Tag: writing

When lockdown ends

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When lockdown ends
The flowers that have grown on my bedcover
Will crawl back into their still shapes
The grey floor that has stretched into miles
Will squeeze back into the 10×10 room
The hours that have become endless
Will trap themselves inside the watch
When lockdown ends
I’ll come out of a Dali painting

And I’ll ask (perhaps in vain)
Am I still the same?
My mind tends to forget the worst
She keeps me away from my own ghosts
When lockdown ends
Will it make sense, if I find
That in the corners of my mind
Greyish blue patches of memory have disappeared
Forgetfulness spreading like fungus on old bread
Where did the time go?
Where did I?
Where am I?

I might go round in circles
When the lockdown ends
Will I be able to make amends
To those who I might have lost
Might have crossed
Out from my life
When I perhaps dissolved in my endless room
It is the season of doom, after all.

When lockdown ends
I wish for remembrance.

Home

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“Who will be my home?”
Everyone looks outside the window and asks.
But I can’t remember what a home is,
Is it my mind, my body, my family, my city, my country?
I’ve been a stranger everywhere,
Often enough to ask like a little child
What is a home?
Home is the person you love, they say,
The person you return to after a day of rain and hailstorms,
The arms you hide inside when the world comes out to swallow you whole.
It’s not that I don’t know what a home is
I can’t feel it.
All I can understand with my massive joke of a brain
Are stories.
You and I, we’re stories, we’ve always been
Some are more than that, they are dreams.
Therefore I’ve stopped searching for a home
(After years of walking along aimless alleys and lanes which lead nowhere)
I’ll start stringing words and actions into tales
Only hoping they’ll connect me to a story that I can call mine
So the next time I put on sad, soothing music
And look out of the window
I’ll ask
“Who will be my story?”

Daughter

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I don’t know what it is to be a daughter
They say that blood runs thicker than water
But why is it that I feel no ties?
I look at my mother and I see it in her eyes
The pure, unconditional love she bears
I know ‘motherhood’ has been glorified for years
Their sacrifices becoming not a choice but a consequence.
Yet unmistakably I’ve seen love in her, hence
Her love must make me a daughter?
There have been days when I have thought her
Love for me was misplaced, a mistake
Because despite my desire to reciprocate
I’ve let my heart be an impassive stone
Despite her love, I have felt alone.
My father does listen to what I have to say
But smiles at my concerns, at the end of the day
I’m not the older son whose advice holds sway
And not until my brother had to move away
Did I become my father’s right hand
Despite a daughter, (almost) a dependable young ‘man’.
I was twelve when one day I served him tea
Without being asked to, and he
Smiled sweetly and said “It’s great
You’re finally learning how a daughter should behave.”
What it is to be a daughter I don’t know yet
I’m putting together pieces from the society’s set
Of rules and do’s and don’ts I can find
So that one day I can have my peace of mind.

There’s nothing new under the sun

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There’s nothing new under the sun
There’s nothing new about my pain, longing, love
Nor in my desire to be unique.
There’s nothing new in my poem,
When I say I’ve been blue to have missed you
Red to have kissed you
Black to have forgotten you and myself
I’m only rewording what I’ve said
Maybe a hundred years ago,
Even a thousand, who knows?
The gnawing hunger in my mind
To compose the poem to end all poems
To create it all and consume it all-
Is a spectacular piece of comic nonsense
I laugh, louder and louder till my lungs bitterly burst
And I’m finally empty again-
A quill with no ink
A blank word file
A waste of time.

Will you be mine to keep?

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I’m well aware of the stupidity of ‘falling in love’
Text, talk, date and mutual disappointments-
We’ve all been there, done that.
This time, let’s go all the long way to forever
I’m tired of having to stitch my heart again on my sleeves, love,
I’m too tired to mope around and weep,
Look at my eyes while I ask with a smile,
Will you be mine to keep?
 
If you wish so
I’ll take a break from my prosaic presence.
Let me whisper into your ears-
 
Oh my dear, you’re a sacred dream
The only God at my altar, my only King,
The strength of your ardent soul’s embrace
Exhilarates me in unspeakable ways.
Your smouldering eyes beckon me to stare
We look deep in our hearts, and our souls are laid bare.
Roses bloom as our fingers intertwine,
I become yours and you become mine-
 
Or, wait, are you too smart for my art?
Or too broken perhaps.
Sweet words sound soothing,
But I know too well, don't I?
How swiftly they lose their sweetness
And turn into twisted jokes,
Reverberating in the empty chambers of the heart at 3 a.m.
When I end up inevitably alone
When the darkness is quiet, and everyone’s long gone
Only the moon shining down on me through the window
Softly caressing me and my pain.
So, I ask again,
Before I tie up my heart and lock it to sleep,
Will you love me whole,
Will you be mine to keep?

A lover’s promise

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Last night I held you in my arms
Your warmth felt like a thousand suns
You bared your heart right into mine
My breath just stopped, and so did time.

The words you spoke were songs to me
They calmed me like a lullaby
Your laughter rang like jingling bells
I gave in to your charming spell

You touched me and I dreamed again
I felt as free as pouring rain
Falling from up high above
Falling hard, for you, my love

I took a breath and smelled the sea
Your stormy soul was calling me
I lost my way among the waves
You found me and you saved the day

We locked our lips, a feast began
Of each delight that’s known to man
Fresh new buds bloomed within
An homage to Original Sin

You’re made of stardust and the sky
You’re the Beauty in my eyes
You’ve bared your heart right into mine,
I’ll be yours till the end of time.

Muse unknown

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I see you but I know you not
Yet I find you in my thoughts
Your lotus eyes look so surprised
Every time they lock with mine.

I strike a pose of nonchalance
While I’d really like some chance
To talk to you, to know you more
To steal a glimpse into your soul.

Do you see me as I see you?
Would you speak, if I wanted to?
I guess I shall never know
You’ll always be my Muse unknown.

Nobody told me how

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Nobody told me how to look up
From the road filled with grey, Stretching and stretching into eternity
And look into the world
Into
People.
Sheer crowds of them
Moving in a steady fast pace

I lock my eyes with a man and my heart leaps
Not in joy,
There are no butterflies in my stomach
No love in my heart
My heart leaps like I’d like to leap into an abyss.
The glance of the man
Lasts only for a fraction of a second
He looks away
And I start looking at myself
What did he see?
That fraction of a second costs me a lifetime
Of mapping my body, my gestures, my posture
Measuring what I am and what I should be
Measuring to fit in
But sticking out like a sore thumb.

Nobody told me how to look straight
Into the mirror
And not want to be someone else.
I resist the urge to shatter it into pieces
The glass is spotless and devoid of cracks
I am not
No one is.

I lock my eyes with myself
I travel back in time to all the promises I had made
Pointing fingers at the mirror
Pep-talk for the self.
The mirror stays at the same place
Neither have I gone any further
Only the years have gone by.
The one standing on the other side calls me a liar and a cheat
I admit defeat
And put out the lights.

Nobody told me how to look down
Into the screen
And not compare myself to every standard set.
Scrolling up and down
Sighs of despair and unfulfillment
Oh the disparity.

I lock my eyes with the girl on the screen
With eyes as blue as the times when I’m feeling down
Figure as enchanting as non-existence is to me
Skin as smooth as the paper I accidentally cut my fingertip with
Smile as bright as sun on a scorching summer day.
Even while I fight the Euro-centric bias
Perpetuated in our minds
I wonder why some get to be so perfect
And more importantly,
Why some get to decide what’s perfect.

Nobody told me how to look inside
Get out of my head
And get over myself.

Small talk

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“How was your day?”
.
.
In the mornings
When my mother starts her day in the kitchen
And my father looks for the newspaper
All I want is an excuse.

An excuse to pause the day, even before it has begun.

“Halt!” I say to Mr.Time.
Mr.Time wears a suit and a tie
With glasses as thick as icecubes
Perched on his rigid nose.
He slaps me hard and shouts like a war general
“Yes,Sir!”
I come back to my senses.

The day goes on and on and on
Like a thriller movie in slow motion,
Devoid of background music.
Deja vu
Every moment a facsimile of some other one.

There’s a cadence to monotony
If you have the ear for it.
Sometimes I do, don’t you too?

Before long, I get lost
In other worlds freshly manufactured
Where facts don’t matter,
Mr.Time is banned,
And I am free.

But I’m no God, no Creator Almighty
My thinly framed bubbles of thoughts
Fade away like half-remembered memories
Oh so quickly
Poof! And I’m back again.
Nothing makes sense yet, but at least
I’m back to my senses.

Ringing voices vibrate in my ears
Boys grinning with their mouths wide open
Girls leaning onto each other
Tearing up into giggles.
The dusky sky and the dazzling streetlights
Coexist with different ideals of beauty
I keep my eyes open
For every sight.

We call it a day.
I make my peace with Mr.Time
He smiles at me like a benevolent captor
I smile back.
.
.
“My day was great, how was yours?”

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.