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Khaab Jun 2023
I listen to these songs
one after the other
playing on my playlist
But each of these songs
hold tags of memories
The memories I live everyday through them
Well, there is a memory of a boy
Not a man
whom I liked
Not loved
And that one song looks like him
The song I played
As I passed through those corridors
to get a glimpse of him
But here I am humming ' Heather '
As I see his girl
laughing by his side
I never imagined myself at 'her' place
But he looked beautiful from a distance
It gave that restless heart a kiss
It felt good...
So now I don't look at the boy I liked
But his lover
What 'she' wears
How 'she' talks
Her demeanor, that attracted him
I am not jealous
But 'she' makes me curious
And I feel like learning about 'her'
Turns out, Khaab was better than her
But still not in 'her' place...
I can't get jealous
I never had that right
Because I liked him
from a distance
He is not my moon
But he looked charming
'She' loves him
And sees his flaws
They love each other everyday...
And that can not be me
As loving is tiring
I do not love everyday
But I do hate this flesh everyday
How could I be 'her'?
When I don't love myself

And I get back to those songs
Where I feel like the protagonist
The unloved one
The one, some call ' The villain'.
"But I watch your eyes as she
Walks by
What a sight for sore eyes
Brighter than the blue sky
She's got you mesmerized while I die..."
- Heather ( Conan Gray)

How are you all doing?
Khaab Aug 2020
that house felt like home...
They didn't want to leave the old couple alone.
She visited that place since chilhood. But that day, I remember her standing there looking at the house that had become home. They all came back with memories but now it was time to say a goodbye.
Àŧùl Nov 2016
I am gonna live forever through my poetry and my story even if I perish to the suspected brain tumour from the internal injuries in my brain that still persist as massive blood clots, tinnitus, vertigo and hence a probable tumour.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/aw/B00MYY0DMA
http://hellopoetry.com/Atul/poems/popular
Not a poem.
hushhush Oct 2013
Someone has made my bed differently today,
For the covers are brown and rough,
I can't be certain who it was
that tucked it in so tightly at the sides,
(I always hated that...)
So constricting;
I cannot move.
Such discomfort.
It's almost as if I am trapped in some form of elaborate prison.

I really cannot bear this cover;
For it hardly keeps me warm at all.
So cold, so scratchy,
I feel frozen so that I cannot stir,
My skin, like ice.

And yet...
I rest so peacefully.
Lyingunder.

— The End —