You miss me with borrowed metaphors

You miss me with borrowed metaphors

sing me songs that trigger chaos 

your love is an imaginary junction 

fleeting past an express train

Your kisses search in me 

forlorn women 

whom you've loved and lost

a few lifetimes ago

Every time you hug me

my heart gets in sync with yours

it takes infinite rounds of running

to get my rhythm back 

What do you see when you see me?

your eyes are the midnight sun

unbelievably warm and bright

and also frighteningly opaque 

In the fragrant hollow of your neck

lies an undulating pool of desires 

that threatens to drown me

unless I surrender to my thirst  

Your breathing is a lullaby

that rocks me to sleep

my soul gets tangled

in a dream of no goodbyes

Yet, I am not a woman 

you have fallen in love with

I am merely a poem 

you were born to write. 

The book of no memories

In love there is no past tense.

...
1st August
The hug, albeit in a dream, felt like warmth surging through every pore of my being...like a shot of whisky...on the chilling altitudes of 10000ft. 

I love you...said my muse in a voice barely audible...but of course, it wasn't meant for my ears...it was meant for my soul and that heard it crystal clear...like the first fm radio transmissions.

The soul...like the Gryffindor's sword, only imbibes that which strengthens it...pure love, kindness, warmth of a laughter and maybe a moment of that infinite connection. That moment pauses everything...in that moment I exist only for you...and my lips don't move but my entire existence becomes those three words...I love you. 

Love is as exhausting as it is fulfilling.

9th May 9.21 am

I saw Anna Karenina yesterday. Haven't read the book though. This movie made me fall in love. What I liked best was the technique. The entire movie was created in the form of a larger than life stage and as the movie progresses, the stage elements begin to be less obvious. 

The screenplay and direction were fabulous...totally fabulous. I haven't seen such a different movie in a long long time. 

And on top of it Vronsky...blue eyes...golden locks and a blue uniform...I don't remember the last time I saw someone so drop-dead Gorgeous. 

Want to write about the movie...but no time  Sigh!

6th May 7.54 pm
woke from dreaming but it took convincing
I was shaking screaming i was still alive
---
Sinking somewhere...the song lashes at me...puts vinegar in old wounds and laces them with salt. I still can't go on.
Depression looms deep and the clouds won't go away...I get scared, I get restless and I wonder if at all life has some respite from this anxiety. Don't feel like working, don't feel like writing...just feel like running away to some place far...somewhere on sea shore...where there are books and music and movies that I love.

I am going crazy again!

8.34 am
I suffer from severe anxiety...for a long time I did not know the exact word for it...everything I used to describe the condition was still to vague to be addressed by any doctor.

I stumbled upon it yesterday...I don't know if medicines help or if anything helps...the physical aspects of it are pretty disturbing. The constant heart-ache, pain, not able to think properly, irritation, anger, fear, feeling of loss, being unloved, everything gets mixed together. If I try reason, I shouldn't be facing any of these pains at all. Logically I should be a reasonably happy person at peace.

Logic does not follow reality I guess.

Had a strange night...wasn't able to sleep properly, had nightmares...sometimes I also wonder if I am going mad or something, is there something like do I have the mental capacity to hold on for this long...does anxiety affect any other functions?

Feeling severely depressed. Not able to write it off too.

4th May 10:48 am
My muse...my love...spent the morning scanning some pictures of yours...you are like some abstract painting, every time I see you, a new story is born...I feel like flying...I become light as a feather...I drift on the whiff of musk...I feel your touch on my wrists...there is no tattoo but the fragrance of your goodbye.

15th April 8.24 pm
It was a golden evening...the sky was tinted with the gold of your eyes...the air had a hint of your laughter...I could feel the musk of your voice on my wrists...where you kissed me before the final goodbye...chaining me to the last image of your departure...it reminded me of rains in some faraway country...the grains of sand flickered past and the night stars replaced the gold in the sandclock.
How many lifetimes has it been since I last saw you?

I wonder if there are fragments of my memories bookmarking the pages of your life we spent together...a quietness begins to fall, a dampness in my heart refuses to go away...there is a flicker of your name...fading initials etched on some rock we sat and spent the evening laughing...

There is a longing...a yearning...a search...where are you...my beloved...my muse...where are you?

7th April 2:38 am

I don't know why I think of you and a man playing violin by the river in a same flashback.
I miss you. I miss the whole comfort of being able to call you when I want to. I miss the time when the city felt warm...as a hug. And though I never did hug you I wish I had...life's too small for such puny regrets.
I made a promise to myself never to utter these three words unless they screamed from the very core of my existence.
I love you.
You are in my prayers. Always.

5th March 8.11am

I always thought one minute flies by. But sometimes it really lingers on. Once, a person pointed at his watch and said to me, that because of that minute, he'd always remember me. It was so charming listening to that. But now I look at my watch and tell myself that I have to forget this man starting this very minute.

-Days of Being Wild

24th Feb 11.30 am

I am a very very confused person. There is a turbulence in me that refuses to die away...I sometimes get very irritated about this restlessness because this is not directed at anything, there is no outcome of it...or at least any desired outcome of it. 

In my heart of hearts I know I need to be working on something I am maddening in love with...but now I am afraid...love is a scary thing...it takes a life of its own...behaves like a parasite and soon nothing of me remains in me...I become obsessed with an idea. 

Too much procrastination. 
I took up a job because I wasn't able to do anything that I want to do...now I stand on the land of confusion still...there is no compass to guide my way. Though I am not afraid to take a path that is wrong...I do not want to hurt anyone...I inadvertently end up hurting the people who love me most.

I sometimes wish life for me was simpler...like my other friends who are happy in their jobs...for them the only worry is the increment percentage...office politics...such small things in life and they are so full of it. They don't think their life is going wasted. What is wrong with me?! What is it that I am desperately dying to do...where is that spark of idea...why do I kill all my story ideas before even fleshing them out...

What is it that I need to talk about...what is it that is killing me from inside...why can't I give words to the chaos that is playing havoc with me. I purposefully isolate myself from the world...yet there is cacophony...O God! how do I sort myself out!!!

Meet me in July

One of those silly little things I feel like writing when it rains. The pitter-patter of raindrops creates a natural rhythm and some words just fall into place. I am not too good at rhyming and often clueless to throw one word after another...but somedays there is a broken song, beautiful in its swaying away from perfection. It's not a good poem and it's not according to meter, it doesn't follow any rules. It's a little of this a little of that...somehow I feel guilty about writing poetry, especially verse that rhymes. Still, somedays I should allow myself the luxury of posting something totally useless.

Just like that, learning to say my goodbye's better...

---

No sooner than I fell in love with you

It was the time to say goodbye

I could tell you, I never fell in love with the city
May be you would actually believe my lie

As I think of you, the city blooms
The rains sing a night's silent lullaby 

I tiptoe on nights of dark, misty, grey
I reach up to kiss the cloudy sky

A thousand things to forget you for
A million things to remember you by

I wonder if you’ll ever know my friend

I love you so, but I don't know why

I'll wait for you till the monsoons end
Come, meet me one last time in July

The hyperbolic element

I am an example 

of controlled chaos.

Every element that makes me up

has a mind of it's own.

Each electron has its own maddening path.

Each desire manifested 

in some form of unbound energy.

Every voice in my head

screams out loud what it thinks.

My heart is the breeding ground

for a million diabolical conflicts.

I often wonder 

at the level of difference

between my circuits and

that of a hydrogen bomb.

An explosion in me

would trigger an atomic fusion 

devastating enough to swallow all definitions.

Merge Heaven and Hell

to create a plasma

akin to what remains after removal of blood cells

or your name from my memories...

Why do you stay a lifetime-light-years away?

I am a virgin planet.

You are the key to the code of my existence. 

Come, unravel me. 

The heart's blank verse

The city is painted in the hue of your memories
sounds echo still, every note intact.
The only thing alas, not synchronized with time
is my weary, pallid, broken heart.

The autumn of the evening dissolves
into melodies the sleepy bird sings.
The leaves are waiting to turn to amber
from dead tree trunks the winter springs.

I see a young girl puff a cigarette
and I trace my fingers for traces of you.
My eyes turn mellow like shriveling cinders
the smoke doesn't let any dream through.

The sun recedes to the hollow of your palm
it's last ray kisses the shore goodbye.
Sea waves run like madness on a high tide
a lonely moon utters a lonely sigh.

Do footsteps actually sound like cymbals
or mind plays tricks with the trickling rain?
That world is tangentially apart from ours
in which you said, you'll come again.

I can't put together the mosaic of your face
nor recreate the way you call my name.
Just wait and in waiting pet these words
the wildest ones just love can tame.

The city paint peels and memories fade
in the blank vacuum, all echos depart.
The only thing still, not synchronized with time
is my hoping, dreaming, waiting heart.

My rusty heart...

Loneliness is a very private type of sorrow. It grows in your heart, shaded from the smiles of the people who love you most. It quietly seeps in your days, dimming the  light of your eyes. It hangs like a leech from your tear-ducts, nourishing itself from a steady supply of tears till the point it becomes immune even to the salt dissolved in them.

You become an island with no docks for a boat to be tied on, you create sea-storms to prevent ships from dropping anchor near your shores. You create a world in which no people exist. You steel yourself against any warmth received from fellow human beings.

You become quiet and you let go of words in your vocabulary till the time you can't converse even with yourself. There is a huge difference between peace and quiet. The same as between loneliness and solitude. Solitude has a direction, a purpose while loneliness is the absence of either of these.

You purposefully erase all traces of your being. You lose all hope of being rescued. There is something particularly melancholic about being there on a bridge alone. It's the closest you come to being non-existent...being a passive observer of the world going around doing its business. Sure you do come a little closer to the moon, but that cannot warm your heart up.

And then one day you burn all bridges.
---
I open the book of my life and wonder through the pages that have burned through cigarette...I look at the coins I collected on my trips to countries I can no longer remember. The more I write, the more I forget, it's like a blackboard I never read again. Every time I erase the stuff I had written and start afresh, knowing very well that the writing is only going to be there for a short while of my life.

Some days back as I was in another one of my lost moods, I came across a faded, rusty postbox..there was no lock to it, the door was open...I checked to see if there are any letters in it. The last one that the postman forgot to take out but I could find none. Imagine days of being full of envelopes containing several emotions and then being abandoned. Left empty...with no secrets yet with memories that are so obstinate that they kill you but don't leave you in peace. Remember that tree in In the mood for love...the one on top of the mountain...where people would go leave a secret...this is one of the last ones of those trees.

Not with blood, soul or emotions...we are all made of memories...I dissolve in air...one memory at a time...