I am so jealous
jealous* of everybody
everybody who's close to you
you who are far away
away from where I am living
living without loving,
loving without hoping,
hoping without knowing
knowing how this will end
end, if there is one.

Imma tryna escape
Tryin' since ages now
I'll jus' go go go
The world will stop
Once and bow bow bow
Because it respects me so
And only this earth beneath doth know
I am no ***, no ***
Come down sun
Now I'll go go go

Midnight, birthday bells
Morning; a fresh start
Laughter, cake, chocolates

It was just his wish that she waited for.

I left you
darlin
'cause you din care an
din' want
and now I
live alone in tis
gutter 'cause ugly
old filth I am
you said
so am
nobody jus' a
***.

Today, I want to weep.
It's giving me pain. And this much pain I cannot handle. I haven't felt it like this before. What is this?
They killed them. They killed children! 84 of them! They killed school kids! Those beasts. Those animals. Those heartless, inhumane murderers. They killed innocent creatures, they took lives. Lives of so many.
And what am I to do? What are you to do? What is anyone to do?

Why are people talking about lands and religions? Why aren't they seeing what the families are going through? Won't they learn a filthy promise is nothing but that-- a filthy promise? Those ******* liars. Those politicians and haters scoring points, what even is this?

And that's how this will end, like ever. Drink tea, relax, watch movies maybe?
Die.

you stop playin'
stop tellin' it's their fault
cuz it's not her fault
and I am innocent
just cuz I told you
I was tired of your lyin'
doesn't mean I deserve you
to ******' tell me I am wrong
I am wrong cuz I put myself
before a ******* for once
doesn't mean I am wrong
if I tell you I wanna quit
I just wanna breathe.

We are all sad, broken, shy
Caught up in one boggling goodbye:
That was not said, or heard
Or meant.

We are all shy, broken, sad
Counting at night what in those days we had:
What was stolen, taken, sent
No good meant.

We are all broken, broken, broken.

My colors cross yours

but our paths never meet.

Maybe we can finally run away

to some place far

and be free

now.

I know what obsessions are like. When you just can't get someone outta your mind
No matter
How much
You try: they stay!
And your actions
Keep on nurturing
This need
Born and protected in your heart.

So you keep thinking about them
And check and yearn and wish and wish and pray
Secretly
And you keep dying, slowly slowly.

It makes you stronger, doesn't last longer, I get that.
But what am I supposed to do with this load of sadness right now?

i am afraid and alone and my
demons have broken loose
dunno what to do
cry?-- die?

Just how many times
I've paired words one and two,
lines after lines that spell nothing
but the damage you've caused.
The colossal, irreversible, unchangeable damage
that has blotted onto my soul most darkly, dreadfully.
How many times
Have I just
Paired lines after lines to spell that.

your name and mine
are written on two
different books.
how can you fight
a destiny like that?

Some people are indecisive,
some are just too indecisive.
From the choice of pen to
oh wait, pencils are better
a question about where really
are you going to write---because if you
use your new diary, you might come up with
a better idea for it later so just maybe scribble it online--
whatever you want to, that is
just, type it.
And shopping? That's the worst thing.
Cafeterias? Don't ask!
A fresh apple juice or a strawberry shake or soda or
oh wait, ice-cream? What do you want?
Um, I need time.
Blue dress, green dress, no dress? You need a dress?
Happy with your course? Life, where
are you going*?!

"you taking care of your sleep?"
asked you.
well yes, when you come I do.
but when you go,
*I forget, I forget, I forget...

a void
should not be called
just a void.
this way I am feeling
deserves certainly
another name.
something more sadder,
and deeper
quieter
and scarier.
because there is no pain
here
just... the lack of it
and the lack of everything else
and everything else
and else
and el
s
e.

Meray dil me atish e ishq hay
Meri aag tujh ko jala na day.

A year--
how quickly has it passed
from last year's December
to this year's winter:
a mere return of snow and rains;
That, I wish I could say.
But the truth is;
it was the slowest of the slowest,
the most torturous ride.
Because this year
I've felt each minute ticking by,
each season changing
leaves falling and flowers coming.

Reveling in the not-too-glorious
glitter of unrequited love,
this year I've known suffering.

Put your hand on your heart and say
I forgive you.

Let your eyes cry but don't let them run dry.

It's okay,* tell yourself that.
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, sweetheart, it is
Okay.

What you did, what they did, what happened
Is Past now, has passed now.
Please allow yourself to move on and actually live
This one and only life.

You are a flower-being and you deserve fragrances.
You are a soft soul and it's time you let your scars heal...
So stop. Stop scratching your skin, stop scarring your sacredness within.
You are to live, and live happily.

Please.

A month will pass today. Exactly a month, as far as I've been calculating.
Why do you do this? I feel so worthless.
I can't even write a poetry out of it.

we had monsters in our house.
they had come uninvited, of course, and they wouldn’t go away.
hush

we had monsters in our house. they had come uninvited, of course, and they wouldn’t go away so we stuffed them in my cupboard
we thought we had hid them well.
only they didn’t like it – at all.

we had monsters in our house and we stuffed them in my cupboard where they took all the space but didn’t like it there at all
we thought they wouldn’t – but we didn’t care
they cared, of course, because they didn’t like it at all

the monsters from my cupboard would beat gongs to protest – I don’t know how they got them there –
the monsters in my cupboard would never rest.
the monsters in my cupboard would not give up.
we would tell we couldn’t hear them but our eyes betrayed us every time.
one would point at the other when they saw several small circles of red veins on their irises
and black clouds underneath
but the fingers would also point back at ourselves so we never had to say
shush

Our Lips Were Sealed.

our lips were sealed except on days we screamed, altogether
we would scream and scream while the monsters from my cupboard would play a thunderous clap
they would shout in alien languages and beat gongs, and roll drums – I don’t know how they got them there but they would. none would tire.

our lips were sealed until the monsters from my cupboard Won and found a way Out
the monsters in my cupboard were no longer monsters inside my cupboard for they found a way out
when they found a way out they hid under my bed. they had better plans to take revenge.

every time the screaming happened, a similar series ensued:
we always got tired and slept cuddling each other, demanding warmth, pleading for safety in The Most Silent Language Ever
we never wanted the monsters to hear. you see, we were trying to manage everything despite suffering
every time the screaming happened and we went to sleep afterwards, craving warmth and safety, rubbing scars revealing fresh blood, one of us wouldn’t sleep.
one of us couldn’t sleep.
one of us couldn’t sleep because the monsters that were stuffed in my cupboard and were now hiding under my bed would find them.
they would face them boldly, ruthlessly, and make a living mess out of them.
they would threaten to shred their skin and scar their lips. pull their bulging eyes out.
(our eyes would be bulging because of our fear.)

every time the screaming happened, a similar series ensued:
we always got tired and went to sleep with one another, but the monsters wouldn’t sleep
they preyed on one of us.
they would eat some of their flesh, and gargle with their blood
and finally, they would pull them under their bed and put a hand over their mouths
As If They Could Scream

one by one, we fell prey to the monsters – at night
during our days we would live like each other.
and did we see our wounds and half fleshes? of course we did.
but we didn’t say for we couldn’t help it. none of us could
and we were losers who had lost while pretending all the way that we knew better
we became them.
and started biting ourselves.

Yearning
starts early morning
when you aren't there
and I've still got to wake up.

It's tiring and exhausting
to carry out the day's duty
with the memory of you
nagging at every moment.

To leave the bed
is like deciding to stay
     another day
merely to waste hours...

It's not like I can't live without you
but there is this hope
of finding you again
somehow, sometime, today.

And so I live
e
   v
e
r
y

   d
a
y

A walk down a memory lane
Enough for me to recall what you were,
What you still are now: a flirt.
A poet singing lies
An artist hiding blood blots behind red brush strokes
A man playing with hearts,
And never finding peace in his sleep.

I can't help writing
pages after pages after pages
about you, and about this void that is filled
with only the white colors of your absence.

Sometimes a question hangs there,
like a cobweb: weak, or a metal tied to a string;
strong and heavy, and crushing
and I wonder for hours while I am trapped in these walls
of distance, and despair, and yearning:
Were you really ever mine?

can we just disappear
without making a scene of ourselves?

can i just crawl back into my mother's womb?

In the realm of my mind

every conversation, relation

ends on its time.

There are no unsaid goodbyes.

Use this deep discomfort, this anxiety sprouting from your ruins within
Create.

1) footsteps
2) loud bang
3) laughter

"It's all over! I am so glad!"

4) scream
5) sobs
The end.

Sparrows blue perching just inches away
from my feet,
I stand and touch the sky-
taking fistful of a white wet cloud in my mouth.
I love how the butterflies weave
a flower crown
and the tall, young man wearing the straw hat
plays his flute
for me.

Crossing the street, in the most sparkly attire
I see a woman spitting on the shop windows
Singing songs merrily••
Or is it melancholy?--
But she does smile and her white teeth shine
Her lips invite
And her hips sway
And it looks like all the jewels of the world
Have come surrendered on her feet, so white!
But she spits on my face too
When I ask if she would like. . .;
And moves on
Happily.

I worry about you. Not the kind of you who watch stories of mass murders and social discrimination and videos of violent madmen beheading others in wars little or large; or those who stamp on people's self-respects and rights and on their simple lives, and take a bite from your burger, noisily belch, and continue with your petty lives because it doesn't make a difference.
I worry about those of you who take it in their hands. The kind of you who take it in their hands and their tongues and their blogs but bother not for once to leave their comfy chairs and go out. Those who can spew hatred so vehemently against a class or a religion or "that-group-of-madmen", and can very intelligently present us records of the number of people killed with their ages, notes and dreams. Also, the Moslem passports found just on the site, with your handwritten prescriptions of what the Moslems should do and do not, how the entire responsibility falls on them and when it does not, plus why the moderate and the extremists should both die because "you" have problems with really everything they do!
I worry about you who sit there, write books, and keep trying without really doing anything but corrupt whatever little peace we're holding onto, while we're here, *traumatized just the same.

"Beautiful" is a soft-blue balloon, the string of which is white. I hand it to you and you bounce, bounce, bounce it.
Then I go away and you pick a needle. Plop, it goes.
The soft-blue plastic falls at your face and wraps around it. From then onward, you see the world through blue eyes.
And only blue eyes.

you suppress the urge to check him back one last time
because last time you checked it shattered you so fully even brought home in-sanity
but how can we forget -- the correlation b/w heartbreaks and sanity is less
the lesser time it has been.

It's not good.
Not good how you're destroying me.
How I am letting you destroy me.
Whose fault? Mine, you say?
But I loved!
Yours. You played.

Cry cause it's not okay.
Cry cause it never will be.
Cry cause you're a loser.
Cry, because all fakers are.
Cry because you laugh too much
Cry cause you're hiding
Cry cause you're exploding
Cry because it's all burning
in.side.you
Cry because water might just help
with the flames
Cry, cause you need to
Cry cause nobody wants you
Cry cause it's all over
Cry cause you can't do anything else
but write.
and cry,
and die.*
Die, and cry.

When I wanted to draw flames
Poetry came to me.
Now that my life is burning,
I have lost my muse.

we're all sorry messes
connected by spider-webbed realities
of universal emotions

Heartache shows.
From your drooping arms
heavy-lidded eyes
sometimes, loss in weight.
Fever shows.
You get a cold, you keep hearing "Bless You!"
Every other illness finds an expression, but
Obsessions.
Secret little hellholes.
They eat you and you only call a poem for help.

I am someone who will start worrying as soon as I find out you're missing.
You're just busy.
But I'll still worry.
Sometimes, I will drop you an email. Sometimes, a comment. A message.
And I will wait.
Looking for you again and again and again.

That's a pretty ****** up thing, if you ask me. You can't like people so much. Not so many. Not everyone.
But some can't help it. And I'm so apologetically one of those.

The best and the hardest thing I did for myself was putting a price on my love.
You couldn't love me when you didn't love me entirely.
You couldn't love me only because you needed someone to have conversations with.
You couldn't love me because, and only because, you needed me.
To love me,
You have to be honest.
To love me,
You have to love all of me.

Twinkle, twinkle little star
I miss your twinkle from afar
Nights I have sobbed, days I have cried
With your smile I can forget each scar
So twinkle, twinkle little star!

Today
I am completely utterly absolutely tired
Of all I went through, with or without you.

Today
I want to give up. But I don't know where the exit door is.

I don't know where peace might be.

Don't know where I wouldn't find thee.

It's kind of an addiction,
like one from an overused drug--
Your name.

I take it continuously
though it gives me no peace.
Only the injury widens;
and I rejoice in that pain.

You're dying, right?
That's it, right?
Well, we all are.

You were a colon
and semicolons you detested
I tried putting a comma there
like grammar lady suggested.
but our life, it seems, is an underscore
or an inverted question mark blotted
because whenever I ask for space
or try putting us back within a parenthesis,
you usually slash me―or backslash me.
This is not, however, how I had imagined
us to be. I always wanted a life smooth as tilde
a prime time together, without fearing bad weather
I wanted us to fight against negations,
but like a dagger kills relations
or a bullet, we died inside too…
It is a broken bar now, and it hurts
at the highest degree of pain.
Can we still back into space though,
or is it about time we put a full stop?

the embarrassment, hopeless anger on past
the humiliation
and the inexplicable, insoluble longing in my hollow heart