comes with smallness
All I taste is the gap I never even dream to remove someday
I often wonder what other dots in the web are doing
It glitches my mind and I get disconnected
I bet it’s beautiful outside
Even the high-rise residents can’t jog at their beautified parks
I wrap my arm around my pillow
Take a deep breath
I am herenowalwaysforever
I pick a movie to watch
The deadlines can wait
The dead lines aren’t waiting
They’re piling up at riverbanks
I’m still at home playingwatchingignoring a movie
I’m too afraid to murmur a premature thanks
I stare at the ceiling
My spotify is wailing
The only thing moving is the fan.
The screen flashes into ecstatic noises
I throw a pillow to suffocate it and it groans
It’s a new smartphone, but no wonder not wise
Did he say yes, or no?
The notifications lie stagnant under the pillow
My heart’s beating loud and I’m warm
So is my phone
Under the pillow it waits for my expectant palm
I can’t bear to take it out but I stare at it
My entire room throbbing in anticipation
Even the lizard on the wall pauses to take a look
And I start to lose all my patience
Yes, yes! He likes me too
Oh, to be online and in love!
I kiss the screen
And start typing
It’s virtual, but real enough.
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.
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.
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
It was the year when millions died And a girl woke out of love It was when shells were broken Souls roamed free Bodies stuck to their cages For what seemed like ages
People online played board games A man broke his back Scratching miles on earth To and fro, a migrant and a labourer Nothing more nor less Perhaps a little less human
Sunrise dripped out of the sky The youth shed tears Mourning its days of freedom Hearts beat as fast as Fingers typed on screens Reality had shifted its venue
And the old, they died And I remembered the saying Death is the death of the fear of death But death is real as real can get. It was the year we all broke anew It was the year I fell for you.
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?
mimimusing 