Friday, 18 November 2011

Those that can smile with a broken heart

17.11.11


I just realized I won't ever be able to write to you using my fountain pen...you would then know that the valley of flowers I have described in my letter has a river flowing through it and that river is full of salty water. You would see the mist clouding my happy sunshine falling through the window while I write to you in winter afternoons. In fact I think I would have to resort to writing mails to you again...typing doesn't capture the tremble in the fingers while writing a white lie.
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I write the way people pray to alleviate pain. 
In prayers there is an unknown god...there still is a disbelief lurking that your prayers may not be heard...he might not answer you insignificant pleas for a relief...a narcotic, maybe.

The pen, doesn't discriminate...it heals as it fills up pages...words stuck in your brain tumble out and you start to breathe a little easier. 

And then I thank God that I can write. Ahh the irony of it!
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And you question fate and you question faith.
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Ahh...me...never bother, I'll just be fine.
I still have my pen with me. 
I'll write till it stops hurting...in the end it always does.
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Those that can smile with a broken heart are the ones who know how to plant white lilies in the fault lines that have formed
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Loved and lost. Cycle is complete.
Are you happy now?
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You left me stuck in a living hell.
Who is gonna bail me out?
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And I practice for days on end, mentally stressing on the words, 
'I hate you' 
while knowing very well that when we meet, I'll simply look at those eyes then the only words able to stumble out will be
'Hate you, I?'
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Falling in love...
:) :) :)
yet again...still it feels like first love...

I can't still believe how I hadn't heard this music before, how could I...I mean how could I.
I had a wallpaper of Kurt Cobain way back in 2004 but that was because he was incredibly handsome and there was something very very beautiful about the pic I had got from a colleague's desktop. 

I see him strumming and smiling and singing effortlessly, his eyes...oh his eyes...that pain that creeps up at times...and that smile...ahh...

O my my...I am in love with Kurt :)


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Ahh...the tyrannies of love!
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When someone is able to hurt you. Real bad. That is the time you would taste real fear. Because that is the time you know deep in your heart. That person has a great control over you. And you have none over yourself. 
Sigh!
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Aquellos ojos verdes

The memory of that day has started to blur around the edges. There are some fuzzy characters, a little soundwave that echoes of the walls of memory. A peeled wallpaper here, a coffee machine token there. Air is still dense with cigarette smoke seen through burning, red eyes. The day passes in a jiffy and all that remains of that memory is relegated to black & white. THe only thing that remains lifelike in that portrait is a caption written in green ink at the bottom white portion of the photograph.
'His eyes are brown'.

12/11/11
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2 comments:

veerubhai said...

Your random scribblings are just too good to read .

पुष्पेन्द्र वीर साहिल said...

I'll write till it stops hurting...in the end it always does.....

so true. It always does.