And whenever my heart should in agony pine
and need to explain incessant craving of thine
love- I turn to find you in the master of soul
Neruda- your letters bind the broken heart whole.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
There are some days when you wake up and find the world upside down. You shake your head and it’s like a hundred weights have somehow lodged themselves within the confines of it. You stretch your hands and they feel crooked and look crooked. You try to feel your fingers but all you come across is numbness.
You lift a foot and gingerly place it on the floor. That is when the pain sears through.
It ripples up through your legs, sears through your stomach and lodges itself heavily in the middle of the chest. You move, but it feels like you’re stuck in space, frozen vacuum outside and resounding silence within. You try to clear your head, gather your thoughts, but all you remember is pain. And hurt. Did they never leave you then? You can’t say. You run your fingers through your hair. It feels like running your hand through cobwebs. And yet that can’t be true. Wasn’t it just yesterday that joy was yours? When that moment of pristine happiness took you to heights of ecstasy. That moment of exhilaration that made your heart cry out in joy. That moment when the world was yours and every other trouble was a trivial speck of dirt that you could only just see like tiny little black ants marching away. That resounding silence within you that signaled not the tide of hair-clutching despair but flying-in-the-wind laughter. Flying on your joys, on mirth, on togetherness, on the silence of demons, on the dance of the angels, on the song on God. That rush of wind that didn’t take away the last stream of joy from you but brought with it the whiff of chocolate and family and love and everything else you cherished so much. Those heartbeats that didn’t point to the hourglass tipped on its side, the glass broken and the sand slowly all running out quietly yet determinedly, but pointing at that fresh little sapling that had looked up expectantly from the earth, like that bud of hope that sometimes peeps up through disheveled layers of agony. Yesterday you could feel yourself. Feel the blood pumping through your veins, hear your heart proclaiming in loud thumps your life, see the world smiling back at you through your soul, taste the sweetness of the rain that seemed to share your glee. And yet today you look at the mirror, and see someone staring back at you. With lifeless eyes, deaf ears, tasteless tongue, an unfeeling heart. The gut wrenching, stony silence that only the labyrinth of pain has to offer.
Some days when you wake up, you find the world upside down.
What am I?
You’re the blush that winter brings and the gleam of summer rays. You’re the curve of a smile, the blink of kohl lined eyes. You’re the grace of ballet and the swish of the robe. You’re the heat of passion and the tingling cold. You’re an electric zing, you’re caressing silk, you’re butterfly wings on creamy skin. You’re hot chocolate on a wintry morn, you’re ice cubes pulled across my arm.
You’re the strange melody that plays on loop and fills my head with radiant dreams. You’re the twinkle fairy’s easy charm, my pied piper of Hamelin. You’re tingling laughter and searing light and piano keys that musically glide. You’re the snug sweater, binding bandage holding together rattling insides.
You’re the cocaine of the poetry of heartbeats. Your soft sigh is my high.
Your zig-zag hair, your criss-cross ways, your blink-back tears, your in-out dimples, your shush-shush words? You’re exhilarating.
Me, apparently! 😀
So, here’s the mandatory (though not regretted) speech. Thank you, for having given this month old assortment of poetry, fiction and miscellaneous thoughts an award. This comes to me from Anoop, who writes TRANQUIL, yet Alive ( http://anooppillaiz.wordpress.com/ ). I stumbled across his blog just a few days ago, and follow because I find it entertaining, Indian in its roots and honest in tone. Way to go, Anoop!
(And er, thanks for the follow back ((though that totally wasn’t what I was aiming for, of course :P)))
This is how the award works:
- Thank the Liebster Award presenter who nominated you and link back to his or her blog.
- Post 11 facts about yourself, answer the 11 questions you were asked and create 11 questions for your nominees.
- Nominate small (no more than 200 followers) blogs who you feel deserve to be noticed and leave a comment on their blog letting them know that they have been chosen.
- Display the Liebster Award logo.
- No tag-backs, meaning you can’t just re-nominate the person who nominated you.
The speech of gratitude done, I now have to go through the
pointless humiliating illuminating exercise of telling you 11 things (Why 11 though? Why can it not be 12 or 13?) about myself:
1. I started blogging only because my best friend/soulmate kept nagging me. I have always wanted to blog, but then, I have always been lazy as well. I like it though, and it gives me the drive to keep writing. Thank you soulmate! (Stop gloating.)
2. There are only three things I’d really like doing in life: Eat, Sleep and Read.
3. I go to university. Some day, I’d like to take up teaching or become a writer or win the lottery and become a millionaire- whichever happens first.
4. Lizards and cockroaches scare me, though I leave no stone unturned in telling people that they are harmless and one must care for them. So do strays. Come to think of it, so do hens strutting about.
5. I like posing trick questions. For eg., Do you think I talk a lot? This way, I get to make you feel bad whichever way you respond.
6. I write poetry. I’d like to get published, some day.
7. I am an ardent fan of people with humour and sarcasm. That is why I love House M.D (The show
rocks kicks ass)
8. I am waiting for the day I wake up and find my head crammed with storylines for the hundred novels I am going to publish (Wish away..)
cannot tolerate hate am learning how to cook, and hope I will some day achieve mastery over it.
10. Harry Potter is my childhood, present and future.
11. I am extremely impatient. Which makes me wonder how I got through writing all this. Fame gets to people’s heads I guess *sniff*
Now for the questions Anoop has for me:
1. Are you addicted to something? If yes, What? (other than alcohol, cigars and drugs)
Books. Will somebody pay me for reading please? PLEASE? My favourite authors are Wodehouse and Archer. I read all sorts of fiction. Day and night.
2. What does money mean to you? Why? (No one liners please)
Money means I have a future where I can do what I please and follow my dreams uninhibitedly. Money means my parents don’t have to work. Money means lesser worry and it is extremely important to me.
Money means I can tour Europe and meet the Harry Potter cast!
3. What is your passion? What do you like to do the most apart from eating and sleeping?
READING. Does that count as a passion? But it is! I thrive on books.
4. What quality of your best friend/friends do you admire?
She is patient, resilient and sturdy. She puts up with my tantrums. She cooks amazingly well? 😛
5. Have you ever felt guilty for doing something in life, that keeps troubling you even now?
No. I feel momentary lapses of guilt when I lie, but I’m a good advocate for myself and end up placating my conscience 😀
6. What is that one good thing that you can proudly say to anyone about yourself, I mean a lesson from your life that people can learn?
I followed my heart and took up literature in uni, though I took science in school. This raised eyebrows, but I stuck to what I wanted. I’m editing this post once I climb Everest though.
7. Have you ever been in a relationship with someone? If yes What did you learn/admire / hate about being in a relationship ?
Geez, this is personal man!
Who am I kidding, no. Unless we’re counting crushes and flirting.
8. Whom do you admire the most in your family? (Doesn’t need to be your parents or siblings, can be cousins or anyone in the family)
My brother. I look up to him because he stands up for what he believes in. He is awesome. And he doesn’t read this blog, so I can safely say all this and he can’t chide me. HA!
9.What kind of person are you? (Funny/humorous/serious/shy…….)
I’m okay. A combination.
10. If you were given a chance to go out on a dinner with, Who would that lucky one be?
11. Which is your favorite post from your blog? If I would insist that you pick one out of the lot, Which one would that be?
A poem I wrote, “Pray Tell Me“.
Now comes the awkward part! I need to nominate blogs that are “small”, but I only know
two a few. Well, here go the deserving ones:
2. http://nazishnawab.wordpress.com/ ( She has more than 200 followers, but follow her anyway! )
These guys are great! Go follow.
PS: Too lazy to make up new questions. Answer the same ones?
As she threw back her head and laughed, she saw him. Her laughter caught in her throat, she froze. He stood slouched against the wall. He was hardly heart-stoppingly handsome- broad forehead, a mop of curly hair, close-set eyes, and lips that sloped up on one side when he smiled. However, it wasn’t his face but his demeanor that caught her attention. He just stood there, with his hands in his pockets, nodding in that way of his. He looked up suddenly, and their eyes met. An electric zing passed through her from head to toe. She wanted to tear herself away from his unfaltering gaze, but like the moon that resolvedly keeps revolving around the earth, held on. Did he feel that jolt too? She tried to fathom from his expression, but only met his deep blue eyes, eyes that seemingly gave nothing away. How she wished she could read them at the moment. The boy held her gaze. He looked supremely uninterested, but then, he still held her gaze. Was he intrigued? She wanted to know very much. He looked cool and calculating. She suddenly felt very self conscious. What was she wearing, she tried to remember. She couldn’t risk looking down and breaking eye-contact. After what seemed like an eternity, the boy looked away. The girl looked away too. There was chaos around her and resounding silence within. The thumping of her heart could clearly be heard in the din, and if she thought people could hear it, she didn’t care. Everything looked hazy, and if there was one point that had definite form in the place, it was where he stood. He was a focal point now, and everything around him seemed overshadowed by his sheer brilliance. She shook her head, trying to clear away the myriad of emotions that had suddenly sprung up, but to no avail. She gulped. No, do not look at him again, her conscience told her. She looked at him anyway. It was then that she saw it. The smile that took her breath away. Their eyes met again. Before she knew it, her feet had carried her towards him, and there she stood before him, blushing and furiously trying to hide it.
A few gazillion feet above them, Cupid ticked off yet another name on his list. Sighing contentedly, he glided away, his golden bow glimmering against the radiant sky.
I remember when I first came home, I smelt fresh paint all around. There was a big wooden bed with a beautiful headboard. And the baby! Gurgling, giggling and gleefully babbling away in that tongue that only other diaper-clad members of her race could understand. I could fit the whole of her in me!
She grew up into a young girl as I grew old and shriveled. She would hug me close and pour out her troubles and I would comfort her the best I could, soaking in her tears and holding her tight. I was perhaps the last she sought before she turned in and I looked at her all night while she dreamt, her face a picture of calm and excitement, laughter and sorrow, reflecting her dreams. I would carefully collect her graceful brown locks and gave them up only when she insisted.
She got a job.
She met someone.
They made love all night, and I felt perverted. Though I was embarrassed, it was always me she chose to sleep with last, and not him. There was some smug satisfaction in that.
Suddenly, she left.
I was all alone for nearly a year. The cobwebs were my sky and all I saw was the dust grow on the bed and the mites multiply. I grew older and more shriveled by the day- my time was near. I had but one last wish.
Then one day, just as she left, she returned. A blast of sunlight and chirpy talking woke me up. She was not alone. He was with her. And there was someone else too.
A baby girl.
I looked into her eyes and saw my girl in them, the girl I had loved deeply all these years, the girl who had grown up to be beautiful and elegant and now had her own baby.
My girl and her baby together, one a replica of the other was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes.
A pillow’s life comes to an end.
A chill creeps up. I shudder. I sweat
as unseen horrors from beneath the bed-
They clamber on and run a long nail
down my shivering back, I can only wail
And masked men, with hair all over
stand over my naked torso
They close around me, I can’t breathe
I’m helpless though my insides seethe
And yet another where a mob of rats
Teeth gnashing and smelling putridly
of vomit and drains and everything vile
Gather by the thousands, air’s thick with bile
And chained am I to a wall of thorns when
Come horrors and rapists and gory rats
I pray for the blessed release
That only the drug of waking can lease.