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Friday, December 6, 2013

Past tense.

My eyes are in a constant search of a world. A place where I matter, where you matter, where we all matter. I, no longer want to be a shadow, a lost ray of hope. Half my days I am nothing, the other half don't matter. Nothing is enough.

Even words fall short of me. Words making sentences, hollow empty nothingness of letters. I feel shallow, thoughts choking me, pulling me to a time when there was love. When I wasn't discarded as the unseen, the unfelt. Memories and moments I held above life. My own.

Where are you now? I am alone, I don't feel. I let go of my life, let it lose. I am me and not who you want me to be. I have moved on. The sands of time push me ahead. I am alive but I don't feel you anymore. Not with me at least.

Aging

Why do old people die ? When they do, why is it so acceptable? At times I wonder , do I want to age? Do I want to grow up to an extent where my living or dying is the same for everyone?

I have dreams, then again we all do. To see them come true, one MUST live.


TO LIVE YOU MUST NOT DIE.

Monday, September 16, 2013

I need to know now, Can you love me again?

Walking along the brightly lit windows, scanning the numerous eager faces popping here and there you lose yourself in a world of endless possibilities.

There is Michael, nuh, there's a shop keeper. There are a handful of gorgeous men and beautiful ripe women. All ready to take and be taken. Be Mine, said she holding out her hand, her soul and body. So vulnerable, so so open.

She clings on to her raft as the waves beat against it, one by one shattering dreams, her image of self. The tide takes her to a deserted island, lifeless and gullible. The moment sand touches her bare feet she breaks down, tears roll down her face. For once in days of self loathing,denial and stress , she doesn't feel alone.  There is water all around her. She walks towards the ocean till the waves get higher and higher. High above her collar bone, dancing to her heart beat. Knowing fully well she is not a swimmer, heck she cant swim to save her own life, she challenges all odds. There deep down in the ocean, the mother of all that is good stirs taking with its commotion , a life full of lies.

Under the crystal chandelier He holds on to her tightly. His hand, her back. Her hand, his hand. They move around amongst all dancers effortlessly. Each move bringing the two closer together till they reach a point where they breathe the same air. He inhales, she exhales. He leads her away from the dance floor , to a garden under the starry sky. Tonight he will make her, his.

There is a ritual amongst Muslims, to pray five times daily. To take all your deeds, good and bad and seek from your Lord, refuge.

For the one thousand thoughts she has made me think. For the love that is running wild in her heart, for the man who stops the world, for a wronged religion, for the death of a million desires and for a life time of apple tea. I salute you, for being alive.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Khalbali.

Some people remember the event and some both. Matter of factly, it is impossible to remember both at least in the true sense. If you remembered a particular date out of 365 , you attached significant interest to the event. Hence, making the memory as bias as possible. It is now, your version of things that will forever be sacred to you.
Reality how ever may be much different than what we recall. Now, it is half truth and half lies. Black and white.

YOUR VERSION:
We met. All was friendship and love. Now guns and bullets.

MY VERSION:
We met. All guns and roses. Still guns and roses.

Conclusion: objects in the mirror are still closer than they appear.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Of beginnings and end.

So I was young and naive but wasn't that years ago? I thought I had learned from my mistakes. Fixing a routine of convenience I tangoed around life. Memory after memory and yet heart break. This once the murderer is none but myself.

There he was sitting on the side, all quiet and observant. I thought to my self, how far have we come and yet so strange is what we feel. They don't see what we do and they never will. What I am to you and you to me.

The road unravels a strange feeling of belonging as her curls caress the soft curves of her body. He looks into her eyes and just in that particular instant she lets her guard down. Forgetting what she thought would be, she enters the world of endless possibilities.

She expects you to hold her hand yet not state how broke you know, she is. Between will and ability, there is disability. Some part of hers already loves you. The other is merely in denial.

The best friend walks by her side talking about love. Did she not say it happens once in your life? Now it all makes sense. The future beholds only regret and shame.

This time it is I who find my self running from my dreams. Dreams may be dreamt again, hands may become warm again , eyes may penetrate my soul once more but the innocence in me is lost.

She will no longer be yours, just show me what you make of that. Make me believe just for a moment, it wasn't just in my head.

Let her know you loved her, at least back then it was true?

Thursday, February 21, 2013

This is me.



You know how they say things change over time? They are right but no one ever warns you of the great probability of reaching a point where you might not be relatable to self. The people who you claim to know since forever fade away, emerging only as strangers. We justify the change and try to accustom ourselves to the variables, hanging on to tiny threads of emotions, we have been feeling since puberty, when the gigantic monster of emotions was raised by a whirlpool of hormones.

This was once home, full of people. They were not always kind to each other yet they were one, always pulling each other through tough times. Years passed by, we began to age. The childhood games started to make lesser sense and things grew serious. One by one the children grew, till the parents no longer had to put them to sleep, nor did they need any more curfews.

It was the long silent nights that bear witness to my memories. How, when the parents room light would go off, little hopes and dreams would expand and bring together tiny heads under the bed sheet, scheming. When the cat is away, the mice will play.

Its August 2005, the boats are set to sail. Slowly people make way to their destinations, making several stops just to ensure the hesitance they feel isn’t loss but doubt alone. Do you know what it feels like to walk into a room? A room full of memories, of fights and screams, of love and joy, of salt and saffron, and find it vacant. Do you hear those muffled sounds, the air around you makes? Do you know what makes you a stranger in your own shoes?

Year 2009. Home is home again. There is life and shrieks of joy. There is anger and disappointment. There are hallways exploding with the past. There is chit chat and ho ha’s.  Do you know what it is like to have them back or how relaxed you can feel because the walls no longer mock you. There is no childhood left in any of us yet in being adults we have discovered a childhood of our own.

2010,2011. The sailboats are now huge ships. The kind that never stop. They are loaded and we say our goodbyes. Farewell is always sad. Do you know what it feels like to lose family? Do you know why the tears fall and the heart changes its rhythm to match your mood? Do you know, moving on may take more from you than promised? Do you know; if you set them free once, they never really come back?

Monday, February 11, 2013

Aging.

The smell of guilt. The mocking bird was killed.

We were little kids, not long from now. I chased play mates around the trees, we made pans" using leaves, oil stored in baby lotion bottle and random paints. Always dreaming about adulthood. I always read how people begin to miss childhood once they are out of it and never understood why.

Now years later I move about in circles not much different from those in the past, all dolled up. Fake laughter and chit chats over parties and weddings. I stand under a chandelier and look above at my radiant sun, unable to count the hundreds of tiny crystals its laden with. And in this game I find my self another childhood.

Year after year I set new goals, none I hold close to my heart. Relieved to be able to move on without regret I play more games. The enemy closes in and check mate.

                                           Growing old, a tragedy that is too common.

memories

That second on the clock, when it sinks in. Too much has been said that will never be taken back. Oceans and Oceans will not turn this to coal. It will forever be cursed. 

                   Till death do these memories last, to what we will be and what is past.