What do you do,
when you hear nothing but
only rounds of your own breath?
Remember the ones you love? Pick a pen up and pour yourself out on that page? Let the smoldering anger of self-pity out of you while you dance to the tune of liberation?
Or let the pity culminate to trigger the self-destruction?
What do you see,
when you have a glass of water with a steel spoon
on your table?
Your weird faces in the spoon? A tornado in the glass? That subtle dance of the water as you drum the glass with the spoon?
Or the tumbled glass, and water hitting the floor?
What do you become
when nobody is watching you?
An impatient wave? An uninhibited river? A piece of land after the cyclone subsides? A pebble stone at the shore, in a cusp of sand?
Or an exorbitantly selfish and an uncanningly dark animal?
What is your third face?
Who are you that you show to no-one?
In the middle of this forest,
wondering how you ended up
after you started on a char-coal road?
Are you again?
Of the darkness that envelopes you?
Of the silence, broken only
by the cricket-ty bugs, by the ruffle of the leaves,
by the whispers of that stealthy air?
I have sent you balloons,
Red, green, white, blue.
Floating, playing with the wind.
Raise your hand, grab one, hold on tight
And you will soon glimmer in light, up above the forest.
For balloons, can never be dark.
Its just a play of the darkness.
They can never be dark,
Its just the play of the darkness.
Thank you for judging me, yet again. I felt naked when you sliced me with your moral knife and looked at me through the befogged views of the people around you. That helped me to care much less about them.
Thank you for slamming that door on my face or else I would have kept sailing through life under an illusion that I chose the right set of people.
Thank you letting me know that I don’t exist for you or else I would always see you breathe. Pray that you don’t see me ever in your life again or else I will make you see the dark side of the moon.
Thank you for bringing out my dark side.
I am a weird soul.
On lazy Saturday afternoons, I would just look at you. Look at how you blink while you look out of the window endlessly. Look at how you hold up that coffee mug. Look at your fingers.
But some afternoons, I might not look at anything other than words. Words in the books, words in my diary.
I might be a man of family. But some days, I would need to be a child, caring a little less about how irrelevant things turn about.
I would take that step to mend our ties if things don’t go well between us, but some days, I would need you to tell me this,
“Come, let’s have dinner together.”
I might make love to you in a way you would remember, but some days, I might need to just sleep being wrapped around you.
I would, most of the days, let you have the whole day for yourself. But some days, I would need you, just for myself.
I told you. I am a weird soul.
If we were to go for a coffee today, I would’ve told you how I wouldn’t stop loving him for everything he is.
I would’ve told you how I would still walk with him even if his dreams, his desires, his beliefs change with time.
I would’ve told you that I wouldn’t stop admiring him for everything he does for people around him.
I would’ve told you that I wouldn’t stop loving him for what he will become with time.
I would’ve told you how I would still use my left whenever he cannot use his right.
And yes, you are right.
It is bliss.
I don’t trust you. I don’t trust your words. I don’t trust the breath you take. I don’t trust a single cell in your skin.
Your laugh makes me sick to the core. Every word you speak makes me want to snatch that breath away from you that was lingering around your face.
You have taken me from a happy being to virtually empty.
Yes, you have emptied me like an empty box of cardboard which was full of stories. You have emptied me like a photograph with erased people and objects. And not only you, but you, you, you and you have pushed me down the dark gallows. Oh no, it was not you but in reality, me, who let you bury me. It was indeed me.
It is very easy to just hold somebody else responsible for your disturbed state of affairs, the easiest of all the tasks. Equally difficult is to own up to the situation and accept things the way they are.
You are not the people I would ever want in my life again; because you are not the ones I can afford to keep around me. I gave you something which I should have given to people whom I couldn’t identify were gems. I gave you my time.
A part of me had already died long back; another part has been decaying for some time now and I cut it, now, to stop the whole of me from perishing into the oblivion.
He woke up with a start, sweating.