A shaft of sorrow, a pang of contrition, an eternity of lostness; liberty to swim away, but regretful, of being unlearned about ways and ethics of being afloat; drowning, dying, along with the light.
Towards the shore does my raft sail, or steers to another cataract; stranded was I born, in aloofness shall I breathe last?
Broken oars, and a tarnished name, raving waters sustaining me aground; like a mariner lost, I wander; like a renowned sailor, I crash on the shore, and realise it's not the place to be, but unlike a grateful seaman, I whine while docking, because, I smell malicious storms, perhaps, I never chase them but, they harbour in me; to wreck the shores, when I'm merely few inches away from stepping on the sand.
Like the waves usher the lost ones to lands strange, even if I'm not stranded, no one but my kismet holds in her where she wavers me; to the porch of a beach house, or remnants of an abandoned ship?
But this nothingness will have its cessation, like every voyage covered in a mist of ambiguity; with spillage of blood, and tears, or with a sea trembling of the fiercest thunderstorm ever; a frail me willing to dive in her.
Mistaken are those who tell you that people take away a part of you when they leave. That those who never return become the forever missing pieces of your jigsaw. If anything, it's the other way round. People only add to it. They enter your life, disrupt the equilibrium and when they no longer fit, they give up and leave. They leave you with scents and dents. Habits and impressions. Songs attached to memories and words that become your poetry. All clinging incongruously to your existence. And very often, they forget to look back and clear up the mess they've left behind.
Let's say, for instance, you. When you walked away, you left me with layers over my reality and tattoos to hide my scars. Masks over my face and a wall around my heart. But you took away nothing that could deprive me of myself. I still love the freshly baked pineapple cookies and still think ice creams taste the best at 3°C. I'm still the hopeless romantic who simultaneously loves murder mysteries. And most of all, I still believe in fairytales. So, you see, you took away nothing that could make me any less of me. And yet, I'm not the girl I used to be.
If love were a moor, I can tell, ours would have homed wildest of the weeds. Sprouting frantically, these weeds with their hollow gazes and crooked teeth push apart layers of the soft earth; thereby, emerging as valiant rulers of an unknown battle. Permeating coyly, like amorphous ideas popping up in a not-so-weary writer's mind, these weeds are the only thing that trace the contours of this moor -- my mind.
For the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness has stretched its tender arms towards me and the soft dying of my thoughts is what it has blessed. For I wandered lonely as a cloud but --- but even after rifling through the drawers, all I found was a scant crowd (of thoughts).
You see, over the years, all I've learnt is to poem my way through the chaos and to lay these bricks and elegize all the persons I couldn't become.
Ergo, I refuse to let these weeds --- these references overpower, stifle and choke my own poetic fluidity. I refuse to let them asphyxiate my poems. I refuse to believe how I was so lost in reveling in joy, I could not notice that the painting I was calling mine all along, was but a reflection of someone else's. Unbeknownst to the fact that these maculate bricks I've been laying, these bricks that I so dearly held onto, were manufactured in someone else's kiln.
But even when, I thumb through a dictionary, rifle through the drawers, allow my words to rise like vapours from the pits of my stomach and march ahead valiantly, all I can mutter is : et tu, Brute?
And I wonder if it's so wrong to dip your fingers in a sunset and paint its replica; if it's wrong to write the saddest lines tonight just because someone else hung their painting before mine? So, do you unsee the beauty of an unfurling sunrise? Or do you not hear the cadence of a falling night?
So, when the night befalls and my thoughts permeate coyly, like amorphous weeds popping up in an ever-so-weary moor, I dip my fingers, curl my toes and dissolve in the sky.
The following lines are credited to :
"season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" : To Autumn by John Keats "I wandered lonely as a cloud" : William Wordsmith "Et tu, Brute?" : Julius Caesar, Shakespeare
Also, it has a reference to "Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines" and Virginia Woolf's "I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky."
I'm standing on the shore, with my forehead burning with the light of slowly eclipsing sun. And the tides which are emptying sand beneath my feet, are making me realise how everything affects everything. I notice the ephemeral imprints my feet are making and the waves enticing me to get closer to them yet pushing me further away back in time. I smile. Rainbows. Sunshine. Butterfly. Blue skies. Eyes open I'm lying with the biggest smile on my face, my back on the slightly wet grass and constellation of our dreams hanging beside the moon and his hands clasped tightly entangled into mine. I close my eyes and I find myself laying on my bed in a pool of tears alone conspiring ways to kill myself and contemplating why not to. I think of going away from this situation so I hope to close my eyes but still I find myself at the same place. Staring at the ceiling I had been staring for the past 6 years whenever I feel like crying. The realisation that I need to be stronger hits me. I jolt up and go to my bathroom when I realise there's a glitch in almost everything. Though everything seems normal yet there's something unnatural associated with it. Right that moment the epiphany strikes me, I'm trapped in the eerie lanes of my memories. I wash my face and lay down close my eyes and hope to be transported to some other memory lane, but alas! It fails. I see someone coming, my vision get blank, noises, darkness and I doze off. I open my eyes and find myself smile sheepishly to some text. I blink twice and it stays there. The third time the scene changes and I see my first love standing right in front of my eyes. I'm walking back in time.
Alphabets, adjectives and sunsets and skies and unworthy things concoct to birth poetry.
A muse is essential for a good poetic piece and in my case the reason why I chose to start writing was for the boy who I know clearly loved me when we were in class 6 that is 6 years ago. I've turned 17 and I was 11 that time. And the year to be exact is 2014. The best of the best years. So basically it was an unrequited love from both sides. And it wasn't his mistake. It was all mine I guess, the person who thought she has a steel heart and despised the concept of two people falling in love. The reason why I write this all here is simple, because the person I'm mentioning here won't read this. The boy thought I could never ever love him because it all started due to a stupid dare I gave him; to make me fall in love with him. He told me the consequences of such dares and that he never loses a challenge but he accepted nonetheless. It was really difficult for him to melt my heart. The physical presence of someone and the attention they are giving you both is addictive. It was never a formal relationship. I never knew he loved me. I never knew I loved him. You can guess the end I suppose. It was heartbreaking for both of us at different time and the different intensity of pain and love. But love was there. I was a little late to know about everything. I guess why it turned more traumatic for me was because of the fact he confessed his love for the most beautiful girl of the class in front of me three days later I'd been told by one of his best friends that he was, in fact, in love with me. A misunderstanding broke our friendship apart. An inferno of jealousy started rooting his heart and tore the love and patience he had for me into ashes.
Soft flapping of wings Palpable lyrics of songs and guitar strings Falling of raindrops Psithurism of trees and crops Moon and sun melt into blue Dancing to the tunes sung by you Nature heals And he steals My sadness crushes it and tells me it'll get better Tying my wings with fetter Of promised love and liberty And gifting me a bouquet of poems And constellation of love words The kind of love I have for him Stars envy, I'll sing you to sleep And closer to my heart I'll keep You Hidden in the vast azure And light blues Because I'm sure Finally that You are the one. -Devika
Thank you for making me smile with your words and making me feel so special. Thank you once again. I don't want this day to end ❤️ But each moment is precious I'm spending here with you, my friends. I really adore you all. Without a doubt.
I love you Mirakee. Or I used to. I don't know. You were so attractive. I probably have written the most goodbye letters Because I always wanted to leave but I (am?) wasn't able to. I know you have a great deals of problems and you know what. It's okay. Take your time. Invest in yourself. Don't curse Mirakee. They are a team. And you'll never know the hardwork they put into it to prevent it from crashing. It'll be one year of sangfroid soul tomorrow. Looking back I realise I've got everything I ever wanted from this application. Everything. So thank you Mirakee and mirakeeans for making my birthday special and making me a better human being. As I say I have no regrets. Everything happens for a reason. Everything affects everything.
I love you the bravest woman who gave me birth.
P.S. clearly only three or four people would read this whole. It's okay I never cared about likes anyway.
I might not be here so that's why wrote this the soonest possible.
Chaos is everywhere. It's as ubiquitous as life itself. We can't perform distillation to separate the two. And as the life grows, spreading from a unicellular being to a complex human, it nourishes with itself an equal modicum of chaos. The rapid disarrangement of circumstances, the frenzy of thoughts which bombard themselves each millisecond, the destiny playing a turn of 'chaucer' that our life is; with dice much corrupt and mishandled, all of which are nothing but chaos. We can do one thing. Accept it. By accepting the life and its chaos, we can learn to deal with it, eventually.