M for Murder

The only sadist cold-hearted murderers are memories. 

No weapons, no hurtful words,

They just transport you into the past

And leave you to re-live till death. (And Repeat)

Love's Moment Lost

The pain I thought I felt
Is now an indistinct memory,
For you tend to get used to feeling things.

The fantasies too, now, seem blaringly true
Having shed all their beguiling charm.
Although I have no heart left to offer you to break anymore,

I lie no more
Bout you and me.

About you, to myself, I lie no more.

Nightmare

...you wake up in a dream, I wander through the streets of memories once lived.
'do you hear me? I am talking to you'
craving to make the same mistakes, same crimes
over and over;
and
over and over.

I must write.
Must breathe.
I must suck the lifeless throbbing joy out of their veins.
*sigh*
I must, like the growing, brandishing corporate deity,
grip them with a disarming smile and make myself inevitable.
I must, like Macbeth's valentine, absolve my hands of the blood
which reeks of the transgressions I chose to so conveniently forget.
I must cry, and squirm, and cry some more-
"Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!"
A whimper of the bang that wasn't.

You wake up, this time in a real dream.

p.s.: shared with Thursday Poets Rally Week 40

Apology

Any relationship-quack would tell you that the main problem in the modern relationships is that  people are concerned more about what they get out of the relationship than caring about the other person’s need. So this note is a confession stating all the things I, should have, but didn't do.

• I am sorry I was(however occasional) the band-aid on your wounds and never the gyrating Zandu Balm for your pain.
• I am sorry I refused to be badnaam for you. Although I tried to be a an item, bomb and even an atom bomb, once in a while, I sincerely believe Munni does it much better.
• I am sorry that I could not pull off the pious-Sita-meets-the-seductive-Shiela act too well.
• I am sorry that I could never enter your heart through your stomach. The cooking lessons came a bit too late and getting a Subway made wasn't your idea of cooking.
  
• I am sorry I was not much of a Juliet and decided to give death a pass even at the prospect of separation.
• I am sorry I could not teach you chemistry in a hot, flowing in the wind-blowing-from-god-knows-where saree like a certain teacher you so fancy. You wanted lessons in how-not-be-a-jerk and I thought it too impossible a task.
• I am sorry I couldn't get the message when you said 'tere mast mast do nain'. It only occurred to me later that you meant you couldn't take me seeing through the intentions of your heart.
• I am sorry I couldn't be a good K-serial-esque waterfall-eyed loyalist and decided not to fight the tears that wouldn't come after exhausting the nth tissue box.
• I am sorry I was I.
  

This Post has been Published as a part of

And the prize goes to...

There are times when I feel exceedingly grateful for being born in an age where communication is the way it is. The miscommunications, the non-communications, and the missed-communication have their silver linings too.

Although, at times I want to bleed words in a hope that someone/something would notice and take the pains to just take a moment and just try. The result, might most often be failure but at least the I deserved the time and the effort. And then, there are times when something inside me refuses to bare it all, refuses to be a like a goldfish trapped in a glass-bowl without any hope for an escape or even a compensatory privacy. If I can't have the right to be understood, I should at least have the freedom for absolute privacy. There can be nothing more humiliating than being a thing of display but a subject of indifference.

In the few secretive moments of wishful clairvoyance, I see myself standing farther than the sound, the light, the tough, the smell I want myself to be engulfed in right now and I am thankful for the content smile that escapes the lips wet my the dripping tears of an overnight chore.


 It is for the likes of the following that I know that this year (2010) and life in general has been kind to me:

'You know why I like you coz you are you. coz you aren't the average simple girl.coz you are complex and that speaks to me dozens than your one simple smile. I like the way of putting yourself, the  simplicity of your being. The way you have a great style and the mindlessness and random gibberish you talk and think. It is not about whether your thoughts are high or not but has get depth. I like you coz you are you. It's not that complex you know...loving you, I mean.'

p.s: 1) thanx PGB 
2) I am aware that the week-long challenge has failed, owing to some technical difficulties. I am off desserts since yesterday.12 more days to go. T_T

Elsewhere

(week-long challenge day-3)

Elsewhere, I'd have hummed a new picture
Lest I fall pray to a callous consternation
Slip my fingers into the ripples there...
Elsewhere, I'd not have fallen to reach to myself 
Was it she who teared so like me,lost like me?
Having given in to the disorganized Now,
Elsewhere, I'd have chuckled away a few naive moments
Right under the purple glazed sky,
Elsewhere, I'd have lived to die again another time.



p.s: 1) the words from the word-list have been italicized.
2) I know it seems like only 4 out of 5 required words have been used, then again see the 5th one on the list.

elsewhere

You are not You

The delectable words,
The smothering eyes,
The precarious memories,
The smokey touch,
The scars of pain,
The  playful fingers,
The smacks of taste.

...When I see you safe in the frame by my bed.


The fiery words,
The stone cold eyes,
The forgotten memories,
The lost touch,
The unfeeling skin,
The tired fingers,
The spiteful tongue.

... when I see you lying besides me, lost in a private ethereal world.


Should I just stare and love you  both?
Or
Should I pick up my choice with shaking hands and walk...

Memory Keeper

I stare into the eyes in the ripples of water

There is someone I know talking a stroll.

Let the ripples be, let the time crawl

'Mirror mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all?'

A thought might strike me and pass,

I let you be , I let you go , I let you move from now to past.

If I were to cherish every moment of my life. It would have become a history textbook and, quite frankly, historical compositions aren't always the most interesting reads one comes across.

What I cherish most is my forgetfulness, my laziness to capture every moment into a more concrete form, my indifference to to the fact that my life, as I see it, might one day be as gone as I would be.

Yet i also cherish the moments You remind me of,in one those moods of yours. I cherish the 'stories' almost unaware that I have once lived them myself.

i cherish you as my memory keeper and I wish it to be so till I am capable of creating them.

What goes around comes around

On a Monday, I sleep through a long class.

On a Tuesday, I walk bare-feet on the grass.

On a Wednesday, I dance to a funny tune.

On a Thursday, I wish it won’t be a hot June.

On a Friday, I am a loner in the buzz

On a Saturday, I spit forth some cuss’

On a Sunday, I got the big ol’ rewind button on.

On the Monday next, I take copious notes.

On the Tuesday next, I put on some new shoes.

On the Wednesday next, I sit down still for hours.

On the Thursday next, I am gorging down ice-cream bars.

On the Friday next, I put on my party dress on.

On the Saturday next I hum a sweet sweet song.

On the Sunday next, it’s same rewind button on.

Quietly the sugar crystals fall in the hour-glass of my life

The lines on my palm = The threads of a web

The footsteps I leave behind = The make-up on a B-grade movie's C-grade heroine

The pillow on my bed = The absence of your presence

The cello-taped routine = container of  my chaotic life

The book lying by me = The world I escaped to last night

The phone-call I never made= The moment I want but can't realize

The posts that come out so often= The typed word that my thoughts so easily garb

The anklet I suddenly feel like wearing = The rhythm I want to bring back to your life

The blue that tints my toe nails = The hue that keeps me from you

The seconds I hear ticking = The dripping tears I can feel no more

shared with poets rally week 43 

A long roller coaster ride.

Yesterday's been a very long day- a 3 year long day to be precise.

A relationship lived out in the recollection of the temporal. The past is no longer there, the present never remains and the future is not yet. What did i live through then? memories, facts, somethings imagined, somethings felt, somethings forced to feel, something that i thought i should feel? Whatever be the case, i felt like i was in a constant roller coaster ride(a scary one at that; and trust me these things don't scare me that easily!). The feeling was so darn physical, at one point i thought i was having a heart attack(ha!)!!

i wanted to cry, laugh, sing(in solitude with ill-gotten lyrics) , dance, indulge myself with a great tub of ice cream(couldn't decide on the flavour though), wanted to sulk, be pampered, be pulled out of this terribly gripping ride i was going through. but what did i do? i gave a (uber fucked up) exam, skipped meals (coz the walk to the mess seemed too long), watched three movies back to back, painted my toe nails over and over again to keep my mind from exploding and still at the end of the day managed to change a friendship that has been for all these years so different from the dozen-a-dime relationships we encounter on a daily basis.

i've got no clue how to fix it. no clue if i can , at all. no clue what my next step would be.

The only thing that I am aware of at this point of time is that the "ride" continues- and i've gotten so used to this feeling of weightlessness with a heavy heart to hold on to that i don't know if i want to get off this ride at all.

Words : a collage

boundaries, limits, grades

restrictions, moralities, fakes.

encounters, notions, views

witness, gossip, news.

logic, reason, sham

screw, fuck,damn.