Poetry

“Parting away, too, is a process that’s needed to be accepted”
The tree consoles the leaves in autumn.

“I’m ready to shed you. You won’t be able make as much noise as the shattered glass but the pain of breaking into pieces is equivalent. But I believe you will come back to me when the time is right.”

Come, sit by me side
and let’s talk.
Let’s talk about you, about your essence of existing in this world.
How are you holding up lately?

Tell me about your random anxiety,
About your callings,
What attracts you the most;
in people, in things, in yourself.
What is it you dislike the most about yourself and still striving to improve.

About your past experiences
The nights you cried, the pillows you wet longing to sleep,
The days you overjoyed,
How you stopped your hurricane mind,
How you won over your simplest of temptations,
How well you controlled your feelings and smiled,
How it felt when you expected a simple ‘thanks’ for standing strong for someone but instead got abandoned for being too caring.

How it felt
when you were selfish in your life,
when you were the kindest,
when you had to reluctantly follow the undeserving one

Show me the pictures you clicked of yours with unruly hair
Tell me about the person you loved you had to let go of
What are you most scared of still?
Why were you so afraid to take the risk,
What’s your biggest regret and how did it change you.

Let’s talk about life, the thoughts while you walk alone, the universe around you.
Let’s talk with words
Let’s talk through our silences.
Let’s sit and be ourselves.

If I’m good at expressing my thoughts with you; I automatically become obliged to sit and patiently listen to you without bragging my wise advices. It’s because you gave me enough freedom to be myself around you and thus, you deserve the same.

You tiptoed over my
shattered heart
complaining about
getting bruised,
where I should have
cut you deeper
with my broken pieces.

I hold onto to our memories
like an infant grabbing a piece
of clothing,wrapping it in his
tiny fingers,naively managing a little more
attention towards himself
and in an unvoiced gesture of
do not leave me alone,yet!

I walk down those streets
with my right-hand empty
still dangling, still thirsty for your touch.
That in sometime soon,
those fingertips will feel the heat
of your hands brushing against mine.
That in any given moment
I’d see you standing alongside me
while I stop by our favorite ice-cream parlor.
And I would be suppressing the
sparks of surprise and laughter
and declare through my eyes confidently
the words I had practiced long enough
“I knew you’d come back”
precariously hiding the fright
of ‘what if’ you hadn’t.

I look at our old pictures
like they would suck me
in and allow me the pleasure
of reliving the moments
again and not once complaint or feel shy
like living beings say
‘for how long you’d keep looking at me?’

I feel I am stuck in memories of ours
There is no past or the future
but a series of moments halted
And time has stopped making sense.
I feel those moments burning alive
right in my chest
as if it’s happening right now.
I’m afraid of moving on
because those would try to give me
the wisdom of why letting of the
past is important.
I’m in no search of that wisdom,
that I want to stay stagnant
for some time.
Like water that doesn’t move.
getting stale and foul
from standing too long
And it doesn’t, on its own.
Lacking the development
or the essential minerals.
I, too, am adamant to move
as of now
doesn’t matter how much it is
corroding my brain.

I want to stay trapped
So I can face my bold decision
relentless times,
of choosing you over the world.
I want to stay there long enough
So that when I step out of it
I no longer awash with those memories
that made me fall for you.
So when I step out of it
there is no ‘You’ in me anymore,
And when I walk onto those streets again
I don’t imagine how would it feel
to be walking alongside you.
That I will make sure the
person I am talking to
is I, myself
& not you anymore.

Whenever I am absorbed
in love, in joy, in pain, in misery
I have been the one to
measure the abyss of each emotion.
That those depths
had always appreciated me
for accepting them throughout the end.

I dreamt of a father
dining with his daughter.
A naval officer,
stealing spoonful moments
for ‘his’ someone special.
The feeling, the aura
was inexplicable.
The laughter, the fight over
the last piece of pie
was unfathomable.
The pleasure I was granted
to feel once in a lifetime
a presence of a father
without having one.

That’s how my dream
truly came true.

If ever I get lost
don’t take me down that road,
instead
show me the way to my home.
I can’t afford to escape
what I’m designed to learn.