3X4

Tear it!
Tear it now!
For Someday,
Glancing at that photograph wont be enough
You would want to reach through that
Frozen moment,
Scoop me into the palm of your hand
And hold me still.
So that,
You could just
Look at me
See me
Feel me
The softness of my toes
The curve of my knee
The bridge of my nose
Someday just that polaroid of small memory
Will set you free and cage you in its 3X4 all at once
Your throat will finally utter the words
pulled out by your suffocated heart-
It will breathe
So, you will imagine to-
look at me
See me
Feel me
The smell behind by my ears
The taste of my bottom lip
The sound of my soft moan
All at once!

Someday, that little photograph
Will
Hold all of your realised love
But
Drain all of your hope
And
Flutter with all of your regret
Then,
It will be too hard to break
That house of memory
You will be too timid to tear
That curtain to the past
So tear it now!
Burn it now!
Bury it under the foolishness called life.⁠⁠⁠⁠

Pashmina

Will you give me your pain?

your precious pain that you hold onto so dearly,

more dearly than that you hold onto your little happiness.

Your pain,

that you have weaved into a pristine pashmina,

that you have folded into cascading layers of a waterfall,

and snuck it away into the little corners of your eyes.

Tell me, would you show me that pain?

let me touch it, hold it and feel it?

No?

What makes you so selfish about your pain?

Tell me, does it keep you strong at night?

Tell me, does it softly echo your memories?

Tell me, does it turn away your blue silences?

Tell me.

But…

I will be careful with it.

I will not let it peep out of my eyes,

Nor will I let it tremble through my cheeks.

I will not let it walk on my tongue,

Nor will I let it rattle through my veins.

Maybe?

I will save it. I will hide it, carefully.

I will cram it in the void between my bones and flesh

Neither will I slyly relish it,

Nor will I angrily devour it

I will simply sink it in the sea that lies between your words and my songs.

.

.

.

So, tell me, Will you give me your pain?

Skin.

I like picking the skin--

that lies in the slim trench beside my nail,

I peel it away methodically,

knowing the tricks of the trade.

One layer peeled away,

I wait for it to become sensitive,

one little dig at the corner and it turns into a fresh red cherry.

How I see it ripen! ready to be plucked and felt.

A smooth pain starts at the crescent of my nail

isn’t it almost liquidy, this kind of pain?

so little yet so filling! fills up my entire body’s need

to feel something.

I dig at it, this tiny area of inconsequential skin,

with little stabs, like a dog searching for a hidden bone

little doses of pain rises, filling my heart’s hunger

to feel something.

While I feed on these juices,

Reason tracks my level of idiosyncrasy,

Am I normal? Is this normal!?

this sudden fervor need to feel something?

Just then,

tantalizingly, a rich apple of agony dangles in front of me

almost tangible,

and my heart wants to lecherously suck on its curve.

It envelops me in its wistful presence,

little by little, every inch of me is covered

almost molten, my skin-hot, is dipped in torment.

That small little pain now seeps into my skin all over,

assuredly, it sits in…it sets in.

And, I am appeased.

Now,

Tell me,

Is it Skin I am wearing or Pain?

Velvet.

Every morning it’s a heavy wake,

Things to do,

Things to say,

Finally adding up to nothing

Existentialism sleeps by my side wrapped in it’s velvet skin

Breathes in my mouth

And empties my lungs

But I gasp

Gasp for that mad little inspiration

To live that day,

To get through that day,

Take another step that day,

Isn’t it cruel- to live?

Isn’t it pointless- to be happy?

Awards, memories, legacy- to what end?

Aren’t they nothing but a façade?

Existence. Period.

Funnily enough isn’t made up of a period but ellipses…

Dot dot dot

Hurt, anger, sadness –to what end?

Our lives are just 1000x slower versions of

a fish out on the shore,

Liking the new sensations,

new touches,

new smells,

unknowingly struggling underneath,

But sadly unlike the fish,

We do not know where our ocean lies.

If we could just crawl back into our mothers’ wombs

And then our mothers’ into their mothers’

And So on and so on

Till nothing of us exists anymore

Where existence itself doesn’t exist.

And I’ll be, but a single speck of dust

floating…

floating…

floating…

The Walk

She stepped out of the house,

The fierce wind greeted her like one of her own.

She took a step and walked on...

Her face was stoic but her eyes glazed with a film of transparent ache.

She invited the tears to come out, out to the world,

But she forbid them to be seen by the people.

Confused, the bashful tears stayed on her eyes.

She walked forth, strong in her strides, weak in her heart

She was not the kind who wore her heart on her sleeve.

She liked the wind, it made her free-hair fly about haphazardly

At least her hair stayed true to her mind, she thought.

She set her hair into place with her hands, “wish everything was that easy” she said out loud.

She passed by a haggard man with red angry eyes, squatting on the ground

And she saw herself in him.

She turned away painfully.

She stopped at the small shop, asked the shopkeeper to give her some onions

Her voice sounded alien to her, is this the voice they called sweet? She questioned.

He gave her the packet and smiled.

She felt her lips twisting into a smile.

Onions.Layers.Mind.Humans.Layers.

She turned about and walked back.

Is that it? Turning about and walking back?

Thoughts climbed on each other inside her brain,

Trying to break the elasticity of sanity that was wound to the nails of consciousness at her temples,

She felt her mind contracting, expanding, contracting and expanding—

She thought it might collapse,

Freedom from the entangled cobwebs of thoughts- useless, ubiquitous, unconquerable

Contracting,expanding,contracting, expanding

Maybe she would shrink down into a ball of grotesque flesh

More of an organism, less of a human

Maybe that is a better way to go on, exist, be…

Her eyes caught a young boy staring at the side of her t-shirt.

Ah! The supportive bra strap, inevitably out to invite the lewd glances.

Her hand rose automatically to push the strap in, but she brought it back down

She walked on, almost back where she began from,

Her howls still caged

Her tears, to the eyes, still engaged

Her thoughts in the cauldron of her brain emblazed

She stepped into the house and shouted “I am home”

Within her a thought knocked at her temple laughing “are you?”