I refuse to believe that everyone
is not suffering. Suffering is (almost)
the only thing that makes you wanna
live more, strive for a better life,
to find an escape. A wonderland
only to return to realities at night.
I don’t believe people are as carefree
and untroubled as much they show
in their personal or social lives.
They’re merely passing the baton of suffering
from today to their tomorrow’s self.
I feel okay many a time but safe, rarely.
There are extremely few occasions where my body, mind, thoughts, or heart feel safe. That place is as holy as a shrine for me. My ever-so wandering mind takes away the pleasures so damn easily from me and insults are the first thing it recognizes as something own. Sanity falls through the air and suddenly the person, place, or the vibe ain’t the safe space anymore for me. It’s like feeling safe is so limited.
Your heart doesn’t open like a window’s square
but with a ‘lock and key’ combination of vowels
and consonants holding a
‘Heal Me’
signboard by letting Sun beams impregnate
it through the key hole.
My home misses a fireplace that
kept everyone together and warm
and made the dust of tiffs slither
out from the chimney corner.
The roof was successful in keeping
the rains out but failed to stop the
water coming out from the eyes.
So, now the roof drips of murkier dampness.
The walls stood high and tall just
like everyone else in the house
who stood so stubborn that they
forgot bending for each other.
Walls of our attic are better at consoling now.
The ground sunk below holding
the weight of the hearts that just
kept getting heavier the nights
they didn’t talk.
Pit tension in the stomach holds more
importance than the lent shoulders.
The doors stayed shut for longer
hours because everyone in the home
wanted solitude but cursed life for
their loneliness .
A swinging, wooden obstruction
denied even a hundred-knocks bribe.
My home misses a pantry where we hoarded pounds of shoplifted love we shared the last time we went for grocery shopping together.
My home misses everything that a normal home has. A family that is supposed to be together happily and not as a burden.
My home, a synonym of homesickness.
Listen
to yourself often.
Not being born special worked out.
It made you humble and grateful each time,
when you were given a chance
you proved yourself time & again
When people were busy bragging
you trudged silently
but you made it
everytime.
“How about 10 minutes?”
“200 breaths? Are you crazy? Don’t you know the new Respiratory Guidelines? No more than 50 breaths for a non-family member let alone an acquaintance.”
“But I thought you’d make an exception for me.”
“See, they are on constant vigil. It’s preposterous to challenge their audit.”
“Perhaps, this should come to light. What kind of law it is to calculate & limit the breaths/time for each relation. Doesn’t make any sense in 30th century. We aren’t in the same old world anymore”
“Exactly, buddy. Time is precious.”
Once upon a time there was an ugly, unwanted girl. She always thought she deserves the worst. She wasn’t calculative but she could thoroughly calculate the weight of dreams were too heavy on her real self. That those wild imaginations never matched up to her realities. Looking at world she presumed herself to be far above them intellectually, while connecting to them made her feel so obtuse. Where was the real struggle? Inside or outside? Why did she have to have such negative notion about herself? Negative – – why this word never felt so wrong? Why this felt like it’s someone who’s close to her and stayed unlike others? May be because she was dark. She embraced emotions people vary to touch. Because sometimes it did bring some solace. But then was it the right thing to do? Prepare a standard chart to compare both worlds. Her’s and outside’s. It was clear outside world is just a plain stage with run-of-the-mill performance actors. And what she was, was not negative or antagonistic. She only recognized herself on a different level. Neither negative nor positive, it was her. Something to ponder upon. That she could start over and change how she thought of herself and not like the initial lines of this passage…
