I met a stranger in the bus..a man in the black suit..and I seemed to know him since ages..took the same route as mine..
Ours was a unique acquaintance, it was of smiles and stares, words hardly spared..
But today, today was different..he, with a diminished smile, seemed like he had a taxing day to cuss..in his eyes, he had the world locked like the pandora..
To open it was calamity, and to keep it all in was fatality.. but he was brave, went on burning his soul in the fire of the heist..
I always wanted to ask him about his pursuit, but I was scared of the explosion, he might endure his own Big Bang..
This stranger in the bus, the man in the black suit, who I seemed to know since ages now, was unordinarily restless today. And I couldn’t guess why..
Flicking his fingers, frantic, hasty and teary eyes, who was once my persona for strength, he left me drowning into the depths of my thoughts..
Oh how could I have even resisted, I was falling short of smiles..
Deciding to trade a word today, this harmless stranger extends a clumpsy mind, just like mine.. the troubles were little too wild, and I was compelled to listen..
They said talking helped, but we shared more smiles, words lesser spared..remember ?
The lump in his throat did most of the work.. While I got lost in his unshared troubles, i learnt something tonight..
Melting cold nights and rumbling leaves at the height. The swaying trees and the smooth slow breeze..These are the flaws of nature that are meant to make us feel right. But the evil, vicious ones, loneliness and anxiety, are our unborn progenies, and we nurture them with will and pride..they tell us of our existence, of the blood and flesh and the emotions running through our veins.. they make us pop and bleed, through our ears and eyes.. like the dictators back in time.. they eat through us, mummify us for the rest of our lives..
And this stranger in the bus, the man in the black suit..
I finally sense him.. He held my hand, asked me one simple question.
Why do we weep when we lose control ? Why are there storms and tempests inside our tiny hearts? Why do we feel wounded by the god **** loneliness that we create with our own flesh and blood, our own nurturing ? Why are we possessive about this poison that is freezing our blood, one cell at a time..? Yes, anxiety.. why do we let it turn us blue, **** us ?
I could only wonder, how smoothly he filled all the blanks. The blanks inside my gut. The blanks inside my head, the questions that he slapped in my face left red marks, but the ringing in my ears gave me the answer..
How easily could I let this venom out of my nose, with each exhale, I could sense the fumes of the blue escaping, leaving me with the spectrum of all colours but the one..
I see this stranger in the black suit everyday now. Everyday, In my bed, embracing me into sound sleep, in the mirror telling me that I was the prettiest of all, in my thoughts, in my walks, talks and mindful tirades.
The stranger now is a part of me, he camps inside me.. he replaced my poisons and demons..
And now we look out the window together, and smile more often.. the storms seem sorted now and ****** anxiety sits beside me, not inside me..
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
The smell of coffee and black sharpie fill your senses
Dragging yourself out of bed, you wrap the sheet around your naked body
Your head hurts more with every movement, every thought.
The sticky note on the door
written in small, squished, boy-like writing
"I never promised you forever."
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
I know happiness because I have shared the bed with Mr.McSorrow, and gave birth to ‘little anxiety’, who grew up to be Mr. Panic.
Panic, he shakes his sweaty hand every morning, but when he was the ‘Little Anxy’, he played in the park alone..may be some day with the ‘Kid Lonely’..
Like his Daddy ‘Mr. McSorrow’, he knew how to run and hide, but never learnt well enough, to cry when under the bed..not a sign from his mother, you would recon..
I know Mr. Happiness, this is why I know him, because he is that guy who I bumped into at the condiment aisle..
Met him at the condiment aisle, because I’m ‘Mrs. Wimpy’, who is right playing ‘Ms. Smiles’..
Ms. Smiles is special, she is an alter of Mrs. Wimpy who avoids crying, and in the condiment aisle, she lurks..
Lurks there long to meet new men like Mr. Adventure and Mr. Music.. oh! Also, Mr. TapDance....he’s the best one, you see !
So today, it’s Mr. Happiness himself..
And we all know Mr. Happiness and Ms. Smiles are meant to be..
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
It was a hard day..and she was a thinker, her mind a rambler.. cruelty in its words and lust in the wander..
How flawlessly it took over her soul and presence, and put her into deep sleep, so it could wander the space..
She dreamt of this horrendous excursion her mind took her on, and they landed in the emptiness, she knew she was trapped.
Hitting her hands and running her feet, but it was all emptiness, no escape, no pace..
The mind snickered as if it had conquered..
And spread it’s hands, all 8 of them like a locknes monster, dripping blood and sludge from all the cuts that it had made to escape her flesh.. clean, the mind was careful about the scars that might not rest..
Now when it’s free, it is holding her hand..he’s a wanderer, a vagabond you see.. and she is the comfort, an amenity..
There is the first black hole, and the time holds still..the mind is a malignancy now, spreading and engulfing the emptiness, oozing it’s own thoughts and creating a biome for itself..calling it home. It had its own pace, because in this black hole, the time had stopped and emptiness had a lot of space..
Tic after tic, the watch on her hand, ran through the hours, eras and ages.. and the mind kept creating mountains and beaches..
The mind as unfathomable, provider of the new Home, that she got as a present for her slavery..she was now a pooch without the leash and the new Tower of Pisa, or the Eiffel or even the new Taj Mahal were her niche..
She knew all she was only scared..of the gigantic powers of her own mind, and the spread of the effects of her own strength and might..
Of what she had become, of the love she had fallen into, with the time and place..with the creation of her own mind’s pace..
And the awareness that she will never be the same..of the change when her mind saw the emptiness, and created a world for her, with all the love and care she ever deserved.. like Frost once uttered, the mind took the road, less travelled by, and it made all the difference...
Now it’s the end of the path, and a lot of blood and sweat, the conquerer is on its knees, with a smile on its ruthless face.. the smile that defeated fate and swords of the demons around.. it said it would make all the difference.. and it did, the princess broke free and lived happily ever after for ages and ages hence..
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
Do the words that you rhyme still matter over time , or do they fade into the abyss like a memory you miss?
Do they fade away from you, like every friend seems to do. Not because of choice, but because of a voice,deep inside your mind, you search but never find.
Do they fill throughout your brain and exist with every pain?
Does the daylight contradict , what your nightmares constrict?
Are you afraid of today, because of what the past used to be, or fearful of the future because its a lock with no key.
Do you walk towards the light and see it in your sight! Or does darkness follow you, the light to never breakthrough?
Do you think of what could be ,if your mind could be free, Or does the darkness begin to ensue like a storm beginning brew?
Does the pain go to your brain, coursing every vein, you question if you are sane! Is this what life is to be , or is this only for me.
Do you question every thought, every sentence, every answer that could be. Why? Why do these nightmares happen to me! Is this what my life is to be ?! Or I have simply lost my balance and this is what I see.
Turn off the lights so then you can see, the darkness of a mind,
when that mind belongs to... Me
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 6:48 AM UTC
You're watching, judging, and assuming
You don't understand why I do what I do.
Why I obsess over little things.
So stop trying to
The world is my oyster
But without the beautiful pearl
Just a plain old shell, in a plain old world
It's a shame you'll never know the brilliance
All you're capable to understand is the madness.
Insane, sane
Heart, or brain
Ferocious , tame
Take two breaths and stop breathing all together.
Turn your self to useless energy, forever.
Welcome to mind of the mad.
The queen of the asylum
A dapper old castle in the brain of a girl.
Who is tortured yet pampered in her own little world.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 6:15 AM UTC
High atop the spire beneath a cloudless sky
the Cross stands forlorn Christmas is nigh
since long in the past time beyond recall
no bells chime here is sung no carol!
But its heart still flutters as hears the Lord's voice
*I carried your burden and set for you the choice
to do this world much good and love your fellow men
be happy in others' happiness take share of their pain!*
Kind Lord mutters the Cross *men still live for gain
act the way it seems your blood was shed in vain
they war and breed hatred between them raise wall
hanker for pelf and power in their loss they squall!*
The church lies abandoned starkly white and bare
only the Cross bows to the Lord in silent prayer
hoping it's not far away when the bells would ring
the Lord would carry the Cross on his second coming!
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
She loved him,
They were young and stupid,
She was sad, he was happy,
Their relationship moved too quickly,
Although young they indulged in intimate love.
She loved him,
They were young and stupid
She was sad, he was happy,
He was busy being a child, this upset her,
She hurt herself and blamed it on him.
She thought she loved him,
But they were young and stupid,
He was tired and hurting,
He asked to confide in a childhood, female, friend.
It was not taken well.
She loved him,
But she was too young to understand,
There was no reply for 37 minutes,
She facetimed him in tears,
She reversed the camera to show what she had done,
Crimson blood ran down her arms,
It dripped down, corrupting the beige carpet,
Tears fell alongside the dark drops,
Her mum entered. The call ended.
She loved him,
2 hrs later he thought he’d killed her,
He broke up his ****** prepubescent razor,
Without a second thought he dug it into his leg.
Crimson blood ran down his leg,
It dripped down, corrupting the beige carpet,
Tears fell alongside the dark drops,
But no one entered, no one to help him.
She loved him,
She got stitched up and it became like it never happened.
He loved her,
He was left scarred and that image of her wrists never left him.
4 years later he sat in his room,
Alone,
He wrote a piece of text.
This Isn’t a Poem. Its My Life.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
May be some day..
The case in my storage fell on my head..when I was hysterically hitting my hands for the lost confirmations of adulthood..
The mother of coincidences and fate was up today..
The box contained all the pictures of my childhood.. which today are on Facebook, and the timely flashes of memories that don’t mean as much, pokes a hole in my heart..
The time where careless was adored and playful and silly was the only way to be.. running behind my little chickens and teasing my parrot for a chilli was the sport that kept me fit..sad that sport today means watching matches at the stadium or late night football leagues..
The exercise that we got when mother ran left and right only to put that bite in our hunger hole.. how so luxurious has that bite of mother’s love become..
When Hotwheels and Funschool and Playdough was the hip of the hour.. when did an iPhone replace it all ?
Popcorns and Rasna, and Uncle Chips and lime juice were the menu desired.. no one told me Rasna becomes *** and coke and uncle chips becomes Pizza and Fries.. or lime juice would turn into a Mojito, flustered..
May be cotton candy will never be ‘buddhi ka baal’ again..and nutties and gems and boomer bubble gum are left just words..
Balloons outside the park were the reason we went to weddings..who knew weddings will be the misnomer for departing friends..how swing sets and see-saws are just equations of physics and childish banter..
When the only cricket teams were the kids in the colony, and we hadn’t to worry about India, Australia and South Africa..
When gangs rode cycles and ate Eclairs for evening snacks.. how has it become bikes and cars and kebabs with whiskey over the years..
When getting hurt in the knees was a sign of strength..how heart breaks have become a taboo of the weak..
Times when fever was a festival of cold packs and mother’s kisses on the forehead and stomach aches were the cheat codes for skipping school.
How even diarrhoea and fractures don’t get us off work..
Chilling meant Cartoon Network.. parties meant cakes and presents in the house..and birthday songs still meant like Grammy nominated jingles of happiness and satisfaction..
Sitting on the floor with a tiny tear and a wrinkle of a smile on my face, I get spotted by my mother. She’s curious to know, how her ever frantic and running child came to a halt.. and the time turned tides, it was 5th grade again, when I shared with my mother all the happenings and happiness and sorrows.. and insecurities meant bullies and not bosses anymore..
Like my wish of ‘may be some day, all over again’.., mommy picks her mess of a child up, hugs me tight with a kiss full of affection on my forehead..
May be someday, again this box will fall into my hands, and Luck will play its tricks to muster a kiss from my mother..
May be some day..
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC