Do you know
how it feels
to be drowning
in the ocean
of despair,
hoping someone
would save you
but deep inside
your chest
you know
no one cares.
You flap
your legs & hands
desperately,
hoping someone
would outstretch
their arm.
You breathe
heavily,
hoping
someone would
notice the
bubbles.
You scream
& scream
& scream,
hoping someone
would listen
to your voice.
But why?
Cause you
were told
love saves you
every time
& thus,
you never found
learning
swimming
useful.
Cause you
were never
told that
this world
can
turn a deaf
ear to your
begging voice
& grieves
only when
something
happens.
Cause
you were
never told
you are your
own saviour
& thus,
you found
dependency
beautiful.
You always
waited for
someone to
love you,
pamper you,
ask you,
"How are you feeling?"
&
do you know
how it feels
to unlearn
things
you were taught
especially
when you're
drowning.


I hope you learn swimming & not unlearning.

I know that talking heals. But how can I explain the way I feel when people don't see things the way I see them?

Maybe I wanted you because I could not have you.

People love new stuff, the best ones, no one likes broken, no one keeps damaged stuff. So how can I expect someone to love my broken heart and damaged soul?

I pretend that
I moved on

But these pages are the proof that
I didn't.

There are pains
that can't be consoled
can't be solved
can't be healed
And the only solution for it
is death.

No one is afraid of trying, they are afraid of the outcome.

We build
bridges for
the people

Who won't
even lift
a brick
for us.

We were "born" to experience the pain of "living."

Too many broken hearts.
Because people only care about the outer beauty

Not the inner one.

At first, she met him on the shore of the sea
And then again under the tiny lamppost back on the sixth street.

That second meeting was the moment where everything was changed.
He was just a stranger to her
But then, he became her friend.

Their friendship started with a short conversation.
Time passed and she started to make those conversations long without any hesitation.

She started to feel for him
She would call him every night.
She started caring for him
She would love him with all her might.

She proposed him as she took him for granted
And he didn't hesitate to make her his love.

Actually, that was something he was looking for
That was something he wanted.

A week passed and they went on their first date.
And that was the date of her life which changed her fate.

She went to downtown on his brand new car.
The date was not in a restaurant,
But in a well-known bar.

She drank a lot more than she should've
And He had a quiet a few too.
She couldn't speak the word she should've
Didn't realize what he would do.

She spent a lot of time on her first date
Didn't even realize she was way too late.

"Honey, Don't you worry
You can spend the night at my building.
We can gossip and talk the whole night
It'll help us with understanding."

He requested her about it,
He would plead.
She didn't agree at first
But later she did.

They started their journey by 12
"I'm going to my boyfriend's house,"
She chanted.
But she never thought what she was doing
Would be her biggest mistake.

They arrived after an hour.
His building was in a lonely place
It was in a jungle.
She was so scared
And she began to crumble.

He took her into the house
The house was quite big.
But she realized there was something wrong with the house,
There was something wrong with it.

He took her into the empty room lying on the second floor.
He put her on the bed and he tightly locked the door.

Actually, it all happened so quickly.
It was hurting,
She was crying,
She was screaming
And she was crawling.

She left his house the very next day.
But didn't know where to go,
She lost her way.

Should she call her parents and inform them about it?
Or should she call the police and tell what her boyfriend did?

She didn't know what to do.
She was crying and whispering,
"I wish I never met you."

He was just a stranger a few days back
And she never thought a stranger,
Could cause her such danger.

If you see a man who is broken,
don't always think someone has broken him.
Maybe his own expectations have broken him into pieces.

It is better to walk on a path that is dark but leads you to light
than walking on a path that is bright but leads you to the dark.

I post this picture with the caption
"Where do unsent texts go?"
This guy comments "maybe there's an afterworld for them.
Maybe
Maybe."
Maybe is a hopeful word
All my poems are an extended version of "maybe", maybe
See,
Maybe I didn't love you
Maybe you loved me too
Maybe the last time you kissed me,
You were drunk on someone else's memory
Maybe the last time I said 'closure'
I didn't really know what it meant
My tongue is a ****** up pretentious wannabe dictionary
I say things I don't really understand
So I write **** lamenting the same **** in ten thousand different ways
'Cause **** me
I don't drink but I visit bars
I met this guy in the bar and he told me he killed his lover
I asked him how and he said
He wrote poems
He wrote poems like 'you're an *******'
Poems like 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
Poems like 'who the **** waits for your texts'
Poems like 'I hate you'
Poems like 'I hate you but I miss you'
The guy said "never trust a poet when he's drunk and never trust a lover when he's sober,
Better, never trust them at all
Especially when both of 'em are the same person"
The guy said "I'm no walking talking renaissance tragedy
And you should stop writing me like one"
I said I haven't
And he said that I surely would 'cause I'm in a bar drinking nothing
But listening to his ****
I said maybe
I forgot him and read plath this entire January
Quoting plath from her journal
"Not to be sentimental, as I sound, but why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to learn that love can never come true, because the people you admire like Perry are unattainable since they want someone like P.K, to learn that you only want them because you can't have them, to learn that you can't be a revolutionary."
But see, my love for you was revolutionary
I died choking myself on all the unsaid, unsent things
I took birth again only to love you in this smooth strawberry-and-cream mother-Goose-world,
Alice-in-Wonderland fable
I brought the sun to its knees, again and again
I ate it up
But maybe sylvia was right
Maybe
I only wanted you 'cause I couldn't have you
Maybe the boy who lived 100 years ago
Was a ******* romantic
Who didn't know how to love without lamenting, so he died
100 years fast forward
The boy still doesn't know how to keep his emo **** together
He wears pyjamas with big pockets
He hides himself in
On weekdays,
He cries and fills up buckets on weekends, He does laundry
This whole thing is a big rant
And not a poem
Because I don't know how to write poems like 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
Cause I don't know how a beer tastes like
So if I ever taste beer (I probably won't), I'll gather the courage to text you up
And say 'my beer tastes ******* better than you'
But just learn that 'never trust 'em at all'
I know it sounds cliché
But you're Perry
And I hope you find your P.K
And I hope your P.K isn't looking for some other Perry
Who's looking for some other P.K
Cause girl,
That ****
hurts
And there's no "maybe"
in hurt.

Airplanes // 5 march, 2019:
You tell me that if I stand on your balcony all day long,
I'll spot planes fly over your house every two minutes
Once I wrote: "If this time love leaves
an empty envelope at my doorstep
I'm going to fold it into a paper plane
and fly it back to you"
Which is to say,
Every plane you spot is an 'I-I-I-love-love-love-you-you-you' traveling at the speed of 885 km/hour
looking for you
Because my house is full of empty envelopes
I try to write someone else's address
But my fingers are immigrant in a foreign land
You are the only address they have ever known
So when I say home looks a lot like you
It's only because my fingers don't know how to fold a memory
Lock it in a suitcase
before flying to some other land
My father says "It's possible to learn a new language but impossible to forget one"
So when I call your name at exactly 11:55 pm, it's only because I can't forget it
even if I end up learning a new one
Once an airline employee discovered a love letter left on an airplane **** bag by a man named Andrew
It read: "I don't really know what I'm gonna say
But I'm just gonna wing it.
Why not? I mean I'm leaving so who cares"
I AM LEAVING SO WHO CARES!
I AM LEAVING SO WHO CARES!
But there are days,
When I wake up hoping you care if I leave, especially if I leave
But leaving scares the **** out of me
I can't learn it the way I can't unlearn your name
So I just hope Andrew's letter grows wings,
Fly over her house
leaving I-I-I-love-love-love-you-you-you as trail in the sky
Naybe that's why when they say,
"love is in the air"
I picture a lot of airplanes leaving 'I love you' as trail behind them
I assume that the boy loved the girl so much
that He grew wings out of it
He put her up in the sky
My cousin told me time is relative
Which means the rate of change of time is not same for every frame of reference.
In my sky, time loses its sense
In my sky, you're no longer a memory I've been trying to fold
You are the past, the present, the future
Every time I teach my fingers how to fold a memory
Love leaves a new empty envelope at my door step
Someday, I'll die among these envelopes addressed to you
But till then,
You'll spot planes fly over your house every two minutes
leaving trails in the sky // ― the boy is the airplane flying over your house.

Thinking of you is a drug I take often.

You will
find yourself
in all
the places
you're afraid
to look at.

You are my dream but life is a reality.

Darling,
Even if
you break
me,

I would
love you
with all the
broken pieces of mine.

Your smile can't hide the darkness you carry.

What's a human
without humanity?

Monster.

In 1852, an artist named Luc Maspero threw himself from the fourth floor of a Parisian hotel
Leaving a suicide note that read: "for years I have grappled desperately with her smile,
I prefer to die."

Then in 1910, one enamored fan
came before her solely to shoot himself
As he looked upon her Napolean crushed ******* her.
She has broken a lot of heart
Men have died loving her.

Last week Mona Lisa walked out of her frame
And out of the Louvre Museum
Straight to the terrace of the tallest builiding of Paris and cried.

The world is smudged with oil now
Paris streets smell of smoke and warm colours.
My mother knows nothing about mona lisa
And neither does my father.

But he steals some of the colour from mona lisa's cheeks
And put them across my mother's everytime he pronounces her name
Like it is the only word his tongue has ever known,
Like it is the only colour his eyes have ever seen.

Somedays, he steals stars from Gogh's starry night.
"A good lover is a good thief" he says.

I wonder probably the Italian man who stole Mona Lisa wanted to put some colour across his wife's cheeks
Or he just wanted to steal that smile.

Maybe his wife had left him
Or yellowed
Or died

Maybe his wife was a bad lover
And he, a good thief.

Maybe his wife was a good lover
And he, a bad thief
Who went gaga over Lisa.

What I want to say is,
This poem is standing on the fourth floor,
Of the same Parisian hotel,
With a suicide note in one hand
Smuged with oil and warm colours, And pistol in other.

This poem is the terrace of the tallest building of Paris.
This poem is Mona Lisa crying at 3am uncolouring herself while trying to forget French
And a thief trying to rob the colours and stars,
And a half asleep world smudged with oil and smoke

Which is to say,
This poem is a poor attempt to be everything,
But anything about you
Wondering what would be the first sentence of Mona Lisa if she ever walks out

Would it be,
"Where is Vinci?"
Or, "I wish
To run away?"