Obliteration

Latenight wooble

(I tune in at ill-timed pauses.Exclamations at commas
and etc.)

The sun will be up soon
and a pair of sleepless eyes
in await.

The first train of the day whistles by
as some mechanical female voice
announces things that blur out
from half-awake ears.
And the mind minutely gazes
at the interiors of emptiness.
Fragments of forgotten reality
unfurl into sunless words
nobody would ever read.

The journal,
it drinks up amaranthine sorrow,
in silence,
without questions.

.............................................................................................................

I decided to go to hibernation as December happened.
My world was pale. All the colors washed away to a distant desert of bliss.
I woke up to the sound of fog.
The sun was still sleeping in some brothel.
Yellow dull street lights stared at me from the open window and I was dreaming wide awake caressed by an arousing chilly wind, or just hallucination of the night.

She wandered slowly in her room following the harmony in Cohen’s voice. She pretended as if the man was singing for her. Cohen sang it for Nancy, and she was being Nancy in a mirage of fabricated reality. Was her life just mockery of love? She was not sure. She believed she was a semi-precious stone. She believed she was Nancy. She closed her eyes and stepped slowly on the cold floor, barefoot, and she wore an old navy blue sweater and grey shorts. Cold, cold it was. Winter was creeping up her shoulder and her bare fair legs. Now Cohen started singing another song about this strange intriguing woman named Suzanne. She hated Suzanne. Because she couldn't become her. Because she didn’t have feathers to wear and love to give. She instead put on her black stockings and slept in her Nancy dreams.
(Later she grew to not envy Suzanne anymore when she saw her as she is - the seductress of the old kind, the spinner of coins.)

I asked myself: “How are you my love?”
And the spiral path of useless thoughts began in my head.
I’m okay. Or, may be not. Wait, I am NOT okay.
I’m messed up and miserable.
I’m sad and lonely.
I’m in love and I’m frustrated.
I loved a phantom. I made out with a teddy boy.

Ignore me. I am so damn reality-phobic.

And I am not sad.
I am too lazy to be sad.
I’m an apathetic person with a dirty grey heart and I’m in pathetically in love with the mere idea of love.
What is love? = Lunacy Obduced by Verbal Erraticism. If it makes sense that is (even the words sound so pseudo and obscure. I doubt they are even real words. But then again, language is always inadequate for human expression).
But love does not make sense anyway.

She reclined on her chaotic bed. He was half a country away. There was a phone call. She was talking to him; she was falling for him as if she hasn’t already fallen. She stretched her legs wide apart. Something was wet in there. And her heart was wet too. But he was half a country away, a long long telephone cord away. She reclined on the bed of metaphysical sex. She put down the phone. She slept in the ragged blue sweater and the black stockings. Her legs no more wide apart, rather resting alongside. Grey shorts laid aside. Winter’s night put a blanket of numbness over her.

Winter is here again. The time for solitude, time for bittersweet pain; twinges in the heart.
Time for my conjured snow flakes to fall. Time for nights of frozen stars.
I am back to my self again.

A Perennial Fiction in My Heart

The light fell on your face, coming from the distant street lamp.
And lots of shadows.
An unknown rhythm I felt, in you, in me, in the surrounding.
You must go, you must go soon… But stay just a little while?
I’m just emerging from the grey of my heart. I’m just breathing in your smell. I’m just living in your arms, in an intransient warmth, that would linger even when I cannot feel your breath through my hair anymore. ‘Cause you’re gone.
And now you will become a metaphor. In my delusional dreams I’ll refrigerate you until I run out of my sense of energy. An energy you are leaving within me, a part of you merged into my dusty young soul.
You’re somewhat like the cigarette burning between my fingers. The smoke fades away behind the curtain of air, but the smell remains, and the stains.
You looked into my eyes, my blurry eyes, and I perceived you as the most enthralling hallucination ever. I was wrong. You were real.
The dew on the grass blades, was shinning as if it had rained diamonds on this earth, and it was wet; as the evening was falling into winter’s arms – I made you sit down in the shadow, I fell into you.
To you I’m a psychedelia; to me you’re an enigma. But I know you. I have felt you in my bloodstream. I have lived you, as you defined me, as you discovered me, as you loved me.
Did you?
That touch was eerie. That embrace was out of the world. You rushed into my head, you tasted my breath, you collapsed into me; and I to You.
A void heart you have chosen, who would point at your mistake?
I would stare at your lips, dry-dead skin, and breathe you in.
The existence of this world started to get fainter as you told me life was worth living, love was worth waiting for. I believed. No more tears to shed, no more fears to runaway from… only a hollowness, a hole, you are leaving somewhere in me.
…In the day we were puffing and just living. I was stepping on stones floating in the sky…feeling warmth on my shoulder. Was it you? Was it? I guess.
The phantom kissed on my forehead, and its blackmagic soul fell in love with me… Me … I’m a nowhere rebellion tethered with extreme rights and wrongs of life. Seeking salvation. Being a non-believer. I still am. Only that I’ve found serenity, in my place that you showed me. And you showed me a piece of heaven residing in a secret garden placed somewhere within the rusty brick world.

White ghost trees painted grace on my iris. Mesmerized, I felt my existence being divided, a soul and a body. The soul reached out to the isle of abandoned dreams, of forgotten childhood, of yellow memories, of foggy love. The body stood still. And you reached out to me, brought my soul back into the body. Offered me life, a greater one, and showed me a path of faith to enlightenment of the Truth. You answered my questions and left yours for me.

We walked. We sat. We felt.
And I discovered you in an esoteric place, I delineated you, yes you; and I learned to admire parts of you, visible and invisible ones… your curls, your eyes, your jaw line, your voice, your energy, your existence.
I’m fallen.
And I’ve decided to stay here, sleeping wide awake, until you come and make it rain on me from your obscure clouds again.
I wanted to write more. But then we didn’t drink Rum in winter days.

--just unrequited delusion of fictitious reality--

Nevermind.

It rained one night...

Empty hands stretch out;

A red light of a distant watchtower…

Solitude runs down from your hair

As a nameless wind kisses your shoulder;

The dark night slowly makes love

To a freshly dead brown moth …

I sense, I behold –

A lonely box-window romance.

Rusty serenade fades into nothingness.

Another heart we keep on chasing, a dream of love we seek… but we end up in a solitary state of endless blues. Or we just get habituated with a clichéd idea of love, and spend our whole life trying to nourish that idea until we get fed up with it and die, and occasionally stop feeling, and seldom commit suicide.
But love is there, somewhere. Some people actually get that beautiful disease, some pretend to be affected. It’s just an illusion of hormones; but it’s there, for real, in whatsoever way, as a fictitious part of reality, or not.
People do fall in love. And in the other hand they also fall out of love.
So did We. Me and Him.
Some people are still not accustomed to the idea of falling out of love. But without any offence towards anybody’s personal view, I think this idea is true if, and only if something called “Love” exists.
Before I could completely figure out what I was going to commit, he left. And I stood under a big tree of uncertainty. It was so affecting that I became dumb, and also, pretty much numb. I was unsure of myself. But I was very much sure of him. I thought he actually loved me, and may be he did. I don’t know that now, and will probably never know.
He rushed through some busy street of Bombay while I, in my city, devoted myself to college life. There was literal distance. But also the hearts stood apart. What I thought was love, started to fade away. His face was getting more blurry, his voice was getting fainter, as days passed by. I sensed the distance clearly as the monsoon brought me pain of emptiness. We were not "in" love anymore, we were not speaking our hearts out…we were saying words, we were keeping in touch.

Been days since I talked to him, I thought of calling him, and I did,
“Wow, it’s you.” He said recognizing my voice. But those three words told me, “It’s the same with him what’s with you”. He didn’t love me anymore. He told me he was in the city, he came back. But I wasn’t there; I was at the end point of India, on vacation.
Coming back with a lonely heart, I blamed myself for what I did. I couldn’t love him, and I couldn’t make him love me either; because you can’t do that, it’s against the invisible law.
He told me he fell in love again, with someone else, and I wasn’t sure if it was love, but I was relieved with a certain idiotic idea about he being the bad guy as he broke up; I didn’t. Soon I realized, it didn’t mean a thing.
Now I’m alone again, back to place I was at, and happy on my own. Earlier I was sad, the sting of not being able to be loved, the pain of letting go off something... because no matter what, we had something, and that was for real.
But being sad seemed so unfair to me; I had no right to be sad. I had lost tears long ago. But hard was to let go off that pain. So I landed in the perfect state of indifference, where you feel nothing. It’s as if I’ve never loved him; as if I’ve never loved anybody; as if I’m not capable of loving anybody anymore. The moments we had, they all seem fake, the smiles, touches, feelings, everything. I am okay, but I’m wrong.
I’m alright, yet I’m not.
And I don’t know how to get out of this place yet.
I’m still trying,

Blue Sky, & Echoes of Life

"Said my goodbyes and now

This journey's just beginning

Time to move on ahead and drive..."

(by Dream Out Loud)

....Sliding, stumbling, rambling through the helter-skelter of life, suddenly I stopped and looked up to the sky.
The frame of my eyes had no face, no smoke, no earth, just the blue…big blue sky.
Pieces of white clouds.
Autumn.
It’s almost here.
I can smell it.

My best friend is in love with someone. And once I loved him. He couldn’t love me back. I survived. Minus the romantic part the affection remained. I’m happy for him, in the purest form. But my love is fading away. The person I thought to be the poet of my soul has not been able to make me understand his poems well. I thought I loved him, but I didn’t. Well, I feel nothing about that. Just a little sense of guilt. I’m happy running on my track. I know, when it’s time, I’ll fall in love. There’s no hurry. It’s just the beginning. When there’s confusion, there’s something wrong. But I’ve got no time to sit and figure out the flaw. So, I’ll just let it go. No-love gives me no-frown.
I am this girl. I can smile. I can live. I can be crazy.
I have grown up.
Now I’m alright.
I am.


.....And suddenly I’m inspired. Suddenly I want to walk on the streets of Rome, taste that tangy food, be on my own, watch lovers on the corners of the street and eat ice-cream…
Oh you know what? I just watched “Eat Pray Love” again and I’m a bit high on my heels after that.
But I’ve just realized, I have got a lot to do. Self-made confusion and rants won’t do me any good. I have to start trying to be someone, evolve into a better person. No, I don’t wanna be invisible anymore. I want to be visible, with enough color saturation and contrast.
Life has changed. All I have to do is, live up a little bit.
And if you have been feeling stuck, or stifling in life, but can find no reason behind, or no cure in front, just go… go out of your room, take a look at the sky, get some air…breathe in Life. It’s time we learn to smile.

Dash-|

What's wrong with me?

well, that's one and only thing I'm trying to figure out these days.

I left Economics, I left my fuckedup old college, I left the bad crowd. Now I'm where I belong.

I still am not happy. err..though I'm not sad either.

but still.

why this feeling?

Am I mad?

shit. a whole lot of shit.

I just want to sit down and read something. may be some good contemporary poet's work or so..

because I feel like an impotent Man. I can't write a thing, not a thing that makes sense.

and here I am whining.

But I'm not this girl. I'm more than this. 

I can write, I can love, I can laugh.

But not right now. Right now I'm just purely impotent and no lousy or good medicine can cure it.

so here i go...

On the island

I wait

For what I don't know,

Longing for an unknown,

Detached from the mortal world

of Men and Women...

In the pitch dark
I wait

For the love of 

The Heartless.

Where to go, no, I don't know.

Disturbed

After effect of failed love, a disturbed mind.
thoughts and feelings I suddenly discovered last night...

I can sense this distance
Growing slowly between us,
As the smoke passes my hair
Escaping bound of your lips…

The smell of your body is fainter,
So I take the other way around
Caressing a crying heart of my own;
It’s the time for me to let you go.

I wander in an empty space
Placed for me within a black sea
Of slutty dancers and scary clowns;
Shells crack under my boot, as I try to runaway.

The head is spinning,
Round and round so fast…
The body is crashing,
I puff and puff harder…

Don’t feel, just touch;
Put me on fire,
Cheers to our dead love,
And drink the warmth…
We’ll daze the winter, tonight.

Crooked mind inside a beating heart

Your tears have met the outfall
And one more drop for humanity;
The dull, damp lines of poetry - mocking sanity,
Deep inside dwells the murder conspiracy:
As your stoned hands grab my ribs
I search a safer room for my grimy dreams.
Darker nightmares n' psycho lady's wish,
A faint throb comes from the weary heart
Like after you've taken the happy pills,
When the sky seems to be falling on you..
And the world around you spins round n' round
With thousand buildings and countless stories
Of life, of people damned with cruelty and pain,
And you still remain thirsty for some bloodlike rain.

Rain fixed my Life

I woke up with a sense of cold; I could feel the gloomy and numb day ahead and decided to stay at home. No amount of hot noodles and coffee could make sure that I feel alive. I knew what was about to come and so it happened.
It rained.
Rain makes me sad. It reminds me of my futile love, painful treacherous people I trusted and my childhood’s rainy days; and it makes me a past-analyzing retarded person.
When it starts raining, I feel a sudden joy; and then, that feeling shows itself to me. The feeling of being alone in a crowd, the feeling of not being wanted, the feeling of being deprived of love cripples up my shoulder.
But still I love to feel the rain, let it drench me and tell me the stories of faraway lands. Then again, it also makes me feel sexually deprived. I mean seriously, isn’t it wonderful to make love on a rainy day? Well, err… that doesn’t mean I’m a frustrated virgin (one of my friend keeps telling me that)! I still believe everything has its right time and purpose. But, rain makes me feel so… :/
Life is messed up right now. Nothing is in the right place. Getting hurt by people again and again. Lost my phone as it went down the toilet and slept in the shithole.
Yet, right now I feel solace.
You know why?
Rain fixed my life.
Rain told me it was okay to be sad and alone again.
And I’m here again, back to my old days.
Example? I am blogging -__-

I’m part of this supposed rain,
I can’t love the bright sun up there,
It would just embrace me cruelly
And evaporate me to the sky again…