Adult

Call me an adult. But not an adult as enough adult.

I. For I say a prayer and let the evil times roll in. Because God never advertised his 30 minute show up policy.

II. For living like a tide. And there are days when the moon is full and has an uncontrollable pull.

III. For I wait and then wait more for the right time. And then watch it passes by, elegantly, without my consent.

IV. For breathing life into monsters. And then complaining why he destroyed everything once again.

V.  For changing the world. But not as much as the world changing me as an adult.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

No

Keep your daughter’s name.

When she is growing up

Call her name, shout it or screech it

Till iron starts to run in her veins.

No

Keep your daughter’s name.

When she’ll be a grown up

She’ll be like a wolf so strong

That no lion can tame.

Kill honour

How easy it was

for them to force

the honour

like stainless steel knife

into her mouth.

And how her throat 

was full of just love

when the first time

she called them

‘mamma’

and 'baba’.

Brunt

And the day after all the

Breaking,

Mother takes God

Off the shelf,

Shakes the dirt from

His shoulders.

After all  the damage

Her heart is still big.

But He’s smaller than

He once was.

Stuck

Life is moving fast and all.

The difference is in the waiting

for you.

My heart feels like an ambulance.

And there is traffic

Everywhere.

Station

Even when we stand still

the earth is moving.

As if travelling perpetually in a train.

Excuse me, could you please

stop it for a second.

I wanna get off. 

Stillness

All you know is how to spill

and make a mess of yourself

in this beautiful world.

Usually, people give a stare

after another,

call it art

and keep moving.

You can leave the house.

Anyway, it’s not where the heart is.

But where the hard edges are.

It is where there are the bills

The damped walls, the mice

And that comfort feeling

you grow up wanting to leave.

You can leave the city.

Most days, it makes you feel

like a sponge.

And gives you only dust

to soak in your mouth

in your lungs

in your life.

You can leave the face of the earth any time.

But this small voice that muffles

‘This is not a test, but you are

doing splendidly’.

You listen to it,

feel like you might be.

You’re so good at being bad.

One afternoon nap

On a summer day like this, the most involuntary thing is the afternoon nap for me.

By me, I mean this shell of a human and this set of bones packed in memories and dreams, and this ventricle chamber filled with storms and chaos. 

I lie down and pull the curtains over my eyes, this hot afternoon has some sounds in the distance. By sound I mean like some divine rhythm to which someone realizes some things sometimes.

It tells me how people wake up each morning with same slumber and can't decide if they want to save the world, or destroy it. Nothing is wrong with this world but something is definitely wrong with the people of this world. Starting from me.

Breathing’s so hard when it’s the last thing you want to do

I wonder how it feels to arise from a dead body as a newly ghost and discover the ache of not being alive.

I wonder how it feels to be 65 and stuffed in between the rubble which was few minutes ago was your dear house where you raised your dear family.

I wonder how it feels like being 55 and the attaché which took you to places, lands on your head, leave your ears ringing and body paralyzed with fear. How it feels to see your attaché now packing up your life, one breath at a time.

I wonder how it feels to be 45 and listening to the fainting cries of your loved ones, when the earth rips open and the sky weeps. 

I wonder how it feels to be 35 and getting sandwiched like your favourite chicken patty for a day and night and for another day and night and drinking your own sweat and urine. I wonder how hope looks like a rainbow to (some) people.

I wonder how it feels to be 25 and setting pyres for your family across the debris of the city. And then setting it for other’s family.

 

I wonder what it feels like being 15 and finding yourself at the edge of the galaxy because most of the Facebook friends’ accounts now belong to dead people.

I wonder how small countries make small people make smaller lives.

I wonder how we (rest of the world) measure our ache beyond their ache.

I wonder how our (the world’s) priorities are fucked up.

I wonder because what else to do when the world is literally upside down?

Well, my thoughts are nothing but shaken. 

It takes a bag to kick an alcoholic's ass

8:00 pm: Getting hammered is a ritual for me like my mother’s ritual is to wake me up every morning. So here I am bar hopping on a Sunday night.

2:00 am: And car hopping. After midnight they don’t serve you alcohol in this city.

2: 30 am: I see the seventh floor on the lift buttons. And all I wanna do is press all the buttons except that.

8:00 am: It is Monday; way too bluer than blue, hanging over my head, grinding teeth at me. Getting up was like an award winning effort.

8:35 am: Mother’s sweet voice did not reach me. Nor my alarm rang in my sheet, draped in sleep. I had lost my phone and my senses, last night.

9:35 am: Breakfast had a special menu; a bowl full of sorrow and a tall glass of curses. Mother was silent. But when she broke it, her words made me wanna take a fork to my mouth and quickly shove it down my throat ‘cause I would rather choke than argue with her for even a second.

9:45 am: I managed to snake my way out of home. I work like it’s a duty and party like it’s my business.

4:30 pm: At work, I spent the day like watching a film reel that cut into another film reel and another and another and the images spin by before I could make any sense of them. There seemed no way to get to the beginning, even if there was one. Sure as hell, I was in hangover.

6:45 pm: My girlfriend was silent like an ocean before a huge tide. And I sat in the car, trapped like a useless rock on the beach side.

6:50 pm: Her eyes deep in which I could not dare to look into. The tide was almost there, in some distant part of hers but did not come up front.

6:55 pm: She is an avid reader. Wish she read my thoughts and knew how apologetic they were.

6:56 pm: Love is a mental disease. 

8:30 pm: If old habits die hard, then bad habits die harder. On my way home, I swallowed some beer to stop my hands from shaking and to face the people at home. It makes me feel brave enough to make promises.

9:30 pm: I parked my car next to the park where my mother strolls around every evening. The park was empty, the building was dim, only dressed in white noise.

9:43 pm: Climbing up to my floor never felt so heavy before. I reached my house to find a trolley bag sitting in front of the door.

9:44pm: Maybe there will be no arguments, no questions, no answers, no promises, no time to even break them. It’s only time for me to fuck off. This bag looked a lot like my only belonging for the next few weeks or years.

9:50 pm: Almost choking on the ashes of the burnt cities in my throat, I rang the door bell. Several parts of me had started to pack stuff and were ready to leave.

9:51 pm: mother opened the door for me.

9:55 pm: father asked about my day with nothing but a father like smile on his face.

10:00 pm: The place felt like home and I like the shy kid of the house.

10:00 am: The bag maker was happy to get a job after several days.  The bag was happy to get the fixing done after ages.