A love letter from my bad habits

The pill says:

You pop me in and I pull you back from falling into the empty inside of you. A gulp sound and I quiet the creak of wood outside your window. I kill the dogs in the streets to stop their howling, so you sleep peacefully. This world is a noisy place and I’m glad to let it go silent for you.

The cigarette says:

You light a match and it’s not only me who’s on fire. We burn together, like two lovers sharing heat. Who knows it better to never be lonely and yet feeling alone? I come in packs of ten, wearing a warning label. Guess what I still have people to suck the cancer out of me. They say people die for me. You do too. But I never quit to burn in your love.

The alcohol says:

Dry days, Ten Pms, Out of Stock seem like nightmares and happy hours like lottery tickets to you. According to science, an adult human is 78% water. And there are days when you’re straight 78% me. I am glad you choose to get drunk. Because I sit here in fancy bottles, totally drunk in your love. And I find no other thing to sober me up.

                 

The heart says:

Apart from pumping blood, 26 is the number of times I’ve already been hit by the Cupid’s arrow this year. And it’s not even May. I think you treat me like the heart of a butterfly which lives for 14 days and then dies. I would love you more if you try to make it live longer.

The hope says:

I’ve noticed you do two things every now and then: Throw a fist in the air and chuck me out in the ocean like a silent prayer. I may be a hopeless romantic but my love for you is not wrong in all the good ways. I swear I’ll be the raft that saves you whenever the ship will get busy sinking.

The tears say:

As if everything sad has gravity in it. Each time they make me roll down your cheek, I helplessly fall in love with you. Don’t be afraid of me. Go ahead and cry. This will only boost our love and you will feel better. More love means more tears mean more salt. And salt is the reason that everything can float so well in the Dead Sea.

Forever says:

I have seen you staring into horizons and night skies to meet me. You love to get away with it. You take a little more and a little more until there is no more to draw on, since forever. You should learn to make your choices quick because time is running out and so is my love. A slow marathon.

The paper says:

I am crumpled at my edges and your lack of love is like scissors for me. I am the lover you should be scared of the most. Like I am scared of you that one day you’ll open your mouth to cry to somebody and that nothing will come out. Because I think you’d have given me all of you by then.

Truly, madly, deeply
Yours.

Paradoxical Wreck

I stayed under the moon too long.

I am silvered from

Collecting the names of the lovers

Who treated me like flowers

In those two arms

And threw sorry along with me.

Both crushed into a pile of memories

Of little and little more of their lives.

It’s a fact all that is silver

Doesn’t have a lining.

Not all those who are crushed,

Fade.

Sometimes you don’t need a line

But a fork to pick yourself up.

Especially, when that building came down

Before you could find a way out.

So, I cross my heart and

Find my place in a corner of

The elevator shaft.

These cold days of December

Burn brighter than the sun.

As I watch the elevator

Coming down, I realise

Why was time invented.

Slow and steady is the promise

While time unceasingly moves

In one direction

And usually heals if you let it.

Screw that, it’s paradoxical

That I break myself, to remake myself.

Like every other brilliant process

It takes time.

meaningless name

SOMETHING 

SHAPED LIKE WORDS

 PERCHED ON MY LIPS,

 BURNING.

THEY HAD ASKED ME

THE MEANING OF MY NAME.

AND I COULDN’T GIVE THEM

ANY SPEECH SOUND

BUT A GASP OF DESIRE.

SIMPLY BECAUSE 

WITH EACH LITTLE THING

 THAT I DO,

I AM TRYING TO PERHAPS

GIVE IT A MEANING.

A touch of almost everything

My waist misses your hands

Squeezing it.

You may not know, but

There are rivers and

There are different countries

In your hands.

Using them, you create

A firework and sometimes

A layer of snowflakes.

Your hands are the

Most beautiful creation…

Those have been around

A little more than inside out.

And while I lie down

In a whatever room

The pages of the flapping

Calendar are rude enough

To remind me that it’s been

Twelve and a half days

Since you touched.

  

Miss Drown

when you're missing

At times

I miss you

helplessly

And Thankfully

My eyes shed tears

From the inside out

Else,

I am quite sure

That all that live

silently in the hollow

spaces,

virginal in the dark

places

underneath

the fragile bony walls

of my ribcage;

would have to learn

how to swim.

I never learnt

Swimming, rather I

Learnt to love

I’d drown

Anyway.

Listening beautifully

I can’t count how many sounds I’ve heard all my life and never listened. But I know listening is beautiful like no other. We were born with two ears and only one mouth because we’re meant to listen more than we utter. And silence among all screams is the loudest. It certainly conveys volumes. So, it can’t be ignored. Apparently the word LISTEN contains the same letters as the word SILENT and share a perpetual bond. 

I may not be able to put the wonderful silence just before the dawn into words. Or the quiet and calm just after a storm ends. Or perhaps about the silence that hums when you don’t have an answer to the question you’ve been asked. I have listened to the hush of a country road at the late hours of night and it’s one of a kind. The silence when there is an expectant pause of a room full of people when someone just about to speak, is thrilling and inexpressible in words. It just touches the human shaped emptiness and poises itself as a well-informed entity. The most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you’re alone in the whole house. For some, this silence is to die for.

If only, you’d listen to it carefully.