Tag: random

Something More

I know how to love when unreciprocated,
Unrequited.
Abandoned and depraved.
Not that I’m a sadist,
Nor that I chose to.
My heart felt deprived
Of the half life I endure.
Aches I sustain in my bones,
The pain I bear in my being
Would say otherwise.

I know how to love
Even when unloved.
I know how to care
Even when not taken care of.
In love, I know I can find myself.
In love, I know I can be myself.
Yet, in hate,
In the brims of bitterness,
I know I can lose myself,
Entirely. Completely. Wholeheartedly.

If love can hold my universe together,
Would I give it a chance for more?
Do I hate the world or myself more?
Do I intend to lose myself forever more?
Or do I choose to believe love and something more?
Just something more?

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The Untold Byproduct


During a random conversation with a friend, the phrase, ‘untold byproduct’ captured my attention. Individualism is the new trend these days. The untold byproduct of the age. A few centuries back, people would fall apart if they weren’t founded on the deep roots of society. But nowadays, we are much more self-centered and rooted in our own realms. In all honesty, it seems to be working. With the haste and constant chaos we live in, it is a bit of hard work to maintain society itself. With individualism set as a trend though; we exist, we attempt to live, and then we die. There is probably more to it. But how would we know anyway?!

Yes, it is a shared concern that society is failing. The communal values we had built our essence on are becoming a source of mockery, lately. Are we ever going to be able to salvage the dooms we are trying to survive? Can all the questions of life be answered with the advancement of technology? Can we summon the flails of life with restructuring the customs? By reforming culture and tradition? Or have we, yet, to realize we are living our life on a sinking ship? The ship is sinking. Life is doomed. Why not chant away our lives, anyway?

In a world where the premise of individual lives matters more, families are becoming brittle forces of the community. The values we assign for the things that matters the least are the ways we die on. The things we are consuming; physically and mentally, are the reminders that we are thoroughly killing ourselves while polishing our surfaces.

Maybe we have a fetish of a world ending. A giant apocalypse that could take us all.

Meanwhile, with a failing society and thriving individuals, we are all dying a little more. We are thriving while dying. Within the realms of postmodernity, the advancement of technology, and the liberal Western democracy; we are being restructured in a different way from before. And I am conceding to the sayings of sociologists and ancient existentialists – the individual is the untold and undreamed byproduct of the age. We both as a society and as individuals are getting consumed inside our brains and getting drenched in the emptiness of it. We no longer have wide green grasslands and barns and sunsets and large families, and loyalty, integrity, accountability, and responsibility. We no longer see our lives as a thing that matters less and the lives of others that matter more. Love has gone so cold. And life has lost its warmth. Within the superficial crescendos we craft ourselves, we are doomed to die with no cause.

But, remember, in the midst of death, life persists.

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The Almost Perfect Day

It started as a holiday. Nay, it started as a rainy day. The weather has been acting up, these last few weeks. And the day was not an exception. Yet, it was a holiday for it was time for the long-awaited friendship to be once again reignited. The thing about reunions, though, is that one cannot expect or predict how they would be. 

In rushed pacing, while trying to forget the missing pieces during the last few months, she (Ti) arrived at the venue. She is not nervous, per se. It is just the exhilaration of reconnecting the dots. And the guilt for being late. All was forgotten as soon as they met. And the day has officially begun.

At lunch, the reminiscence of the past began. Some memories have been forgotten now. Some are still funnier than ever. And most are truly valuable for whomever they both have become today. Lo, the friend, asked, “do you think love is painful?”. “Why should you ask?”, she replied. “I cannot say. If love is truly painful, one must avoid it for all its causes. If it cannot be helped and if one is doomed to have fallen in love, then, the true sign is if s/he feels pain. And that’s…that’s just not right.” 

“I think love is painful, yes. But I don’t think pain is the litmus paper to decide whether one is in love or not. Most certainly, many have written and sung about it as if it’s a rare occurrence of happiness. Deep ecstasy. A full brightness at once. A fair share might have connoted that love is, in fact, pain. But pain is usually the aftermath. Not the basic form of it. Anyway, why are you fretting about it? Are you in love? Or are you in pain?” Her eyes were full of smiles ready to burst into laughter. 

Lo rolled her eyes and went on. “I think I am just in pain. Or maybe I am in love, but I am not feeling this overwhelming happiness you preach about. All I know is …all I think I know is, I am choosing not to feel this pain wherever it is being shot from. I live in selective denial. I deliberately choose to ignore the painstaking parts of my life to find a serene.” The conversation couldn’t be helped to go on further. But both went on to think about it in silence. 

Since Lo was enthused to visit the city further, the tour around the town started. The unending chatters and the cool, cloudy weather were powerful enough to make them forget the crowd. While cruising the main roads, they found a little cozy coffee shop. Lo was undecided whether she wants her caffeine shot or not. In the meantime, Ti was enjoying her coffee.

Lo, again, asked. Or wondered out loud. “I think I am all over the place.” She sighed.

“What do you mean?” Ti looked at her briefly and went on sipping her coffee. 

“I mean…look at me, I am more than halfway to finishing school. But I am not even sure whether I will work with it. I am finding, yet, other interests of my own. But how can I be sure whether these newly found interests would remain or not? If you were to look inside my head, you would see how my thoughts are haphazardly placed. Half the time, I don’t even  know what I am thinking. I want to be composed. I wish I could see myself sorted. Oh, I need a drink.” She finally decided.

“You know what they say.” Ti went on smiling a little. “As you get older, nothing seems to differ. Except the days are longer. Yet, your age flies faster.”

“But I want it to differ!”Lo cut her off. “What is the point of getting older, then?”

“I don’t know. If it makes you feel any better, I, too, am all over the place. I choose to believe most are. There is a console in thinking some other people are going through the same thing you are experiencing. Collectiveness is not a mere coincidence. It is, rather, a true source of comfort in times like this.”

“But I wish to know. I would like to know at least one thing about myself for sure. How can I not know anything?” Lo whined loudly. 

“You do know. You are just too scared to start afresh. Change is the one thing we never get used to. And it shows.” Ti is no longer laughing. The rain is starting to tickle again. Nevertheless, both seem not to care. 

“True. I never do well through change. Nor during transitions. It always takes me a while to settle. And now, I just…ahhh…all I need is navigation through my head. Maybe that could help.” 

Both are quiet, now. But this is not an awkward silence. It was just a momentary lapse into a world of their own. 

In front of the city, then, they sat. The streetlights made the night, beautiful. The city looks quite different. The bright light from the big screen fades on and off by the minute. After taking too many candid pictures, they finally set on to listening to music. The cold breath of the night, the quiet melody of the music, and the comfort of having someone nearby made a truly grand combination. 

“Oh, I love this day!” Ti slightly whispered. “I wish we could live at this moment forever. Or perhaps we can freeze this moment longer.” She almost whined for this was beyond anyone’s power. “One can only wish for the things he cannot have.” She resolved. 

The spontaneity. The unplanned compliance of the moments made an almost perfect day. Why almost, you ask? Because there might always be a better one!

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Bridges and Burns

With all the rages
And the riots in my head,
I burnt the bridges.
I burnt them all.

With all the overthinking I mastered over the years,
And the words I have gathered,
I verbally exploded.
I said it all.
Unhinged and unfiltered.

With all the quirks I have left,
The tiny swords I crafted,
I poked my own heart,
To let the poison out,
To squirt the venom
And to banish all bad.

I burnt all the bridges.
I cut all the ties.
Standing on the tower of ashes,
I sing the hymns of heroes,
The songs of the gods.
In a whim of my boldness.


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Mediocre Heartbeats

My heart aches
For the mediocre heartbeats
It creates.
For the relentless noise
It jumbles and hassles.
My body loathes
The second Monday
More than it detests
The real Monday.
My head mourns
The throbbing aches
My face is half asleep
Raving in the deep.
Yet, my heart unceasingly beats.
Riveting in loud voices.
“I am alive!” It yells.
“You’re alive,” it reminds.
And it aches.
Mere existence aches.
Void survival echoes.
And life continues.
Life goes on.

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Sip and Sway

Oh my dear, please come by,
Let us sip and sway,
Till we tire and sigh.
Run, cross the field
Before the day ends
We shall drown our sorrow
In the desolate meadow.
Come, make haste,
Do not be late.
The sour of the day,
Cannot stand in our way.
Together, we feast in the hey,
Denying the mist ,
While envisioning the ray.
We drown. And drown.
And then we float,
To the heights and the beyond.
No, this is not a folly.
Nor a waste of a night.
The toils won’t abandon.
The work shall remain.
Yet, before the new day comes,
We shall drown the sad
With the feast of the vine.
Oh my dear, please come by,
Let us sip and sway,
Till we tire and sigh.

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Would’ve?

I would’ve poured my heart out
But who would want to see my broken heart?
My bare, scarred, and marred heart?

I would’ve said it all
But who wants to hear the unending rants?
Who shall be interested in naked minds?

I would’ve done it all.
But who likes a do it all?
A know it all?

I would’ve would have it.
But I didn’t. And I shan’t.
Maybe I’m lazy.
Or too busy.

What could’ve been,
Or would have been,
Might have been better.
Or worse.
It is all uncertain.
And that’s a might.

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Cleanse. Rinse. Free.

I cleanse my defied soul,
Me defamed, poor, strunged self.
I rinse it on the altar
To edify the blemishes
To brighten the stained smile,
To smooth out the contours
Of my heart, soul, and face.
I cleanse the burnt ashes
Of the days I have burnt,
I rinse my frights,
My worst nightmares,
My raging angst
With a mere survival.
And now I’m freed.
I cleansed. I rinsed.
And I am free.

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Outgrow

I am outgrowing
The tiny world I have
Created for myself.
The minimized outfits
I have sewed for my thoughts.
My realm is shaking.
The blocks are rattling.
And my limbs are stretching.
To feel the extended world.
To writhe in the beyond.

Is this maturity?
Or is it just curiosity?
Have I known more?
Or do I just want to explore?
Am I a god of my little world?
Or have I just lost my hand
Over my own island?

I do not know.
I don’t suppose to know.
My thoughts outgrow
The former things I know.
And here I stand, staring
Not beyond my infinitesimal window.

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Just…

Whenever my pen touches
The leaves of my notebook
I write.
Unstoppably. Unendingly.

I don’t suppose I’m a writer
For my words keep trailing off
Of my head.
My thoughts, unfiltered.
My heart, crumbled.

But,

We are not writers, are we?
We are imposters
Faking to be writers
We are thieves of moments.
Moments that should have been erased.
Hypes that must’ve been removed.

But,

We write.
With our bleeding fingers,
Into the walls,
Onto the papers,
We keep raining the letters.

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As it is.

I removed my spectacle
Hoping to see the universe
As a whole.
The world
As it is.

Between the dark and the light,
The cold or the hot,
Or between the thought and the act,
There, I stood straight.
In a complete realization.
Or a sense of fascination,
I, maybe, in need
To recede from this body,
To rise and float
In other altercations.

Perhaps the glasses
Were only the start
To see the world
As a fact,
Not a personalised puzzle
Or a riddle.
It existed, exists
Until it halts.
(Or they say).

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Tiny Chains

It is the tiny chains
I despise most.
The minute addictions
I can not abandon.
The giant faults and wrongs
I can erase.
The visible cuffs
I can easily break.
It is the itsy-bitsies
That I cannot condone,
Nor can I hid from.

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Do Not

Do not be swayed,
Do not be alarmed,
I’m only barking,
Not biting.

Do not fret,
Do not be vexed,
It is not you whom I hate,
It’s I, I dread most.

Do not fib,
Do not nod along,
Immerse and prowl through,
Within the fiber of the words.

Do not depart,
Do not walk away,
Hold-wait- stay.
And embrace.

Do Not.
Just don’t,
It’s rather best,
Sometimes, to don’t ,
Than always ‘do’.

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A Memoir of Trapped Girl.

She felt her cold hands. She must have laid on the floor for almost 6 hours. She inhaled deeply, her whole body stretched and her eyes twitched when she felt the coldness through her linen-layered back. The rain must have stopped. She can only listen to a drizzle on the outside. She opened her eyes. But she couldn’t see a thing. It is almost midnight, she surmised. She gathered herself to turn on the light. 

Her eyes struggled to close again to fight the brightness of the light. Once again, she wanted to lie on the floor. Not that it changes anything, not that she could think better nor she would be comfortable, but it had its own solace and cordiality. For the last few hours, all she could manage to think about was if the ground could handle her weight. She felt so heavy along with her sadness that nothing would be able to hold her weight. It was at moments like this she turned to words. Not words to speak of. But words to imprint on her notebook, phone, or anywhere she can engrave them. She goes back and forth on the idea that words are great weight holders than anything.

“A girl escaped death but was trapped to live.” She writes. “The moment she escaped death, she thought she was free from every shackle. The power of escaping, running away from a thing is enthralling. The feeling is exhilarating. Nothing seems impossible. No amount of chain would seem enough to hold you captive. How little did she know then?!” Her eyes took a break to stare at the wall. “Nothing, no one is free in this world. The moment you escape the prison of death, you are yet entering a new prison. A prison of life! That’s a much worse prison, to be honest. You are trapped in every way imaginable.” But she couldn’t go on further. 

Her hands are tied to write because her eyes couldn’t stand the flickering light rays out of the lamp. Besides the coldness is antagonizing, every time her fingers moved she felt pain. She turned off the light but her brain couldn’t stop crafting sentences. The words that were occupying her empty thoughts are rearranging themselves in a certain order. She couldn’t say if that was a blessing or a curse. But there is no off switch for her brain to stop schematizing the words she found interesting. 

After an hour or so she was still wide awake. But after forming zillions of phrases and sentences, she felt her mind going quiet. Like she is weightless and free. The arrangement, the words, the sentences, they might or might not make sense. But she felt the solemnity of the night, the tranquility of the air, and the straight line in her head.

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Deprave me the spotlight,
If you want me to shine,
If you want me to live,
Avoid the attention you could ever give,
For I grow in dim light,
In the darkest hours,
I bloom like Night-Blooming Cereus,
In the elusive nights,
In a wondrous oddity,
With spellbinding aroma,
I’m like the Queen of the night,
Only to fluorescence,
Once in the full moon,
Of the magnificent summer nights.

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