When I was born my father named me coincidence for I was expected to be a baby boy. But a baby girl had came into existence. My grandmother rushed away from the hospital yelling over my mother that 'Ladki paida ho gayi'. 'Yahi din dekhna bacha tha' Though I didn't know what COINCIDENCE mean but the moment mom and dad quarrelled that we don't want to lose our first child I was breathing but died.
When I grew up and saw that my mother always applies kohl in my eyes saying 'Kisi ki Nazar na lage' I realised it was nothing but the black colour that signifies patience. The patience of seeing my mother working all day long and when she is going to cuddle me, the patience of making friends while sitting alone on the bench and not having someone to share your lunch with. Though I didn't know how PATIENCE looks like but it rips me apart.
When I became a teenager my friends started to call me Dumb. Because as far as I know, I focused on studies rather than bunking lectures and partying out with friends or falling in love with someone and gazing into his eyes until my Mathematics teacher didn't throw chalk over me. 'Tumse nahi ho payega'. It was the only tagline made for me. I didn't know what DUMBNESS actually mean but every time I hear that, fireflies escapes out of my heart.
When I turned an Adult my poetries named me love. It reads 'Jitne Aasman me baadal, utna tera dil pagal'. The Man with whom I can't spend a minute with, now lives in my heart 24*7 and if someone would ever ask me to unlove him, I'd bury myself in graveyard rather than doing so. Though I didn't know what exactly LOVE feels like but everytime he is around me I can hear my heart reciting his name.
You know its toxic when All they ever do is hurt you, And all you ever do is forgive them Because you are helpless You love them so much That enduring this pain is okay Than losing them altogether.
So you forgive and let go You even start blaming yourself For their mistakes You neglect how uninterested They are in the fact That you cut out a piece of your heart Everyday to feed their hollow And emotionless eyes. You confine yourself to their Demands, complaints and negligence
Hoping that someday they Might wake up and realize That you too deserve to be Loved and cared and valued The way a lover truly deserves, That maybe someday they'll Cherish your love and not take it for granted.
would we ever return to the ruins? laiding bare the anatomy of the night; disengaging the silence, unravelling sepia threads from the fabric of the darkness (unfolding in the arms of longing cloaked in loneliness.)
the silence (gushing like a deluge of crimson in my veins) flows in the mouth of the twilight, an innate metallic sourness to the stillness of the moment. the hollowed bones of a nameless memory rendered naked tonight.
the moment traces the contours of an old memory, frail fingers breathing life into a pain - long remembered, long forgotten, recasting ache into tenderness. the sky breaks into a myriad smidgens of light (lulling a pale moon to slumber amidst the coldness of the hour)
are we more forgiving of grief than of grief birthed from love? in the land of scattered dreams, there is never a warm morning.
would we ever return to the wreckage? a shipwreck of fractured desire blooming into the falsity of hope, the certitude of hopelessness. each sentence fragmented; broken whispers amid empty cacophonies like the rain pouring in desperation, murmuring to touch the window glass with its bare hands, the sighing fireflies burning against the radiance of the light - all measured in measureless measures.
the night flickers and tapers to a mere moment, slipping away from the frayed edges of time. like this darkness, we will never see the end of the dawn
(molten sunlight cascading down the broken sky.)
I caress the face of the departing hour; the callous againt calloused. The night gently touches my skin of disdain before carving me into an urn - just a broken one. frail, jagged near the bottom. Hollowed out of all essence.
Unfolding in the arms of longing, Gushing like a deluge of crimson in my veins, Lulling the moon to slumber against the coldness of the hour, when the last ray of sun dies in decadence, falling down the broken sky, this hopelessness clings to my very bones -
this silence fills every crack, crevice and pour of my existence, yet leaves me aching for more.
I am a cracked vessel tonight, overflowing with emptiness.
- Kainat // the anatomy of silence _______________________
If words were breath, I'm sure I would soon be running out of both.
But midnight trickles in and like a feather that goes with the flow; like withered leaves that dance with the zephyr, I begin picking words from the chasms of my heart (for nights are known to be cold and these words are the only armour I possess)
I pick my words carefully; like a young maiden who selects tea leaves oh-so-delicately; I pick my words hastily, like a 9 to 5 intern who is getting late for his first day at job.
And I weave my poems from the yarns of my imagination, I sew my thoughts and I knit a dreamcatcher.
But sometimes, just sometimes, when I can no more trace the contours of this absurd thing called h o p e I seek solace in my hastily knit dreamcatcher, it may not grasp nightmares by their collar, or worst, may not even shoo them away but its presence alone soothes me.
The itch to pick at a scab always gnaws at my insides, ergo, at times, I give in. I give in and the outcome is just me writing, rewriting and overwriting the same things.
Crimson, Cerulean or perhaps, turquoise? I no longer remember the colour of my sadness. For it has been painted over and over and over again.
But they do not tell you that painting withered leaves in shades of green does not make them alive.
And I think I have run out of scars to fashion into poetry.
There are times when I pick up my phone and dial your number, but fall short of words when I am just about to call. There are times when I try listening our old song, but just when it starts playing, I take my earphones off. There are times when I look at the sky and wonder how beautiful the stars were when you were around.
I know you keep asking yourself, or may be stopped asking yourself why we didn't work out. But trust me, it wasn't you. You were right every way, right from the start of spring to the end winter, you were the perfect one all through. It was me, it still is me. You were a boon, you probably were like a rainbow but I wasn't the rain you thought I was. I was like the storm that blows of houses. I could win a war against rest of the world with only you on my side, but the war I was fighting was with my own self. I know there are nights when you stare at the ceiling and wonder what went wrong, and trust me I do the same. But for all I know is I was tired of looking myself at the mirror and hate myself a little more every passing day, for not being able to love you the way you deserve. I couldn't continue putting you through all the miseries everyday, I couldn't see you keep lying to our friends when they asked you if you are fine. I couldn't keep holding on to a love that I couldn't give back. I saw you were losing your faith in love, and honestly, I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't afford you to lose that shine on your face every time you read a love story. That is why I stepped aside.
I know your soul crushed into pieces to see years of efforts, compromises and love go in vain, but trust me I didn't want these years to last for a lifetime. And I am a coward, I don't have the courage to know how much I have hurt you, that is why I use backspace every time after dialing your number. I know you hate me, but I honestly don't want to know how much. Because in my very own ways I did care for you and no matter what I did, I always meant your good.
And no I am not defending myself, I never will. Not a single night goes by when I curse myself for being the way I am. But may be it is just that I don't have in me what it takes to love someone. I just wanted you to know that you deserved much more than someone who did not even have enough love for himself. And even if it is not love, I wouldn't hesitate to burn my soul in the darkest of hours just to see the smile on your face.
This is not what you Wanted. This is what Was given to you . So treat It with the lightness of a Long time lover , my ma Tells me , When I complain to Her of the unfamiliarity I often feel Within myself for myself. Her words though true do not soothe me. No words have ever held Enough power to heal the immaterial. Burden I hold.
I don't want to be analysed,
I really do not want my heart to Be fit into an equation, Nor do I want my moments to Be weighed in a stone cold machine Tasting like metallic blood.
What I want is something I don't know how to ask For. Because I don't know If it has an existence even. I know That I want To not feel like a stranger. It is exhausting to breathe when Your breath speaks a language That is foreign to you . You tell me To move on to something better , but I Don't understand the logic of leaving Behind unfelt seconds to wither away While you plant something new In the hope that you can feel the beauty Of it. As though it is the flowers in The graveyard that matter more than The lives that lay hidden Like stopped clocks in its terrain.
It is quite a waste of time to Introspect in a world that revers the Extrovert but it is also quite a tragedy when time In itself is an intrinsic phenomenon that Couldn't exist if not for what out inner Self makes of it.
What do you want? Tell me. In clear terms tell me cause I have never known how To want in a world that Was just given to me.
I want to dissolve , Yes I want to take my irrationality and my Poetry and the music of my being And dissolve into the fiber of this Universe , I want her to listen to the Music she created within me as me And tell me the lyrics that she intended for me To add to it. And when she does , I would ask Her to tell me , the name of the silence That couldn't be held any longer and hence resulted In the creation of a music That's me
I want to know how It is that the pain of a child can be treated With so much love and understanding and how it Is that the pain of an adult be dismissed so Easily because It is assumed that the adult must know Better before letting himself fall like a child.
Why is the pain painted with different Colors Based on the years of the fallen? One a deep red, and The other a black.
I want to know if the joy That one allows oneself to feel Matter when it takes birth in a heart That has lost the map to Happiness altogether.
And I really want To know if there will Come a day , when The world that Has been given to me Will also Be the world that I Actually want.