Life.

April 27, 2013 § 18 Comments

The words will never
come out of my mouth. I
assure you.
I’ve tried enough to make
you understand. You,
do NOT want to. I realise.

That’s how it ends then,
i guess. That’s how a life
form is killed and burnt
even before it can open its
eyes and look at the ugly
world, amazed.

They tell me to move on
with life. What life, again?

Dream-III.

March 28, 2013 § 7 Comments

In the moment when
my mind lingers between
reality and my inner world,
I think of you.

Of your heart beating against
mine, your naked shoulder
caressing my skin, my long
tresses leaving a trail of
desire on you.
Of my aching flesh.

I wake up and see your
face in the clock on the
wall. Each detail of your face
etched upon my subconscious.
You smile your cryptic smile,
the one I’ve been trying to
interpret for a month now.

I sit up and let you touch
me. Yes, at places I didn’t
know existed inside of me.
At places long forgotten.
Our bed seems infinite,
spreading past the window
and we’re covered in moonlight.

You lean into me, foreheads
pressed together. Holding my
gaze, you run your fingers
and play me like a guitar.
I grasp at your hair and you
sink into my flesh.
And then, disappear.

In the moment when
my mind lingers between
reality and my inner world,
I think of you.

I wish the dream never ended.

Dream.

Dream – II.

If.

March 23, 2013 § 11 Comments

If I give up, things will come right,
so they say.
If I tell you that I have given up on you.
If in response you rush joyfully into the distance.
If I turn my head to hide my tears.

If I walk away, quietly.
If I walk long enough, to a far distant place.
If it doesn’t work and I find I am truly alone.
If I relinquish my ego to the heavens
but they return it back to me.
If the heavens decide I need it in order to do my work.

If I ask ‘Where is the way?’ and look
among the houses to find a Teacher
who’d help me find Way.

If it doesn’t work and the teacher is already
gone to find his own path.
If he only left me a book and it doesn’t
contain the way to the Way.

If it turns out that this is the Way
and I am already on it.
If the Way leads me to a thousand different
houses, and each house has a piece of puzzle.

If once I find a piece, I must move to another house.
If some of the people from the houses follow me.
If I become a teacher, incomplete as I am.
If letting people call me a teacher is a shameful piece of egotism.
If I am always a student, deep down.

If only all the pieces were in one house, I could
sit and build that house
and invite everyone over.
If I built the house anyway, everyone can
bring their pieces.

If I’m not strong enough to build the house, I
can build a room of my own.
If everyone comes and adds to it,
it’d turn into a b’ful room.
If that house is like the house of Wikipedia.

If there are still pieces missing we can make them
ourselves, or just enjoy the puzzle.
If it doesn’t work and the puzzle has an enormous hole in it.
If I get scared and unsure looking at what’ve we done.

If I go back to the road and the search,
away from the people and the hole-d house.

If you would walk beside me, it might be nicer.
If you would walk beside me, each of us might be less lonely.
If you’ve got some of the puzzle pieces, even better.
If you’d give me your pieces, there might be no hole in the house.
If you are walking beside me now, but my ego is blocking my senses.
If you’re talking to me now, and I’m too deaf to hear you.
If you’re looking at me, but I am blinded.
If you’re holding out the pieces, and I don’t take them.
If you want to swap them, for something even more precious I am holding on to.

If you know you are the one, do not knock at my door, just come on in.
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Photo credits : A Pensive Polaroid.

On Relationships.

March 15, 2013 § 8 Comments

Humans, in their love relationships, are like porcupines out on a cold winter night. In order to keep from freezing the animals huddle close together. But as soon as they are near enough to provide critical warmth, they get poked by each other’s quills. Reflexively, to stop the pain and irritation of too much closeness, the porcupines separate. But once they separate, they become cold again. The chill sends them back toward each other once more, only to be impaled all over again by each other’s quills. So they retreat again. And then approach again. Endlessly.

And the cycle repeats, as they struggle to find a comfortable distance between entanglement and freezing.

 

~Deborah Luepnitz, from the book Schopenhauer’s Porcupines.

Memories.

December 12, 2012 § 14 Comments

The letter she would write to him
The happy memories they were to create
The curtains she was to choose for their room
The wines they were to collect
The crystal bowls she was to love
The Bayern posters he was to adore
The saree she was to wear for their engagement
The quotes of marriage they were to laugh over
The unconditional love she was to recieve from his parents
The old, old dictionary his paa was to gift her
The home they were to build together.

In minutes it was gone.
Burnt to ashes by the fire they set on it.

Do you still see the memories we
have to make, when you look into my eyes?

Fire.

November 13, 2012 § 34 Comments

The fire that i start
is the one i let kill me.
I inhale its toxicity
because its mine and
mine alone.

It consummates me
and burns me organ by
organ. You, stand right
there watchin’ me,
muted. Afraid to speak
or weak hearted.
I will never know.

You know where my heart
burns, and i know where
your thoughts are
sinking.

That should be enough.

Death: Haiku.

November 9, 2012 § 31 Comments

When death comes knocking at
your door, tell her to wait for
a moment and call me.

 

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