How much of sadness is it possible to contain?

I ask myself and ask again, while it keeps filling within.

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.

When you are alone in a sea of million
And crave just one voice -- to hear your silence and soothe you --
A voice you have never heard before...
A shoulder you have never picked for support
But now you need, and want, and wish for.
A real in between fakes
An important in between frails
A tree, a pillow, a benevolent rain
A human you love but have never known afore.

He was writing me.

And then he decided
that he doesn't want to write me anymore.

So there I was left, hanging;
a rope tightened around my neck: forever choking,
and my feet dangling from the ceiling.

I didn't know what to do because I had no ending.

I don't get it, I don't get it, I don't get it.
I don't get you.
I don't get you, I don't get you, I don't get you.
Will writing this ease it?
I think not.
How else am I to wrap this
if not in words. they hide, they hide, they hide
they give
but I don't get this
not now, no more
no more.

I don't want to become a mess
like my mom
but that's probably
what I'm becoming
and I'm so, so scared
and I'm crying, right now
and I am alone, and I am torn
and I am alone and I am alone
and I am alone
alone.

Won't I tell you that I think of you still,
that your thought became a part of me before it was a memory
and I still, very much, live in that hollow space that is not a void
but isn't anything else either.

it would
come
falling
       like  
             this.

I hope I know when you die
because how else am I going to lose hope then
how else am I going to know for sure,
that there is no more chance. No more nothing anymore..

I know it's a loser thing to be so occupied with an absentee, but does heart listen?
I know I will only forever lose hope when there is no more me or you.

You are mine,
and that is the greatest lie
I have ever told myself.

hell. you are everywhere, every single where
i hate this so much.
you are everywhere and i hate this.
i hate you. at least i hope i do. i miss you though i never want to.

i could shut them conversations but how do i end those dreams?

if you didn't come to come why did you even come? why don't you leave
now that you're here to leave?

how am i supposed to cope with it every single freaking day?
and what about people who don't let me freely say.

i hate crippling like that and i know i don't want to die so
i know it will be okay but i don't want to take it anymore.

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

I miss you
What do I do?
How do I stop myself from trying to scratch away your feeling from my skin
Your breath from my bones

How do I feel normal again?

I miss you a little more each day
and a lot more every night
I think it has seeped into blood like a habit—
this love that only meant doom,
this dark gutter of glitter—and habits die hard.

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*?!

If God takes away all your pain,
how will you write your poems?

You haunt me.
You sure as hell haunt me.
I look back and only see fragments of broken glass
Memories reflecting from them, refracting
Rays here and there, already everywhere
My eyes are blinding
My feet are already covered in blood
I thought I had come a long way but
It seems like I am standing at the same spot after all
These shards won't leave
These rays won't stop touching
You won't go
You just don't go

I write to the poems we said and liked. The moments we shared and cherished. The nights and days, the constant staying in-touch.

This I write to the wait, anticipation, horror of not finding you again.

This I write to the pain of distances.

I am writing to the places we couldn’t visit, words we couldn’t utter ever. There is no tomorrow for us because we wasted while we had it. We had everything but perhaps we never found it worth fighting for.

In the name of lies and fooling. This I write not to the barren years but to the long moments between each minute. To the burden of the reality, to the burden of our fantasies.

I write to put a full stop. I write to mark “The End” which I kept hoping won’t come. I write to restart.

It was you. It always was you.
In all my poems, all my yearnings
Every dream, every cry-rising-at-two-in-the-night
You were my weakness.
A negative impact.

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

I don't know what to do with myself
I am so tired
but your thought runs like a drug in my
veins and I cannot stop
thinking, missing, wanting.
I yearn for another "hello", or just one
good
goodbye...

Two months and a week,
and you said you cared.

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

I fear a monster
which comes out
only when I am most
vulnerable..
It screams in my ear
and bites at my flesh.
It makes me cry
like a baby, and it just
loves that.

Today I realized
that I am the monster.

Today I plan to **** it.

I missed you
so much
but it wasn't enough
It wasn't enough to bring you back
To help me heal
To let me forget.

It wasn't enough but I missed you
A little too much.

I can't handle this insanity
I can't stop thinking of you either
I don't know where to go, what to do, and how
All I want is peace...
                 and you are my peace!

You were in a different realm, a most spectacular dream
I couldn't touch, could only see
could only worship the glimpse I was given which had set my life on fire
- could only love from a distance and I did -
better than anyone would ever want you, I wanted.

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.

Once
you
write
something
and the impact
it has
on your life
lasts forever.

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.

Stay forever
Or go away.

I miss you.
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

I
miss you.



I   miss   you.

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?

Writing a poem can be so difficult at times.
You know what you want to say, you know it's piling up inside you.
And yet you can't.

You just cannot put it--the pain into poetry
because your words which could once come out
swiftly
form some kind of a froth, disabling you
from spitting a verse even.
What's worse
your throat chokes with the hurt,
and your body aches too
only God knows why.

Maybe, I think,
keeping secrets like those of love
and leaving things unsaid for an undetermined time,
--perhaps forever--
is the most dangerous form of torture;
self-inflicted and helplessly nurtured.

I read a poem to the moon last night.

It said, I am taking it.

And it did.

So now the moon has my poetry and I have its loneliness.

Sometimes I wonder if you are actually just a text message away

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
***.

These past few years I have seen and learned 'letting go' in a lot of forms:
In the deafening roar of a train leaving your lonely figure past, past, past...
a father on his bed taking last, tortured breaths
or friends you used to meet everyday but are no longer there when you're crying your nights away
and grudges, leaving them only so you'd feel lighter, if not fuller, again
letting go of a lot of things except
you. Your memory doesn't leave.

i was a blooming flower - even you made fun of my naivety
questioning it, as if you didn't know i wasn't making it up
that i really was confused, that you were my first,
and it felt like a leap of faith that i took for you
and fell headfirst.
today i am a wilting one, my colors bland and muting
lifelessly, i pick myself up only to fall again
i can't find enough strength in me to make myself whole again
and you are nowhere in sight, and still here, not leaving my side
for worst.

Don't look back.
There's just fire there.
Protect your heart from that warmth because you cannot just melt away into nothing now.
Not again.

they tell me repeatedly
we only help the wound grow
by licking it again and again

it doesn't heal like that

they also tell me I must accept
what I feel about you
and then forgive you!

it makes things better, they say

what they don't explain, however,
is why I haven't got another option?
and how long am I supposed to wait eitherway
when I have already tried everything?

am I supposed to wait even?

How am I coping with it? But I’m not coping with it! I’m only… living with it. Day after day after day..?

What gives me most pain? The messages. Going through them. Asking myself what happened there. I don’t understand

What gives you relief? Time. I like when it passes.

What else do you like? I like being busy. I like drawing in my book. I like Sufi music. I like.. *forgetting!

And all of a sudden I don't want to talk to him anymore.
It frightens me because  I am too little and I am sinking
and
the sea is so deep.

Somedays we are all the same: silent spectators of our own lost states.
Missing the exact pieces we were supposed to let go off, long ago!
Trying again, and then not trying, and trying again to reach at least somewhere.

Trying again and then not trying.
Somewhere, perhaps someday.

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

Keel over
Ache for me
Make up for what
I went through
Naff off, get off, then
Ask after me.