The Last Poem I Wrote About You

The greatness lies in the words.
The scribble of an ink on paper
could easily be what your mind is screaming in your closeted head
or the thumping in your chest.
Why does the brain let us think that it is the heart that is the greater, while all it does is pump blood in our veins, on its own instruction?
Why do I think you are the greatest, when you just told me things I should have known last year, or the year before it?
I should have told myself that I am a caring person
and I am a sweet girl and I dont deserve anyone making any less of it.
I don’t deserve myself making any less of it.
You are different, for not who you are because you are just another lesson on a boring school day.
No, you are different because I thought you could’ve been.
But damnit, you just had to twist your words with your action.

I had a good time while it lasted.
I had a great time while you were there.
And then it was time for us to leave.
You could’ve enjoyed the good bye, been less hasty,
I wouldn’t have minded.
I could’ve complained less.
We are who we are.
You are who you are.
But it was my pleasure that you stopped by.

Painting Courtesy: Naomi Okubo

Making Up Words

As I sit there,
looking out of the moving window
I feel all kinds of feelings stir in me.
No, just the melancholic ones.
They overflow through my
eyes.
Just a little.

Just a little
more time I wish
I’d had
She bolted away before
I knew,
she was gone forever.
“It was nice knowing you,”
she said, leaving a
kiss on my cheek
I touched the spot,
“Likewise”
I should have sayed.

Should I have stayed?
Does he care that I left?
I didn’t want to.
All my instincts only ever
wanted to stretch this
affair as long as
it could endure.
But I have seen too
many stories end on a
sour note when
enduring is all that’s left
I wouldn’t let it happen to mine.

I shouldn’t have let it happen.
I shouldn’t have let her go by.
Does she think I don’t care?
She said, “Now I need to run away.”
Did she not care?

If only he knew
running away might kill me
show up as stains on my face
and bruises on my lungs
But some doors need
to be closed behind us.
Maybe we will meet again…
Fate is funny that way…
I hope he remembers me then…

Someday we may meet again.
Let fate work it that way.
I pray she remembers me then.
I hope she remembers me then.

Artwork Courtesy: Daniel Segrove

Wounds

It always starts innocently enough…

Like when you are picking at a wound, its just for relief you say to yourself
but soon enough you have scratched open your wound, raw skin and blood all over.
You end up enduring a worse injury. And to be honest, aren’t you to blame for it?
So you start picturing a future together
Irrespective of whether you even have a present (you don’t)
Soon enough in between clinking of glasses and laughter and kisses
you realize, how will it ever be?
And you realize you are further down the pit than you ever thought
Raw skin exposed and blood all over.
Just give it time dear,
wounds close and the blood clots and they heal.
Don’t go picking at it.
It will heal.

Unlike scars.
Don’t scar yourself.

Sculpture by Justin Novak

Scene

Lights. Camera. Action-
You come in.
You sweep me off my feet.
I hit the ground hard,
Breaking a bone or two.
You creep in under my skin.

Cut!

Let’s do another take.
You come in.
You make me laugh.
You are still lodged in between my broken bones,
And it hurts,
The space that you fill.
You make me laugh.
And then I cry.

Cut.

That wasn’t in the scene, darling
Keep the laughter on,
Or at least give away smiles.
Can we do another take of this –
Let’s make this perfect, shall we?
From the top, people:
You come in.
You sweep me off my feet.
You make me laugh.
You make me breathless.
But you are in a hurry
And it all happens a second too fast.
A blurry mess.
You are gone.

Cut!
I think we had a miscast.

Painting by Nigel Van Wieck

Oh Well.

I won’t lie, I expected it all to work out.

I really thought the bad guy would be it.
I was the classic good chick. He was the classic man-whore.
Turns out, he had his eyes on the other classic good chick.

I really thought that the good guy would do it.
I took one out of the zone. Pushed him to it.
He complied. He complied with everything.
I got bored.

I made up my mind, the older the better.
They mature with age, don’t they? Like wine. I liked them wines.
He was the perfect wine, made me the right amount of tipsy.
I blabbered. He told me I wasn’t old enough to hold my wines.

I thought the funny one would be fun.
He laughed it off.
Oh well, I was kidding too, you know.

I couldn’t make up my mind about the younger one.
His perfect face convinced me.
But my age and wisdom didn’t make me more secure.
Or worldly enough for him. Medieval worldly.

I tried to drown my sorrow with the tortured one.
But sorry boy, I’m not that down in the dumps.

Oh well.
I made my mistakes.

Untitled

Please don’t collide your world with her’s-
She barely can keep things straight in there
How do you suppose she has the answers for your cyclones and quakes?
She is the child, not the mother
Rage, greed and lust haven’t been done raping her
Don’t ask her to approve of you-
She is just someone walking by,
Without a map
Do not follow her, she walks on to be lost-
In the woods, in this haze, in her hallucinations
Among the murderers and the other criminals
Wicked she follows, don’t follow her
There isn’t redemption where the road leads
There isn’t hell at the end
It leads you on and on
She leads you on and on
Never ending, never ceasing
Tiring you, frustrating you, beating you

 Photograph courtesy: Sarah Ann Loreth

Let me tell you

Something about me,
I wake up wanting to chew 10 heads for breakfast.
People piss me off, with their scrawny little faces and puny little brains.
Don’t you go caring about me, I am not going to return the favors
I care about myself enough for both of us.
I think of myself day and night, week over month and month to years
Except that one year, I got my heart bull dozed over.
Or that other time I fucked up real bad.
Self obsessed, self centered, selfish. With a low self esteem.
I think of myself enough.
Loner, people hating bitch with more friends than I care to count.
Way too practical considering the whimsical fairyland going on in my head.
The voice is my best friend.
My hair my worst enemy.
Am I superficial or do I feel too deep, too much?
Its the paradox of paradoxes.
My brother says, I’ll end up being alone.
My shrink says I better put my guards down if I want anyone in.
But a boy is much too overrated. Care to try a girl?
The night is not going to end, because the morning never starts.
Its going to be a bitchin’ time.
It’ll pass. Just give me the size 4 pumps with a 6 inch heel.

Illustration : Self made.

Because He Breaks It

“Do you love me?” he asks,
“Ofcourse”, I say,
“You are the person that I need”,
“But am I the person that you want?”

 “But it is for the better that I don’t get the person I want”
“Who is it that you want?”

 “ I want the jerk.”

“The sweet talker, with all the right moves,
He’ll make me believe I am the most beautiful one in a moment,
he’ll make me believe I am the most unimportant in another.
He’ll lust me, then leave me.
He’ll want me till I don’t want him,
and I’ll want him when he doesn’t.
It’ll be animalistic,
and it’ll be vicious.

He’ll text me deep into the night, because voice betrays sincerity.
And I’ll wait for his call till the sunrise.
I will never be his, I’ll say
Why won’t he be mine, he’ll make me say.
He knows all the tricks and all the trade secrets.
He looks into the eye and says the right things,
does the right things, and shuts up at the right places.
He makes it a moment. And I’ll be naive in that moment.

You know, the jerks are the one we crave for because the jerks are the one we grew up watching in the shining armours.
It’s not our fault that the story ends with the jerk winning the girl and we never get to see him dumping his prize for a new one.

We want to be won.
And that’s why we desire the jerks.”

“So who do you want?”

They still lose

He looked at her,
and so did she.
He saw the years wasted.
She saw her life wasted.
Was it supposed to turn out like this? It was love at first sight. It was the fiery passion. It was one for all and all for one.
Friends were forgotten, families discarded. To separate lives from the world, to make a world of their own.
It was Romeo and Juliet who won at the end.
But were they winning?
The conversations died.
The passion fizzled.
Love became routine.
Romeo missed his friends, “Am I not enough for you?”, asked Juliet.
Juliet missed her home. “Am I not your home now?”, asked Romeo.
Things went cold, and things went bitter.
If you can’t hold onto the love, is it really love?
Time is cruel, it cruelly brings out the truth. Even truths you didn’t think existed. So they ask themselves, were all the tender moments a lie? Was that longing a trick?
They try to hold on. Fight each other to have a fighting chance.
If they let go, it all becomes a mistake.
They try to hold on. But its getting difficult now, mending ties torn require energy.

And he looks at her again and she looks right back.
They try to see the person they fell for.
But the lights are too dim, too hazy to see things clear.

Tomorrow could be a different day.

Photograph courtesy : Manuel Estheim

Vision of the reflection

She roams the city streets –
Stilettos clicking, feet hurting
She roams the web of highways –
Looking for someone, to look at her

Hair wary, eyes distant,
The smile of the party.
The whore of the night.
All that stays are the bleeding red lips,
and a scattering of the bling.

Penniless queen, royalty on high,
Running the world –
Being run by the world,
In their strings she dances
To control the eye balls.

She is there in the corner –
In your control room.
Shedding silent tears,
and laughing her noiseless laugh.
Parasitic delusion.
Reality misplaced by the dream,
She is seeping in

You are in the corner,
crying your helpless tears.

Photograph courtesy : Tina Patni, Diva Models Calender.