Ignite

She burned herself

In the quest of the unknown.

Someone called “him”

And hysteric conversations at odd hours

Of the night.
She screamed.

Exploded in tears and fresh sweat.

“I see him.”

She was comforted, by mother and father alike.

“But, there is nobody.”
She would know, 

By the ticking of the hour hand.

When it strikes 4 

And everyone is in a slumber deep.

He would make her scream.

Yet not letting her take his name.

She would call out,

“It’s him, it’s him.”

“Save me, it’s him.”

But his mention is silenced by the tear of her dress
And the blanket that lays slumped on the floor.

He leaves just as the hour hand strikes again.

And she knows it’s time.
When she would gather her gown lace,

Wrap it around her hands

And muffle her scream into a ball so made.

When she should sit in the blanket.
Too afraid to drag her naked, 

Scratched frame any further.

When she has to start accepting,

Yet another morning

That she ignited this war.

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Taking Back

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If someday, ever, we collide.

Cross each other’s path on a road wide.

I’ll look at you and smile,

Maybe you would too.

Even if out of sheer courtesy.

Maybe, we’ll try to break the ice,

We never could.

You’ll ask me out for coffee, or maybe not.

But, I’d rather believe that you would.

For old times,

For our time’s sake.

We’d walk in silence.

Just like the last leg of our relationship.

Finally reaching somewhere, anywhere,

We’d sit and talk.

About work, pets, life.

Which you and I already know.

4 years is a long time, dear.

The conversation would drag,

The onlookers would smile

At the two friends who are carelessly laughing.

Not a care in the world.

No matter how many hours we sit there,

Trying to escape the tension,

Hiding with smiles.

You’ll ask,

” Do you miss it?”

” If you want a day back from our time, what will it be.”

“Do you love someone now.”

And an array of questions,

Which, if I answered, would hurt you.

But, I will answer one of the questions, if you asked that.

” If you want a day back from our time, what will it be.”

I’d say, without a doubt,

Or a frown,

“I’d want the one, the day you left me,

And decided I wasn’t enough to make you stay.

I’d want to relive that day, just as it was.

No, I won’t stop you.

And just when you’re about to leave,

When you are about to bang that door,

Whose bang still wakes me up in the middle of the night.

I would tell you, everything that I’ve been wanting to say.

All these months, all these minutes.

I’d tell you, our four years, were beautiful.

And you made me cry, you made me yell, you made me smile.

And I’d bid you goodbye.

One that I never had.

With a chaste kiss,

But no promises to drop by.”

Stars and The Clouds

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I can go on and on about my love for stars.

Stars, that are rarely visible in Delhi. The night sky here is more like a kid trying to learn to tie knots and every time he tries to strengthen the last one he tied, he ends up tying another one in some distant corner on the thread.

It’s not strong, it’s not unified or a pretty pattern. Some even barely existent.

Some even barely existent.

But it forms something, something to cheer that little child up. One big accomplishment added to his face with a smile. I wonder if God gets all joyous and giddy when he creates another star in the night sky. But when he looks down if we are just as happy as he is, we are clueless. Because we don’t see anything. It’s all black and dim.

Can we not cover god’s art with a nasty polluted blanket?

We’ve all heard the “how people who die become stars” story. To some, it’s another one of grandma’s story which is too good to be believed. But then grandma knows the best, doesn’t she? I like to believe that version, it’s nice to put your faith into something rather than into nothing. And it’s calming and comforting that you haven’t really lost the ones you loved, they are wandering up above with some new found friends and are happy.

Filling Up

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The mind has piled up an endless array,

Of thoughts, beliefs, contemplations.

The heart refuses the notions,

Reversing the role, often in motion.

 

The mind, as wild.

Wanders in lands of fears and fights.

Opens the gates of grounds forgotten.

Jumps through the darkness, throttles.

 

The heart admonishes, screams perpetually,

Dreads the forthcoming penalties.

The battle grows beyond sunset,

Killing heartbeats and peace with every concept.

Hands now riddled with a red maze,

Solved only with battle’s decline.

 

But who’s giving up?

Ask the heart and the brain,

Realization daunted,

Filling up the carcass,

Mistaken for the living.

Cracks, Thorns, and Roses

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I asked the cracks on my forehead, graciously accompanying marks and bruises,

“Who did this to you?”

There’s no reply, it just spreads, cracks further down to the side of my eyes. My eyes begin to water but my will still holds┬ástrong for a reply.

The scar, as stubborn as the parent, stays tenacious and splits further down, then in an odd fashion, sideways, marking its territory.

I still stand strong, adamant on getting a reply.

The battle continues and eventually, I break.

Upon my surrender, the scar turns to me and whispers I deadly undertone,

“You did this to me, you. You gave me away to someone else. You thought it was okay to be scared in love, it was okay to be left writing and screeching with a torn heart and muscles, with a few pulled hair. Because you’re never too broken, there’s always a better morning, with lies and promises you’ll readily believe. But, look where your love brought us. A silent, standstill. Where you’re just a rose, hoping someone will overlook your thorns and accept you with the love you lost.

Well, nobody will do that, because as poetic as it sounds, it not what happens. You, YOU, pick out your thorns, you don’t let yourself crack. And before you fall in love with someone who spreads cracks in the floor, choose the underground and fall for yourself. Because darling, did everyone ever buy a rose with thorns?”

Yes, Again.

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Yes, he lied again.

And you know it’s not the first time.

Yes, console your heart, he truly is late coz he is caught up with work.

Even when his secretory confirmed he left office at 6.

And now, its 2

Yes, keep the food laid on the table.

Because, he will come home hungry.

And with savor the dishes you cooked.

Yes, keep the lights off,

Surprise him when he comes home to you.

Even when, he isn’t really coming home to you.

Yes, wait eagerly for him to kiss you.

Even when, he’ll pass out on the couch before he even has the chance to blink.

Yes, he will hold you against his chest.

Even when he smells of another woman.

Yes, he’ll make love to you.

Even when it’s just a customary 11 minute ritual, where he will say inaudible, incomprehensible sentences, only ending In her name.

Her name. not yours.

Yes, moan and pretend. even when it hurts like seven hells just descended down on you.

Yes, believe he’s still your man.

Even when he’s long, long gone.

 

Stay

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It will never be easy enough to let go of your memories. One shard, one tiny piece will always remain. In my heart, in my diaries, in poems, in my conscience. It will always, always feel like it was just yesterday when it all went wrong, I will always remember that one night where you just threw us away, because of just one simple misunderstanding. When has love, friendship, hatred ever been easy? If it were, all the prose and poetry would burn in the ashes and would probably be all about how Apocalypse will take us all away one day. But you never gave me a chance to make you see what you had assumed. You never let me jostle you and make you see the light, make you see that, no, I never wanted to burn you, I always wanted to keep you warm. Always.

It’s just as hard as that night, still. After, all the places I went with a different set of people, who never mentioned you. But I always missed you. Between jokes, between gossip, between everything. You see, you were my connect to the world I once loved. You were the reason I wanted to live in a world where selfishness overtook breathing for a priority.

I always try though, to not to talk about you, to not meet your eye, to not be in the same room as you. But how long do I resist my wanton need for you? Your skin, your touch, your smile, your cries, how can I not want them? How can I not wrap your sweater around my body in the hot May summer and cry relentlessly?

Come back, and stay. Even if it’s a goodbye 5 minutes later, but, stay. Please.