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  • fallen_42 1h

    Dear Vincent Van Gogh

    Dear Vincent
    I admit that I know nothing about you. So forgive me if this letter seems more about me and less about you. But anyhow this letter is addressed to you. Because when the world has given up on me and I have given up on world, I believe if anyone can understand, it's you. You ate yellow paint because you believed the color of happiness was yellow and that could add colors to your life as well. I think when I eat those blue and white pills, I even imagine them coloring my insides. Atleast I want my autopsy to look beautiful if I die. I know that's not how bodies work but it would still be good to find remnants of few colors from a colorless life. Maybe you were afterall hopeful and depressed. That's the thing about people like you and me, we keep hoping until one day we don't. We keep hope hidden from the world like a child who is afraid his favorite chocolate might get stolen. In your starry nights,I see hints of a hopeful sunrise, a new beginning. I see yellow and blue melting into each other just like depression does. The blue of my life mixing comfortably into the yellow of my family until we create our own nights with the hope that the next morning brings something good. I see a village where you might have wanted to stay. Because it's all about escape. Isn't it?
    Escaping days,places, time and one day eventually life. Depression is a death sentence and I have been a merciful prisoner waiting for my days to end.
    I see waves in the sky, moulding into the remnants of yellow sun. Maybe your depression came in waves too,just like mine. If I could, I would have painted my life as a rainbow disappearing into dark clouds. I would have named it जन्नत(heaven). Because that's what I am trying to make of my life. Trying to find a silver lining even without any light nearby.
    Dear Vincent, we artists have death as final stroke of paint/pain on the canvas of our life. I dont mean to glorify death here, but maybe people witnessed the tragedy of your pain only after you were gone. But I don't remember you as someone who killed himself. Who shot himself. I remember you as someone who saw sunrise from the window of his asylum and painted his entire life with few colors of blue and yellow. How long does it take vincent before a man finally convinces himself that it's time to go. How long does one wait for his life to unfold all its layers without losing hope. How long does this pain keep crawling on our skins, until one day we say enough. Maybe you would have lived your life and died a natural death. Maybe you would have become an another artist whose art was lost amidst the heaviness of time and selective empathy. Maybe nobody would have remembered your name. Maybe nobody will remember me. After all who am I if not a sad sad person nobody wants to befriend. Maybe me dying will be the final stroke of pain/paint too but I am no good artist Vincent. I dont even know how to hold the paintbrushes. I just know that I am going to hold on a little longer. Maybe today or the day after is not when I die. Maybe after all depression doesn't kill our hopes, but just scares us into not believing that hopes do come true. One day I was asked how I plan on dying and I didn't know the answer Vincent. Maybe I really don't want to die. I just want to end the monotony of life. Maybe with those waves in your starry sky, you were trying to tell after all that it's through these tides of time,that one keeps sailing the boat of life. I am stranded Vincent. And nobody wants to rescue me. So all I am trying to do is pretend that I too am in a picture,posing, smiling in case someone looks at me from a distance I know nothing of, and find a ray of light that it is possible Vincent, to be an art still,even when life doesn't add colors or motion to it.
    Dear Vincent, today is not the day I die. And I am nearly happy for not finding the courage in the hidden nooks of my heart to end my life. I know one doomed day, I might. And it scares me.
    But all I can sing right now is
    "Starry starry nights
    Paint your picture palette blue and grey
    Look out on a summer day"
    I am looking for where the sun sheds its light like a snake. I am looking for a sign Vincent that this is not how I will end my life, on a starry night, I shall live Vincent. I shall live.

  • fallen_42 4h

    The morning screams like a little child
    Hungry for food
    Crawling its way through the night
    It sleeps right next to me
    With its tiny hands on my wrist
    As if scared to let me go
    But do mothers ever feel disdain towards their children
    I wake up
    Drawing the curtains apart
    And the fatherly sunrays fall on little morning's face
    Making it squint its eyes
    Yawning,it crawls off the bed
    And fall face first
    For it still hasn't got comfortable walking in a depressed girl's room
    It sits there waiting for breakfast
    Along with the girl
    The entire room smells like ending
    A graveyard really
    As the girl forces herself to get up
    And feed both morning and herself
    While girl hates the morning
    The light of new beginning seeps into her body
    Like an earthworm burrowing earth
    To make its home inside
    This girl has no friend
    Nobody calls her to wake her up
    So the morning sings the song of alarmbells
    And the angry girl throws it off
    The mobile phone
    It has been so long
    Since the girl smiled at the morning skies
    Or thanked heavens for another day of breathing without effort
    The girl doesn't pay attention to the gratitude around
    Floating like debris in flood
    The world doesn't pay attention to the girl
    So the mornings and girl have turned bitter
    Like the coffee that waits for her on the dining table
    Slowly getting lukewarm, almost cold
    With the absence of warmth in the room
    The girl and the morning now sit on the bathroom floor
    As night seeps slowly towards her legs
    And settle at the pit of her stomach
    The girl is sad to begin her hopeless day once again
    As the morning slowly leaves her room
    Through the nearby window
    From which the girl has thought about jumping off so many times
    The morning dies at the hand of an ignorant girl
    Who couldn't care less about anyone around
    Let alone herself
    The room is covered with dark clouds
    It's going to rain once again
    Drenching the girl with her loneliness
    Today she is underwater
    Trying to stop her breaths
    And prevent her hands from saving herself
    She doesn't know how to swim or drown either
    But she has found a welcoming cavern of hopelessness
    She moves towards death slowly
    While world munches down on its breakfast
    It is a good "mourn"ing

  • fallen_42 5h

    I am a silent night
    Whispering in your ear
    That I am slowly ending.
    The morning is standing on the door
    With packed sunshine
    And all I am asking from you
    Is to look at the shadows
    That fall behind it
    I am a death sentence
    And my prisoners are counting days on their fingers
    Praying for a final act of mercy
    I am a sleepless body imploding
    In the midst of crickets composing their own music
    Yet I sit like a devoted listener
    Making them my God
    I worship the ventablack darkness
    Where reside the traumas of my past
    Cheering, Laughing
    Swaying to the music less pain
    I scream in a hushed voice
    And People find me demonic
    So I morph into something less eerie
    Something as gentle as a child's toy
    I become a purple flower
    Asking for forgiveness
    For wanting to live through one more night
    I am moments away from disappearing
    Like a magic trick
    I flap my wings like trapped pigeons
    And slowly start mistaking iron bars for tree branches
    The beige cage for blue skies
    And the cicadas Whispering for harbingers of freedom
    Look, this night is about to end
    And so does this poem
    We are a friend's promise to a loner
    We don't intend to stay
    Let me fade off
    Like shadows in the dark
    Opening their arms wide
    As I hum lullabies to them
    In the hope that someone listens to these lighthouse warnings of impending storm
    But my ship for tonight has already sailed
    There is no returning back now

  • fallen_42 1d


    Unskin me and you shall find tainted sunsets crying of grief for the nights that never made way to the mornings
    Like a still born child
    Like a mother grieving for those nine months when she waited eagerly
    Like the grave of that still born child
    My body is a playground for the hounds
    That bark at anyone trying to save me
    My veins carry remnants of my heart
    And I find myself choking on my grief
    For all the dreams that never made it to the realm of life
    My legs, tied with the weights
    Still try to run towards the mountain where the astrologer resides
    And ask him why his hymns are not working
    Why the voodoo of this sadness is making me dance
    Fall as my hands flap in empty air
    Asking for answers
    My eyes are no more the windows to the soul
    But Graves of the past
    With no flowers growing out there
    And behind the veil of my face
    Lies loneliness,smirking
    I am nothing but silence
    Learning to spell noise
    In a gentle voice
    Unskin me
    And you shall find a forest burning
    A delivery of sadness
    A new born smile
    Faltering with fear
    A thunderstorm brewing for me a cup of coffee
    And tea stains from all those days
    I sat by the window
    And waited for anyone to reach out to me
    A curtain that I ate
    In the hope of hiding my secrets behind it
    A chipped wall
    Where I hang my own photograph
    A smiling one
    If I die
    I want to die beautiful
    Unskin me
    Take that tissue of my heart under the microscope
    And see it dividing still
    For grief is virulent really
    Unskin me
    Tear my skin
    Let those veins ooze out vermilion regrets
    And tell stories without any lesson
    And wilting days
    Drooping evenings
    Remnants of bland life
    You say you need to be dead to have an autopsy
    And I nearly laugh
    The kind of laugh while attending a funeral
    As I tell how I have been breaking my bones
    And feeding it to the dogs
    To feed their hunger
    This is another kind of cannibalism
    You feed on yourself
    And end up killing yourself
    But what will the postmortem report suggest if not a suicide
    The truth is no autopsy can ever touch
    The parts where it hurt the most due to loneliness
    So all they do is
    Unskin you whole
    Take a look inside
    And when find nothing
    They say," but all the bodies are same really"
    Without ever ever looking at the frail tendons
    Holding together the bones and muscles
    And preventing the body to fall apart
    Even on the days
    It nearly came undone
    Like a house destroyed by a bulldozer
    All the bodies are same really
    Until they die out of grief
    And call it a taktsubo cardiomyopathy
    Dead in arrival
    Unskin me
    And see for yourself
    The parts that still resist to give up
    My eyes; the sockets engulfing the sky
    Until you close them with your own damned hands
    And call it over
    The autopsy, I mean

  • fallen_42 2d

    When people ask me about my depression

    A lousy body on an escalator/falling forever/ saved by two laughing boys/ she doesn't know how to step on life/ and not fall face first/ talking /for days/my mind has a tongue of its own/ it knows language of self harm/ it steps on ladders with red colored tiles/ white colored tiles are where happiness lies really/ but try telling that to a girl/ who can't walk without a support/ that girl is me/ I am walking backwards/ with blindfold on my eyes/ and days are the racing tracks/ sun whistles/ and my doctor says/not enough vitamin D/ damaged heart/ with perfect heartbeats/ skip/ on seeing a boy who would never love me back/ skip/ on seeing a boy who loves me too much/ skip/ knowing how I don't deserve anyone/ skip/ stop/stop/someone stop this mind/it's overspeeding on a highway/ I might die in a road crash/ no/ major depressive disorder/ clinical depression/ depression/ depressed/sad/ just fucking sad/ slap some senses into her/ fucking loser/ pathetic/ delusional/ victimizing herself/ not my voice/ not my voice/ I repeat/ it's you/ him/ her/ them/ not my voice/ a cat; this depression/ enters the house without any invitation/ love, a dog/stays loyal/outside the house/ someone help me/ this cat is scratching my heart with its paws/ help/ help/ help/ hell/ my mind/ for speaking out loud/ the truth/ depression many times /is an outside voice/ I am petting the cat now/ we are friends/ love is still wagging its tail/ licking the memories of the past/ loyal/ too loyal/ too fucking loyal/ but never inside the house/ until asked to/ maybe all it needed was/ an intruder/ cat sleeps with me/ hush I am a mother now/ let my child sleep/ as I sing lullabies/ I am going to keep you safe/ safe/ safe/ my depression/ an identity/ ask me how I am/please/ don't just read it as a poem/ but a clue/ that the cat feeds on my skin/ mayday/read it as an sos signal/ will you?

  • fallen_42 2d


    "I hate that I am writing a poem about you
    After all these years
    But today you came in my dream and talked to me
    Really talked to me
    I mean we conversed
    You said something and I smiled
    I said something and you showed your beautiful symmetrical face turning into bright light I couldn't look at for long
    So I lowered my eyes and thought
    If that was really happening
    You see I have always been devoid of a purpose
    But when you were there
    I looked forward to see you
    Because my loneliness convinced me
    That somehow you could see
    The alien thoughts written all over me like a postscript
    But today
    You came in my dream
    Held my hand
    And I almost felt belonged
    This poem is devoid of metaphors
    Because how can I choose one
    When nothing can ever describe
    The pale red racing heart
    Skipping its beats
    You came in my dream
    And it looked like we fell in love
    Until in the end you hugged
    And we parted ways like always
    Your face morphing into my lover's
    I, screaming out your name
    Until what remained was remnant of yet another lonely dream
    Going through the hallways of my arteries
    Making me believe that it was okay to dream about a boy other than your lover
    So today I want to take that dimple off my face
    Crush it into little pieces
    And spread it all over the land where I sow seeds; growing into my lover's hands
    Holding me slowly, coaxing me to believe
    That one day i will learn to recognize the difference between the two of you.
    Today i want to unskin myself
    And wear another skin that has no pores
    From where your name can ever enter in my mind
    I almost feel like moon
    My lovers, earth and sun
    I reflecting off sun light
    To lighten up the dark nights of earth
    Tell me which one is truer than other
    I hate my heart today
    So much so that
    I want it to take it in my hands
    Drop it off from the same heights it is phobic of
    And see it break from pain
    Thud! The heartbeats turning into help-yelp-help
    You see girls like me
    Can't tell the difference between loving truly and cutting their hands off to keep everything from reach
    Science says girls like me blur all the boundaries
    Until our lovers are running away from us
    But today when you came in my dream
    I called myself a whore
    Because we still haven't learnt to spell loyalty without misspelling it as suicide.
    Girls like me once fell for ignorant boys like you
    And broke our own crystal souls with the stone like name of yours
    Until there came a boy
    Who took the pieces in his hands
    Bled from our sharp edges
    Kissed our eyes
    And slowly lulled us to sleep
    A dreamless sleep
    A calm lullaby of their beating hearts
    Telling us how there is difference between love and validation
    Guess I was looking for acceptance from you all this while
    As you smiled looking at other girls
    Guess I was a fool
    To ever fall for you
    With the same naive childlike heart
    Guess we were never meant to be
    Because love was waiting for me around the corner
    With book "pyjamas are forgiving" in his hand to gift me
    And tell me through a simple story like this one
    That it is okay to move on
    From a relationship where the other never even considered staying
    So here I am
    Bidding you goodbye
    One more time
    One last time
    Guess the rose I was holding in my hand
    Was simply a rose
    Rather than "he-loves-me-not"
    Guess I mistook your hand for a lifetime
    And now when I have one to hold forever
    I hope you look around
    And see me fade away from your life
    Just like a mirage
    You see the coin of charm you were holding
    Is now somewhere lost
    But here you are
    Calling it a magic trick still
    For girls like me to believe
    That you really know the art of making things disappear
    As they clap and wait
    I am sure this is not a closure
    Because there was no door to begin with
    But I am closing it anyways..."

  • fallen_42 4d

    Dear love

    If only you could put pain as pearls in a thread and wear it as a necklace. Sadness can never be romanticized or made beautiful because god knew the repercussions. Too many people wearing it. But you keep hiding it in the words that become little graveyards from where grow little flower like light, making you believe that it was all worth it. I find my sadness guiding me towards my lover. I have seen him in pain, which engulfs him, almost providing him warmth on a cold Sunday evening, and he carries it like a shawl around his shoulders, showing me the intricacies that paint promises unto his skin and tell him stories of why he is not worthy of happiness. By happiness, i mean acceptance, by acceptance i mean not wanting to unskin himself and carry the scars of his past gently as if holding a new born baby.
    When you cut a plastic bottle and fill it with sand and seeds, from it grow little saplings proving how life needs nothing much to begin. How guns can become flowers only if bullets cease to exist. How fighting wartanks can become trailers where people live only if there are no wars and no casualties. Things change only if they are provided with a new purpose.
    If only i could somehow invite him in my heart and show him through these little windows on my face, what I see when I see him, he would know how every non toxic love is nearly the same. It is repeated days. And silent peaceful nights. Maybe that's why when ocean vyong said "love at its best repeats itself", he actually was talking about us, about all those lovers who say i love you a little too often, end conversations with kisses, and understand the silences under the how's and why's a little more. Liars are the poets who talk about butterflies in stomach, for i have felt an entire ocean in midnight,peaceful, with cold tides touching the shore, a song really rather than an announcement/a tsunami whistle/a shrieking voice/ a death warrant. Love is cliché in its core, and by cliché i mean too simple that it almost feels like an illusion. How can an emotion which can sanctify people, be so uncomplicated. Liars are those who propagates the notion of it being a false love if we expect it in return of loving someone. There is no one kind of love. Ask a sparrow what it means to build a nest and feed her little ones, ask a lion what it means to be defeated by lioness, ask a father what it means to see a child fall into spiral of sadness, and you shall have different answers. I don't promise my lover, moon or stars,for this entire universe skips a heartbeat on seeing him smile and earth shrinks a little everytime. But try telling that to him, and he will just blush, like a teenage boy who is told that he is beautiful. But that's where his beauty resides, in the racing heart disguised as nonchalance. My lover is as flawed as me and maybe that's what compatibility all about. And here in his naive heart which gets scared everytime I scold him, I find a boy who needs to be loved gently, whose sharp edges mould themselves just so i don't cut myself. Love is monotonous on most of the days. Isn't it an adventure to still skip a beat on such days?

  • fallen_42 4d

    I carry hurt between my fingers
    Like lovers' hands entwined
    My heart is a church really
    And these heartbeats become the sermons
    Delivered from the altar of your sadness that resides there
    You tell me i am too sad to be true
    And I point towards the lonely skies
    Where dead fires grew
    Their flames spreading across
    Reached my face
    Until I was bathing in the orange hue
    I am a lonely girl
    Finding sojourn in the hearts of people really
    Who smile back at me
    So tell me how I am wrong today
    When all I hear are the echoes of the words like death
    Today i was hurt to a point
    That I apologized again and again for existing
    Like the biggest mistake was not my birth
    But the day I became sad
    Pardon me
    I didn't "become" sad
    I was pushed into the caverns of despair
    Until I made a home out of it
    And now you say it's a fault
    Maybe it's called a fault
    Because it too can shake the hearts where it originates
    Maybe our hearts are just tectonic plates
    Maybe falling in love is afterall an earthquake
    Too many maybe's
    Too many possibilities
    My sadness is a sickle shaped cell
    I am the body it inhabits
    We both are bound to die
    But one day
    I will slowly dissolve, like colors
    Filling up the cracks of your life
    So much so that
    People will mistake whatever becomes of you
    For a kaleidoscope
    Wouldn't that be beautiful
    Don't we all want to become beautiful in someone's eyes
    Today you became in mine
    When i die
    I will become in yours...

  • fallen_42 5d

    Fursat means free time while furqat means separation. I wonder how two words can be so close yet distant in their meanings with the alteration of just one alphabet. Fursat demands time out of your life like a child demands attention/love. Aren't these two synonymous anyways? You meet someone while carrying the word on the tip of your tongue. The conversations sometimes end with "fursat mein miliyega". While some just start because you had free time. It's interesting to me how time can be freed as if it is always sentenced to the cages of our schedules. Fursat is a freedom order. A trial that time wins on some days. Fursat deems human worthy. As if giving time is an act of charity without telling the name of philanthropist. Fursat keeps demanding time like a lover demands love on the days you are least capable of giving it. But furqat is an act of letting go. It is a key hanging in the lock while we wait for the cage to open. It doesn't until one day we realize how it was always there, the choice of separation. Poets have used words like shab-e-furqat to talk about the nights of separation because nights always carry away weeping parts of us, like a tide touching our feet and disappearing forever in the water, taking away memories, the distance they have travelled. If memories could turn into ashes, i wonder how many of us had already attended our own funerals. Separation of lovers, brothers, parents, children. Separation, a death. Separation,a beginning. But these two words are so intricately entangled, I find myself losing in the beauty of these words. It takes time for separation. The split seconds between a breath and another. It seems like time is bailed from our lives until it can separate as if ink dissolving in water, pushing water away to make space for itself. We don't really break relationships but the time we could have given only if we had stayed. Fursat and furqat are like brothers who hold each other's hands as people let go of memories in their final moments of goodbyes and there goes every ounce of time that could have existed between the two...
    "shab-e-furqat kā jaagā huuñ farishto ab to sone do
    kabhī fursat meñ kar lenā hisāb āhista āhista

  • fallen_42 1w

    How to get over a friend

    When i was a kid,I believed in friendships just like I believed in tooth fairy, ghosts, God and unicorns. The first time i changed school, I remember sitting on my seat in school bus, my face pressed to the window really because I was too afraid of looking around and seeing strangers watching me with curious eyes. But the first day of school became memorable and I ended up jumping with happiness, telling my mother how everybody was my friend.

    Years passed and we grew up together. From talking about what we wanted to be to sharing the good news of having periods for the first time, everything was as a good as a fairytale. Those long evening walks, making projects together, painting a home made universe inside a cardboard, copying readings of ohm-meter, using lenses to concentrate sunlight on a paper and draw patterns, blushing while talking about our crushes, we did it all. We had afterall promised to be the favourite aunts to each other's children, be best friends forever like it was trending those days. Maa always told me to keep a distance from people who claimed to love too much without showing. And I,like a rebellious teen fought with her for those friends of mine who would later leave me like it was the easiest thing to do. They did it and pretended as if it was for my own sanity.

    When a longterm friendship ends, how do you write about it. Ending a relationship after nurturing it for so long is really how meat shops work. Feeding goats, loving them and one day beheading them like all that love was an investment for how good the meat tasted afterwards. I wonder if that little forever is how the goats remember their lives or do they find it a s a cruel betrayal? As baba parked car in front of a meat shop named "Good luck meat shop", i saw the carcass hanging and wondered if the truest friendship is between a butcher and his pet animals.
    A friendship ending and a tree falling in a forest are similar i believe. Nobody knows when it happens, silently, it leaves behind a remnant,broken trunk/trust and a deep sense of loss. Moreover you dont cry over friendships for days like you do on losing love. You carry the absence like a father carries his child on back, when the child gets tired of walking. Your best friend's name become a trigger you avoid.
    Have you ever befriended a dog or cat for that matter? Today a dog sat on the terrace of my home and my mother offered him a piece of meat so that he would walk away. And now every time he sees us,he wags his tail. It's always natural, a friendship, but ending a friendship is like putting the dog in car with windows covered and leaving it midway. It's always about walking away, leaving each other in the midst of their life's hullabaloo and acting like you did nothing. A rash driving really, closing eyes and taking the hands off the steering wheel while on a curve.
    But what is most hurtful about a friendship ending is it is always a one way road. One suffers more while other visits beaches, makes new friends, clicks selfies and put hashtags like #friendsforlife.
    Friendship is a boat and it ending is like a boat washed up after a tsunami on a road. It never sinks. It is then laiden with stones and steel logs and pushed into the water to drown it. It then finds its way into the dreams like a ghost ship where you always find yourself lost. The same faces which once used to spark a dopamine response now become, a stress indicator your therapist asks you to avoid.
    There is no way to get over a broken friendship. So you get on with your life like nothing ever happened. Like you never met them. Like they were hallucinations, like all this time you were high and now the trance has ended. Like you finally learnt to roll a joint as your friends cheered you all along but when the fog disappeared,you had always been talking to yourself. No you don't get over a lost friendship because you can mourn dead people but how do you mourn the new memories same people make without you. How do you mourn a living life without feeling the guilt of it.
    There is no goodbye that becomes strong enough for closures because there is no closure. A door always remains open and a child sitting in that same old yellow colored school bus,who first extended his hand towards friendship always keep peeking outside, waiting, waiting, waiting....
    You dont get over a friendship, you get over yourself who needed it...