|
the guitar gently mourns
under the strain of her small
fingers that tap-dance on it
while you crawl
away from her.
you aren't too sure
of how to close in
for the final attack
and then gently retreat
after scarring her insides
while she still plasters that big happy smile
and pretends that all is fine.
and you sweat because you don't have time
to wait
or the courage to stay
and puke out those words
that you do not want to say,
and show
that you really do care.
and then the draft of cold air
gushes right in
and slaps me across my face
leaving fingerprints
in the form of goosebumps
that take over my skin.
and you, wondering
whether you should take off
your expensive, new suede jacket
to protect me.
just let it be.
all that is left behind
is the faint trail of the song
that you played last night
to create a mood
that would make you feel good
about the scars that you painted
on the hands that held you so close.
you, screaming like a mad man
while she
shrieked her lungs out
and tore apart
the white sheets
stained red.
Ella Fitzgelard does to you
what fuel does to fire
and you transform
into something savage
but oh! so beautiful
and out of control.
you, who wants her to
say your name
with her bleeding lips
which you nibbled at, carelessly
while you devoured
her face
to satiate that undying passion
that overwhelms you.
and all that is left behind
is the smell of your
stale skin
and sweat
mixed with the fragrance of
burnt out incense sticks,
and me.
_________________________________
possibly the strongest thing that I have ever written
and i don't even know why i did so.
because i did not know that it would hurt me so
because i had to say goodbye and let you go.
because angels break their wings and lose flight
because good mornings were never exchanged when the sun was bright.
because you were ticklish and defended yourself with a poke
because i have cried so hard that i could choke.
because my rhymes were never any good at all
because i had to write this to cushion my fall.
...there is life flowing through those veins,
only if you could feel it pound against your cold, dead skin...
Because i want to swear at you
and call you names you haven't
heard before.
Because my mind is tired,
my hands ache
and my eyes are sore.
Because rhymes are meant
to be pathetic and stupid
and all those other things.
Because i suck
at poetry and my
guitar has broken strings.
Because the next line
should start here
right now.
Because you laughed
and i had you
at "wow".
sometimes, i lose consciousness...
and i see you slipping away
as i fall into the pool of colour drenching me
and snuffing life into me,
a charcoal sketch on a white canvas.
and i look around
and i notice that i have limbs
and a head
and eyes
and a gut.
i am human, perhaps,
but far from it.
i am singing
a song without words
or a tune.
you hear me.
you,
sitting a few light years away,
at the edge of reason
ready to take the plunge
to give me company,
smell the selfsame air of sweet nothingness
that makes its way
through my nostrils.
they seem so far away
spiralling out of reach...
our rockstars have died,
and the mousse is gone.
i shall wait for you right here
while you decide to move on.
the last song still echoes in my head
but it keeps getting fainter, still,
with no MotherFucking kids in uniform
making a riot with broken strings.
this might very well be the worst thing that i have ever written.
but i still had to do this.
this is to one of my bestestest friends.
you know who you are.
i can't hear you.
listen to me.
let me touch you.
hold you.
feel you.
you are real.
radio mirchi says, "angule dot maane apni hot".
my forefinger is purple.
woah baby!
this feels good!
the whole experience was extremely hilarious.
and yes, i was laughing.
last night, my dad and his buddies were having their usual no-reason party.
these parties usually include the other family members too.
and basically, they do not make sense.
(now you know the secret behind my *ahem* well being)
anyway, basically, by 1 a.m., they had decided that we would all go to vote together.
the plan was to wake up at 7 and vote and go for breakfast.
we left at 10.30.
there were three first-time voters in the group.
this guy called tuhin, my sister and me.
and i shall not start talking about the hype.
and yes, i was the youngest in the group.
and yes, there were a few shocks.
hmphf.
we were standing in the line (which wasn't very long) and i had this weird feeling inside(like always).
di was standing before me.
and before i could even understand the byapar, the man was asking me my serial number.
after that, there came this man who thrust me this funny yellow slip which i took to the inking man.
and then, MY FINGER BECAME PURPLE!
*does the jiggy*
i half ran to the EVM and didn't see a thing.
i knew who i was voting for.
searched for the name.
pressed that button thing.
i came out.
ma looked at me, grinning.
i grinned back and showed her the finger.
i'll show it to you too.
it felt funny.
i felt proud.
like i did something substantial.
like i am finally an adult.
apparently, the rest of the group got shouted at inside for being too loud.
i told you.
i wasn't sleeping.
:)
were you?
i wish i could paint a rainbow across your face,
and colour you with laughter that would never die
and show you the dreams that would keep you awake
and bring to you joys that would make you cry.
this was in my drafts thing for a really long time.
and i felt like posting something.
so this happened.
so, bleh.
laugh.
i know you did.
you always do.
I’ll be there for you.
I will hold your hand
And build castles of sand
With you.
I will whisper in your ears
And scare away your fears
and wipe those tears
you cried.
I tried.
I tried to keep you here.
I promise you.
I promise you 365 roses,
Thornless.
I promise that I won’t make you bleed.
I promise to be there by your side
And count stars with you at night
Even if you don’t succeed.
I will remember you.
You with that apple I want to eat,
Grinning at me.
And me,
Staring at your beautifully crafted face,
Wanting to wipe off that half smirk
Which heightens your beauty.
You with those invisible wings,
Flying into forbidden territory,
Trespassing.
And me,
Giving in.
I will erase you.
Someday.
Not today.
Today,
you can stay
My lone bright star.
i have realised that i have an extremely bad habit of staring at people.
as a result of this, i get eventually get The Stare back, or i catch people in the act.
they all look at me as though i just sprouted dingleberries on my forehead.
but, whatever.
my concern is not regarding getting The Stare.
it is about me giving it.
and about me making notes in my head about the people i stare at.
i got on to the auto today.
the man sitting beside the driver in front was digging his nose and was looking into the rear-view mirror.
that was until he saw me staring back at him.
humiliated, he started giving me the you-don't-have-to-stare-kid look because i, like the complete moron that i am, deprived him of his independence.
after all, india is a free country and everyone is allowed to do what they want.
they are the free citizens of india, after all.
i went for a concert in the evening.
a friend's band was playing.
they were pretty decent.
they were then followed by this band called Steel.
well, i don't know whether they really were a band.
i mean, were they?
or was it just me?!
and then there was the crowd.
oh, yes.
that is the whole point of this extremely boring post.
The Crowd.
with all the coolio people the city could ever produce.
doing the whole "bhashan" routine to "Coming Back to Life".
all of it made a very interesting watch.
there were people, who had not even heard of bands called Pink Floyd and AC/DC, "headbanging".
"moshing".
wow.
they make me feel good.
i don't know why.
i look at them.
i stare.
i GAPE.
i make mental notes.
and i keep safe distance.
there are times when i think that maybe i be a tad bit too elitist.
and then there are times when i ask myself why i even write.
like now.
no point.
no one reads.
bleh.
I am those unsaid words stuck in your throat,
that voice of comfort during your times of fright.
I am the gooseflesh you felt when a teardrop fell,
the warm wind that blew over you yesternight.
I am not what you thought I would be.
To you, I am more than a physical form.
I am the flowers of spring,
the song on your strings,
the smile on your face when the day dawns.
and I don't want the world to see me
'cause I don't think that they'd understand.
when everything's meant to be broken
I'd just want you to know who I am.
this blog is so full of crap that i could die.
right now.
no.
not now.
i will live until holi.
i will die on friday.
oh, no.
sorry.
sunday.
next.
gum wrappers,
whipped cream,
jelly pops
and sun beams.
denims ripped
i don't care.
watch your distance;
don't you dare.
hop
skip
laugh
jump.
touch the sky.
triumph.
sleepy,
angry.
bored?
pissed?
moshpit!
you missed.
messy hair,
tidy room.
closet undone.
get the broom.
dumdeedeedadeedum.
hoorah.
i am giving you a dozen of red roses
painted yellow
so that you never know
what lies beneath.
a dozen of red roses,
to tell you that i care
and that i'll always be there
for you.
i want to blog.
about nothing.
nothing at all.
yes.
i just got home.
i am sleepy.
i want to blog.
and i don't have a topic to blog about.
so i will blog about nothing.
nothing at all.
i saw 6 movies yesterday.
and portions of 2 others.
that is because my desktop went for a holiday.
the hardware guy is a loser who likes to spend time with his family on weekends.
so, yes, i was without my computer for two whole days.
and yes, that killed me.
friday night, when the computer acted up on me, ma was celebrating.
by sunday night, she was praying for it to start working again.
the music player is playing this song called hard to explain by the strokes.
it is on shuffle.
i shall not comment on it any further.
my cellphone looks OLD.
and worse still, it is NOT old.
my mum cleaned up my room.
it looks a little funny now.
this should be on my rantblog.
...you, my friend, are an unsung melody,
stuck in my stomach, struggling to breathe...
it has been a long weekend.
i look different now.
i think i am a shade darker now.
doesn't matter, really.
i'm supposed to be dark.
train journeys excite me.
my mum and i are still those li'l stupid kids who jump at the sight of a train.
even if it is another train passing by the one we are in.
and also, the upper berth on two-tiered compartments is one of the best places to read a book.
but i am deviating from what i wanted to say.
again.
no, i realised that no matter how much i try escaping labels, i actually do fit a stereotype.
this is where train journeys again prove to be immensely educating.
propped up against my pillow, book in hand, i kept laughing to myself and rolling my eyes every time i heard my co-passengers from the next berth.
the brat of a babushona kept messing something up and babushona's mother kept cajoling him.
and it continued.
and then it dawned upon me.
i have never been a mamoni.
my mum was too busy doing everything else to bother wasting time over mamoni's-mother behaviour.
and that is why, i grew up to become what i am now.
bongo mayer ingo shontan.
i sit there, frowning at them for making such a hue and cry out of everything.
i stand there, frowning at the coolie spitting on the platform.
i walk by, frowning at the kid who comes up to me with a leaking nose.
that is what i am.
i realise that things will be like this.
things are supposed to be like this.
i just keep wishing that things were not like this.
thus, to the anonymous observer, i am this proud and vain little thing who keeps frowning at the world around her and keeps "ewww"ing in her head.
i wish it was different.
or, maybe not.
i think i prefer it this way.
at least, this way, i have a choice.
to choose for myself a better world.
and i think i am going to take it.
i missed a lot this weekend.
and i wished i hadn't.
but then again, i got to see dolphins.
i am not running.
the ground below my feet is zipping past.
pick up your fantasies and stitch them together.
up goes the needle,
and down again.
the thread is like a magical silver robe
which eases the senses
and erases the pain.
--------------------------
the rainbow hides behind the evil gray cloud
waiting for the little drop of sunshine to filter in
and then it peeks out silently,
and paints that smile on your face
as I see that bright spark stealthily
escape the rough exterior of a girl
who hides herself behind the silk and the lace.
--------------------------
the dew spun a web last night.
the spider is not home
to see that you made it your abode of joy.
to you, this world is just a purple ping-pong ball
and life, a wonderful toy.
--------------------------
you are the babe that dreams are made of,
a little Thumbelina made
to cast away the mundane problems
of metropolitan life
which chose the apple God forbade.
--------------------------
maybe my rhymes make no sense at all.
forced, they are and oh-so-obvious.
but I only write so that you laugh
and shout
and giggle
throwing your hands about
even if it means that I sound incredulous.
--------------------------
believe me when I say
that it is what worries you
I want to do away with,
only because you waste precious time
and sweat and chime,
about a life that goes by
and you end up asking why-oh-why.
questions! questions!
do away with them.
fly like a bird
to where you want to be.
stitch your wings and unfold them,
one-two-three.
|
|
|
|
