As we watch the crashing waves, sunset as the
Rebuking a kid for throwing his toy to the sea,
Joking about the rats near the beach have a room with a view,
Wondered what an year;
How many things changed, altered but remains the same
Been through enough but lived less
That online dating is just repulsive fish in a basket
Then we kept looking at the sea, and I the stars
Parting as we promised to meet more often,
Knowing the lack of probability.
How can we be relatable to the past that we did not live? You read from Shakespeare to Austen to T. S. Eliot and contemplate. The inkling that we all are Alfred J. Prufrock-s, “measure(ing) out (my) life with coffee spoons”. So easy it seems yet so hard to understand the present, the person next to you. Why? Because you assert subtext, you over-think, over-analyse and in the end, we have subtle changes that drastically draw us apart. It is not entirely a matter of morality, not good and bad. It is rather a selfish indecision that what is bad is what is bad for you, and only you.
I am this person sometimes. I lose sanity in a split second and I do not know happiness and I’m relentlessly pursuing.
The only aspect that will change is how I perceive each person which in fact depends on the person and how much he/she lacks kindness. I don’t think I want to go back in time to undo or redo anything. It doesn’t mean I have the perfect little life. I didn’t. I’m the saddest and that makes me laugh. That’s the thing about me, I know you and myself before all of that and I know when I’m risking happiness. What do I do? I become assertive that pain is something I willingly inflict upon myself. I wasn’t a happy kid nor was I sad but I felt indifferent of the time I had bad handwriting in my mother tongue and I was to scribble in a pencil just for that subject because it was that bad, the time I was bullied and only reason I wrote exams was because I wanted to get out of everything. But I did it all, went through worst than that only to realise that real life is the bigger picture of a high school drama although you don’t know who, how or when. Over the course of time, I have a simple answer – be kind to all but take no shit. I know it’s hard but when you do not care enough, it’ll inevitably result in a little kindness for others and yourself.
Yes, love yourself. Love your mushy, annoying, intolerable self. Love your kind, sunshine of a self.
Most of all love everyone who makes an effort to stay and give you the love you’ve given.
Moon amidst the stars.
Fragile, sensuous, serene
With one frailty;
love for paradoxes.
Quite a dreamer Of daylight
And saw the sun as a charmer
with beguiling chit-chats
Piercing the moon’s black soul.
She thought it was paradise-
A love that lingers between tacit and tactile.
Sun cared less and burnt her a little.
Drenched the colour body and soul
Moon gave herself to the sun.
Instead of wallowing in tears she prefers to hide them. When it’s too close to pain, hurt and the crack in the voice. For a second she pictures herself in the humble vulnerability and shakes her head to wake up from the reverie. She smiles, thinks how happy the moments are. How selfish it is to drag someone into the misery of her scathing pain. She recollects all the ordinary, mundane anecdotes to change the subject- the easy way out.
Life was always so easy for him,
If she was a song on the radio
He’d simply change the channel;
to a new song, a different melody.
One day all the radio stations played the same old soundtrack.
She was quite inevitable.
He realized her song was not a remix.
Life was easy for him;
he could turn off the radio or listen on.
There she was,
Quite forgotten words for her own song
Busy learning the chords to his tune,
strumming on her heart strings.
Look at the washed out wall
A reflection of a “will-we-won’t-we”;
such labyrinth of a happiness before the prefix-un.
Look at yourself,
Did it all come undone?
How memory surpasses time.
What if walls crumbled, not hearts?