Relapse

"Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. "

And yet, Romeo chose to be poisoned by each of its thorns.

Have you ever laughed just to relish most the point where it breaks in to a cackle? Have you ever tuned your earphones just so loud that you can't hear yourself howl? Have you ever spotted a candy stick on a Christmas tree to catch a smell of your childhood for a fleeting moment just to cringe to breathe that moment again? Have you ever taken the name of God in a language unknown and felt like it meant the universe? Have you ever wanted the painter to color your body and soul and yet, take off every hue so brushed? Have you ever wanted love to kiss your feet while your eyes are floored in worship?

Surrender.

You are forever what you have seen and heard, even if you deny having been influenced. Amidst all this confusion, I stand, wondering if I am. And if I am, then what is it that I am searching for? Perhaps nothing. And out of that nothingness sprout the indecisive devises of my futility. Imagining every character as an antagonist, I am striving to finish my story drafted in morbid delusion. I beg for respite at the turn of every page only to become the last words that either get washed away or are smudged by an impatient proof-reader's soiled thumb. There is an alter at the end of the narrow aisle that I walk, where I make deals of my punishments, prejudiced in statutes. 

Has it ever happened that your eyes have succumbed to sleep, losing all your thoughts, and your mind and limbs and dreams have caught fire? And awaken hysteria has never felt better? Feels like I have looked the stars in the eyes and ended up walking in to an ocean. Cold. Water.

Obligations

Living a drop and two,
Drinking a drop and two.
Let it trickle.
And if this life,
Let me live it too.

Woe me with wings,
Still treading on earth.
Memories log.
In dysphoria, sleep
My dreams of mirth.

Pi

I have been scared. Mortified, even. Scared of losing. But what is scarier than losing is the realization that I am scared of losing what I never had. Hopelessly mistaking reveries for memories, I have been strangely swindling with the present.
Last afternoon, I spoke to my plants while watering them. I spoke in gibberish terms of endearment, garbled with fear that someone may hear me. Now I know why people keep pets, everybody is scared. Scared of losing. Losing to Eleanor Rigby.
They are also scared of saying what they mean sometimes, more so than what they don't.
Pinching pockets of love, making myself richer in boiling non-disclosure, I have come a long way. Shy to make eye contact with who I was, eons before I delved in to "serious" relationships of any kind, I feel truly blue.
This post is incomplete, unfinished.

Spin half

I spin the cotton of your being, all night long. 

Am I the old woman on moon? 

For on every full moon night

my heart pants with every footstep

of the silver.

Is my soul a shape-shifter?

Bond

In the silent waters of this lake,
falls a pearl so silent.
Ripples up waves,
and grows to a vortex.


is gumsum jheel ke paani mein,
koi moti aakar girta hai.
ek dayraa banne lagta hai,
aur badhke bhanwar bann jata hai.

Ivy

In yearning, in not wanting, in disbelief and in faith, the quagmire of desires have camouflaged your existence in my being. My dawn-fulls of you, slip between my fingers, biding me with a forbidden smile of omniscience.
I can't remember when I met you first, but I remember you creeping slowly in my watery sunsets, infusing melody to my melancholy. Chamomile. I have only ever wanted to not want you. Weaving and unraveling every thread of moment snarled in your breath, I trudge to keep pace. You tickle, tingle, trickle on the sole of my feet and brace my soul.
Should I hold you or snatch you? Should I implore or should I writhe in longing till I long no more? Should I ask if you too will implode?
Or should I treasure you, like a beat in my bosom, living and leaving my life when I be?

My feelings don't make money

and they really don't. What did you think, they did? Ofcourse not! Which is why I am awake at, well, 05:19 and thinking about what most have either forgotten or conveniently refused to learn.

Your feelings will never make money either.
Sleep.

Shame

This is like one of those dreams where I am falling down from the top of a cliff. I am struggling to open my eyes to end the fear, while still trying to reach the bottom and know how it will be thereafter. My heart thumps loud, my palms are sweating, and yet I know that I am cold. Free falling and yet captive in the dungeons of my fears. Lost and yet not wandering.

Sitting right where it all started. When you make promises, you know someone will come and put them to shambles, put them to shame.

dV/dr = 0; Minimized.

So I realize that I cannot probably come up with an appealing blog layout, but that is not at all the point why I am trying to type in more than an email or a microblog message.

What have I been up to of late? Dreaming. Putting behind me every histogram that I must analyze, I have been caught up in dreaming, envisaging memories of dreams, complete with lights, choreographed movements and expressions, every which of is possible.

I have become more of a romantic, post the sporadic bouts of emotional blow-ups I have half planted myself and half let others kindle. I always was a romantic dreamer, (or a dreaming romantic?)

After many a humble unpublished posts, multitudes of arrogant resolutions to write more frequently and make more sense out of them, I am back to putting together the muddles pool of what I may call my dreams.

Sincerely, not trying any much to make sense of all this, like I do when I read my older posts. I do?

Do I really do? What does it change in my life? For the best I know, I tried last night to cook which started as a craving for the chingri-maach my bengali fantasies are made of, doused in thengapal, befriending my palette with a reassurance of garam-masala.

I think, I really do. I am a romantic alright.

humne aasmanon mein laakhon ke saude kiyein

I have to stop listening to songs that make me cry.