Sunday, March 29, 2009
The way we come undone.
Searching your eyes
I stared into your face
maybe a little too long.
You,too lost in your own sweet
musings,
You lost in her.
I unnoticed.
I lose.
Tomorrow,I shall again
search your eyes,
stare into your face
just
so you notice me. once.
if only.
But today I lose.
May I step on your toes,please.
Spilled ink on my letters the postman refused to carry.Abandoned.
Standing pole lines bow down to your presence.Surfeit.
Laced within me the patters of your words.Vociferous.
And I stopped the clock at eleven.
Run out of ink,
my fruitless efforts to engrave some more of me,
upon those frayed pages I now know by heart.
Burnt along the edges,I run my fingers across them
repeating each word etched upon my memory,
I start my journey,I've made it everyday,
raping them of their soul again
giving birth to a new flare in me each time.
And I write you a story in the process,
the script some what new,
characters just you and me (again).
And I stopped our clock at eleven.
These shut eyes speak for themselves,
calling out for you,
talking of feather-iron buttoned strings
and sweet nothings.
Won't you listen?
It's a story some what new
playing our tune so strong.
The same old tune.
Our tune.
And I dance to it like never before.
I'm smiling.I cannot wait.
And now I shall stop the clock.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Abstracted.
I've never really wanted to grow up.And at a particular stage, it became all the more fervid.Ive been scared.I've cried my self to sleep thinking how the next day would make me yet another year older.Thinking of how that naivety and innocence would disappear or may I say be expected to disappear, making of me,another mask,which seems so very attractive these days,that would eventually get lost among hundreds like me.Them asking of me to act stronger,reflective,right,in control all the time, alike them. and i don't want to.ever.
I miss those kisses.I miss dad holding my hand,those times when he clicked numberless pictures of me, dying to show off to the world what he had.I miss mum doting at me and how I felt embarrassed when I caught her staring..how km would give me piggyback rides when ever I wanted them, how you wouldn't let me shed a single tear..and now you don't even care. Its gone now.I don't get any of it anymore.and I miss it.Did you know that?
The worst thing bout growing up is that one starts questioning the veracity of every existent thing-people,peers,parents.
Which if u think in a way is..err not right.Somethings don't need to be questioned,for the answers to them are too vitriolic,too empty to take in.And at times the flaws are devastating;smashing those perfect 'hero' images we've created thoughout time in our artless minds, smothered in wholeness;the noise of that ideal napalm louder each time,harder each time.And I don't wish to know them any longer.
It telling us how parents are people too.People who have the right to commit mistakes as much as we do.To be afraid,to cry,to not being flawless.why?
You know you are growing up when you start loving dad, not because of the silver armoured figure of greatness and completeness that he poses in your mind but because of the man he is.with faults.You know you have broken past those familiar rusty gates when the idea of security and comfort comes from that of a current lover.Scabious debates.Intelligent longings.Fakeness.
It all seems real.and so amazing. I don't like.
I don't want to grow up.
I miss those kisses.I miss dad holding my hand,those times when he clicked numberless pictures of me, dying to show off to the world what he had.I miss mum doting at me and how I felt embarrassed when I caught her staring..how km would give me piggyback rides when ever I wanted them, how you wouldn't let me shed a single tear..and now you don't even care. Its gone now.I don't get any of it anymore.and I miss it.Did you know that?
The worst thing bout growing up is that one starts questioning the veracity of every existent thing-people,peers,parents.
Which if u think in a way is..err not right.Somethings don't need to be questioned,for the answers to them are too vitriolic,too empty to take in.And at times the flaws are devastating;smashing those perfect 'hero' images we've created thoughout time in our artless minds, smothered in wholeness;the noise of that ideal napalm louder each time,harder each time.And I don't wish to know them any longer.
It telling us how parents are people too.People who have the right to commit mistakes as much as we do.To be afraid,to cry,to not being flawless.why?
You know you are growing up when you start loving dad, not because of the silver armoured figure of greatness and completeness that he poses in your mind but because of the man he is.with faults.You know you have broken past those familiar rusty gates when the idea of security and comfort comes from that of a current lover.Scabious debates.Intelligent longings.Fakeness.
It all seems real.and so amazing. I don't like.
I don't want to grow up.
