An Oblivious Day

This is a good day. A normal day. A content day. Also a very very insignificant day. No politician has died today. No major war or a tragedy to tag it with a name.

To be attached to a ritual..No demon was slayed or a god was crucified on this day. Neither I was born nor did she. And everyone in my family did fine I guess..no one has to mourn.

Pretty much no one will remember this day. Down in the history, this will be day written in water on glass. An oblivious day. A forgettable day. A day dreaded by everyone.

Gods, because they're not needed. Demons because they're forgotten. And humans, because of sheer boredom. They've to deal with their individual selves today.

This is a most insignificant day because on this day, time is truly dominant. It doesn't let anyone steal any souvenirs, any memories. It has just swept everything in the abyss of oblivion. A job well done. 

Heart Shaped Mistake

Maybe one day. In a far a away place. I will randomly see you. Like I see you daily in million other faces. This one time, fortunately, I suppose it will be really you.

Maybe you'll greet me as a familiar stranger. Like the fading traces on an old paper, you faintly recall my name. Or maybe you'll remember just more than that. 

I might fantasize for a while. Those strands of hair that run beside your brows. The eyes that knock down the shyness in mine. And the faint carve of your lips that bruise my senses.

And in that moment. While it lasts. While the nostalgia rushes cutting all the walls. While the sanity takes a back seat to believe what's infront of me is actually you.. 

A car would honk to invite me back to the actual reality. And I would realise again, about my heart shaped mistake of seeing you everywhere. 

Dream

Places and people

Are fused.

Twisted timelines,

Mixed up realities.

I punch someone

In the face to

Feel the same pain

In my gut.

Corner kick of 

Mine gets caught

By the goalkeeper

In me. 

The junkie I am

Is chased down

By the charade

Of a cop.

I drown in a 

Bucket of water.

But the coast-guards 

Fail to save.

I become a ghost

But no one is afraid. 

My fleeting soul too

Is a classic fail.

Einstein sentenced

Me to Auschwitz

For violating,

Newton's third law. 

The hangman 

Tightened the noose..

And I wake up in

My room. 

Rehab

The letters you had written. Black trails etched on light blue paper. I've stashed them in a box upstairs. Maybe they're dusted. Possibly decomposed. But they're there.

The greeting cards. Flowers that I've dried and preserved between the pages of diary. Your aroma as scars on my skin and your caress in my humility.

I have preserved your smile too. On a shabby sketch on the wall of my room. There's a photo hung around to poke me in the night. Then lot of bits and pieces in the cupboard.

Sometimes, altogether they simmer. Go top, bottom and sideways and take a toll at what's normal and mundane. I get elevated or go down in an abyss. But I don't complain.

My days are long stretched fights with you in my head. They start with you and end with you. I don't like it. But I'm addicted. And I write about it daily. My diary is a rehab centre I guess. At least that's what I believe. 

Freedom

Freedom is a bird

That hasn't seen

The sea.

From behind the

Cage it learnt

To sing instead.

Freedom is an animal

That hasn't seen

The wild.

From behind a fence

In the zoo, 

It made a kid laugh.

Freedom is my granny

Who hasn't been

Beyond the limits

Of a village.

From her own world,

The stories she told

Are best I've ever heard. 

The wings you flap

When you're fallen.

The dreams you 

Hold on even when

You're broken. 

Silence where words

Are not needed. 

The fight you put up

With bleeding gums

And broken wrists..

Freedom is not 

What you're or

Where are you from.

It's what you do

With what you've.

Laugh it out

I was down and

Dusted.

In a hundred feet

Deep trench.

Dark and gloom

With broken jaw

And a concocted

Head.

I was a miserable

Failure when I

Learnt to laugh.

And good god

I laughed my 

Way through.

Been battered,

Blown.

Thrown to wolves.

Been fed lies

And feasted on

My vulnerability.

But I fixed my face,

Straightens my hair.

Summoned all

Courage and

Laughed my way. 

I laughed till

I cracked my

Bones.

I laughed till my

Stomach gave up.

I laughed till my

Legs took me away 

From the abyss of

Past.

I laughed till

My hands faced

The pain in eyes. 

Now it's a habit.

Happy, sad, angry

Or just fine.

Arrogant, sorry,

Guilty or just

Lying around.

I laugh it out. 

I laugh it all out

To live.

I laugh it all away

To pick myself

To hold on.

I laugh it out

Even to move on. 

I've Found You

When I looked 

In the mirror

And looked in 

My own eyes.

Not far down 

From the best of 

Life's realizations.

Not far away from 

The best of my 

Experiences.

I've found you. 

..

At the stroke 

Of midnight.

When the roof

Of my room threw

My past on my face.

I held a faded pic

Between my guilt

And prayers. 

In the clutches of

My humiliations..

I've found you.

..

Down in a 

Dungeon when 

I was lost.

Demons pranced

Over my chest 

And I had to hold

On to something.

Often as a final 

Ray of hope.

I've found you.

..

From the ticks of

The wall clock to

Folds of my bed.

The late night

Rumbling in my 

Head to the 

Post nut clarity..

You're not really

Gone.

..

Like the rustle

Of dry leaves,

And the feable 

Ramble of my pen.

The steady kisses

Of the wind and

The ubiquitous

Strokes of emptiness..

I thought that love

Would last for ever..

But even in that 

Disappointment..

I've found you.

..

Age

Time creeps like

Weeds in my backyard.

For no good.

Eats lots of space.

Last year.

Yester year and

Even before that..

I breathed fine.

There was room 

For sighs and 

Extra gasps.

Now the age thumps

On my chest, like

An elephant made

Of responsibilities.

Making me lonely

And breathless.

Is choking innate

To adulthood?

Shoul I be carrying

A ventilator and

Incubator?

Or just marry to 

Make my copies

Because there's 

No hope on 

The adult me? 

Main Hoon Na

I know you've

Built walls.

Thick skin.

Sharp eyes.

Iron-clad heart.

The glances 

You hide.

The words you

Hesitantly

Give away..

Pics you refuse 

To send and

The songs you've

Stopped talking

About.

If ever, from,

Over your roof,

The moon falls

And gets you

Soaked in starlight.

The cosmic 

Loneliness creeps

To your bed and

You turn vulnerable..

If you just wanna 

Cry it all away and 

Be real for a night.

Don't hold back..

Call me.

I am there.

Russian roulette

 And when the bluebird rides your thoughts and there is no way out. You take your pen and paper and scribble everything down like you wanna bleed it all out. But It's just a trail of mental diarrhea on paper. Nothing redeeming.

Then the bluebird pokes, chokes, and churns you to find a way out. Hours, days, weeks at the cost of coffee; you just waste ink, mocking, the trees lie in front of you as paper.

From morning to evening. You hang to the shades of despair. Hoping for some Redemption, but it's all just buying time to bottle up more frustration, but the bluebird demands and you have to obey.

So you decide to play Russian roulette. You have to. You against the bird. You put in a bullet, roll the cylinder and hold it to your head. A pen in one hand and in the left, the gun, to keep you at the edge. 

Then the pen moves.. some winds...some stars. moon rain. Fuck. Same Loop, and there is nothing new. The other hand takes and clicks. It's a blank. Deep breathe.. The right one goes again.. scribble.. scribble.

The dark the light and insecure nights...Then. What? Wait, wait what. That's all the bluebird demands. Then another click. Fucking Deer Hunter flashbacks, and then the right-hand moves without even waiting for a gasp. 

The lonely. The only... then what? Christiana Perry to George Clooney? you fucker, don't bring clichés curses the bird. Before you ride another thought, it's over. But not really. Three down and still not a proper sentence?

Writer's block, writer's block, I feel like a stopped clock. Hahaha. Let me complete that for you says the left one.

 Writer's block, writer's block. If not, by claustrophobia. You shall be killed by... There... No word. Click. Game over.

Laid back

I imagine myself rolling from over a hill. Down over the slopes then to a flower laden valley. Just like a rhyme-less melody of a budding guitarist.

I imagine myself diving in the sea. Feel the cold and brush of the liberation. Everything washed away to come up clean.

I imagine myself living in a well. Walls collapsing, bringing upon me, all my fears. Then just flapping my wings to escape the demons.

I imagine myself in the sky like a kite. Wind at the helm and birds as companions. The clouds shower rains and thunderbolts applause. 

One of those days of June noons. When I'm confident enough catch moons. I imagine myself not doing anything and just watch the pouring rain.

Brought to life by my mom's chai. Thanking life for its vanities. I imagine myself, laid back, full of gratitude. Trying to find happiness in little things of life.