Handing over a flock of words

Perhaps there

I see a day

I shall say it.

Shout it.

Scream it.

Or whisper it.

This day my voice

Will know the volume

As it finds the ears

Those need the words.

The words

that have been

pending to be heard.

I shall say them

Even if the voice shakes

But it’s the shaking

That means it’s worth.

I shall say it

Because the moment

Will not be stolen

However

It will convince me

To surrender it over

gladly.

Cradling in hope

She is unbloomed.

Not young enough

To know everything.

She likes to believe

That everything

Is short-lived.

Just like this

Dark night

That matches

The colour 
in her eyes.

She has a bed

To lie down,

A pillow to rest

Her frightened head

And a sheet to

Imprison herself

From a creepy

Pair of hands

Approaching the

Growing curves

On her body.

She tries firm enough

To leave no gap

For the sinister to enter.

This entire summer night

She breathes in

Snowflakes.

Staring through the

Cotton sheet

At the shadow

On the opposite wall

With a will to blink

Not even once.

Escape is what

She wishes for

Clutching her

Fingers crossed.

For her

The freedom

Lies in being

A hassock.

And she learns

Liberty is not given

It is simply taken.

Edge of Sanity

I walked down the lane

Studded with strangeness

And filled with magical thrills

Bearing a belief

In my nerves and mind.

The lane I walked

With a heart 

that was hollow and

Eyes full of dread,

I strolled and

Strolled endlessly 

Moving left to right

Gathering in piles

Drunk on the wind

Having nothing

But to feed on my own fears

Just before the eternity,

It led me to a wooden door

Where a cracked lampshade,

 a crumpled paper

Sat on a marble end table

And a worn couch

Laid on a stained carpet.

I found an escape

Or it had found me
the pen in my pocket

felt like a blade
and I bled away the pain
as I poured my feels

Into words and phrases.





If you are not living on the edge you're taking up way too much space.

September

You sneak out of the window and all of a sudden it’s autumn. Every leaf on the tree flutters to tell noticeably that it’s here. Days get divided in equal dark and equal light. The air becomes crisp and you try to smell hard. It smells smoky. And you don’t know what to do with your recently orphaned august daydreams. So you tuck them between the pages of the brand new notebooks and leave them hanging on the branches of up reaching trees. And you set them on fire until the trees are smoldering red and orange and yellow.

It is here to stay for awhile like an old friend, you’ve been missing. Sitting under the blue skies it will settle in your favourite chair and take out his pipe. The afternoon will get filled with some dense smoke and the stories about the things he has done since last he saw you. The sun would love to warm the back instead of heating the head.

Possibly you’ll look back but that’s not where you would want to see yourself. Oh so nice and golden sun will set with a promise of less miseries. You would look forward for the times ahead, sitting cross legged.  It is the time of transition. The silent thrill in your chest will simply take you through the evening.


Under the bright moon light with not so nervous fingers, stitch a blanket of warmth for yourself. Because the air during the night gets increasingly crisper. Violently sparkling stars would be quite enough reason to awaken your dreams, once again. Your own September dreams.

This time, keep them safely in the shelf next to the window. And don’t let them ride the wind.

Death

It is watching me. It is waiting for me to give up. It is waiting for me to stop believing in what we call as life.  So everyday, I get up and I remind myself that death is there, just behind me, waiting. 

No, the death I am talking about is the death on the inside. The death of my spirit. It is waiting to laugh about my wasted time. It is waiting to laugh on how I set things to achieve, and I fail. It is waiting for my voice to tremble and swallow my words. It is waiting to tell me that my existence is a synonym of meaningless. It is waiting to reach me when my

My life doesn’t end when I stop breathing. This is certainly something when your heart stops beating and your body slowly loses its warmth. And you lie down and you shut up forever.

My life doesn’t end when I become unable to make a fist. My life ends when I stop trying to make a fist. My life ends the moment I stop working towards something greater than me. I would end the moment I retreat from my sense of duties.

I do not know when the real death- the stiff body death- comes. I can just try to keep it away, but can never defeat it . No one can. That is Okay. That is not even scary.  I am not scared of the moment when my nervous system shuts down forever. It is soothing to know that I will return to the silent dark nothing that I came from. It shall change the existence. It shall change the residence. I believe the stiff body death must be beautiful. Because once you meet, it hypnotizes you and takes you away from living anymore.

But what I am scared is of another death. I am scared of the death of smallness. Where there is not more than mere existence.  I am afraid of the death where my mind gives up trying to live before my body does. Every day I wrestle with this death thought and every day I have to kick myself and scream at the face of the earth “Today I’ll succeed. Today I will use my time wisely. Today I’ll live.”

Thirty things I’m thankful for

1. The taxes I pay because it means that I am employed.

2. The weekends because it means that I’m doing something completely pointless.

3. The accessible art because it means that there is a place to run away without leaving home.

4. The earplugs because it means I can switch the other world off.

5. The clothes that fit a little too snug because it means that I have enough to eat.

6.  My shadow that watches me walking fast because it means that I am out in the sunshine.

7.  A room that I mess up now and then, windows that have to be washed and a shower to stand beneath because it means that I have a house.

8.  The guys who think twice before any nonsense because it means that I don’t come easy.

9.  The eyes that don’t sleep but dreams because it means that every night is a goodnight.

10. Not being to the jail because it means that I sin differently than everyone else.

11. All the complaints I hear about our government because it means we have the freedom of speech.

12. The people being nice to me because it means I’m in this world doing something good.

13. Random creative sights on the roadside because it means that I am not fit for the driving seat.

14. A huge pile of laundry and ironing because it means my loved ones are nearby.

15. The holy thread around my neck because it means that I am a negative atheist.

16. The tears that slide from the corners of the eyes because it means that I can laugh whole-heartedly.

17. The spot I find at the far end of the stairs up to the metro platform because that means I’m capable of walking.

18. The silent ogling of the men because it means that women are fearless in the city.

19. My sibling who acts rebellious because it means that I am a mature adult.

20. Dirty mind because it means that I’m imaginative.

21. The cancelled plans that make me excited because it means I don’t have to cook up a lame excuse.

22. The last few minutes of a deadline because it means I’m most productive.

23. The bad scores in mathematics problems and zero theorems knowledge because it means that I have always been a right brained person.

24. The unsociable frame of mind because it means I enjoy the company of the person I’m alone with.

25. Doing what needs to be, even when I didn’t want to because it means that I’m disciplined.

26. Indifferent attitude of people because it means that it is none of my business.

27. Struggled childhood because it means that I have a better adulthood with a capable future.

28. The rich snotty and bloated chic at my workplace who never shuts the hell up because it means that I can hear.

29. The morning alarm that goes off in the morning hours because it means that I’m alive.

30. Having not many boring moments because it means that the fact that I’m alive is amazing.

  

       Holy Spirit

      Ce’st ma vie and I am thankful for it. Whether I am pushed or pulled, drained or fueled, loved or left,
      helped or hurt it is a part of my growth and no kidding. There’s always, always, always something to be thankful for. Forgive me if I don’t love it enough.