My heart is a building/ memories blow/ like the wind/ Seekers shall find home in my bones/ My skin shall always relive the moments here/ even if I go blind/
I draw hearts/ on the glass/ that shelters dew drops/ for love is all I know/ And to embrace the pain/ is no weakness/ For You shall grow/ only when You know/
In the hallways/ wander hearts/ romanticising pain/ In the name of art/ ~Ignorant~ you don’t have to turn blue/ everytime/ to know that you’re alive/ Art is apposite/ soulful/ And a smile/ can work wonders/ too/
My poems/ doorways to melancholy/ Past those/ hides/ a happy me/
I am very fortunate to stick around here for this long time and of course it’s all because ALL OF YOU. Thank you very much for believing in my words and staying here. Your constant support keep me going.
I changed my blog URL this August ( in first week) and due to drastic changes I lost all my will and hopes to blog anymore. But after being in constant touch with WordPress happiness engine, effort of the team and unbelievable support and faith of Sumeet I am able to see changes and my blog is getting better day by day. So, if you’re seeing this post, do let me know if you can comment and like , if not please let me know about the same via Gmail.
Like I said last year, I love being on WordPress, hoping to meet y’all next year same day.
Words will leave me at the end of this poem just like your love left societies and hearts day by day or maybe it was never there. Maybe I am too delicate. Breathing before I suffocate. Am I too slow to cope up with the mornings, days and seconds? But I still am very receptive towards love, affection and the foundations of your faiths and religions. Everyday I hear lips shouting “love is love” but see them denying the same when it’s time to act. They let their opinions slip into air infecting people, disheartening the minds (Sometimes people are The virus) Being homosexual or transgender is no crime; world needs to stick to love instead of a gender, one part of world is on roads, angry, hurt and you’re telling me to deny unlearning because what you have been taught is not wrong. Stop shouting ” we’ll take care of you, get you checked” let the people be who they are. We have so much to learn yet, we have to go far. And sooner or later I’ll find the words which left but, can you find the love you threw out of your windows?
Not writing this week? Want to know what piques my anxiety? Ask me a question. It’s not people that I’m scared of but myself. My words aren’t forced, they come to me, like rain, forming clouds slowly pouring out of my body. My fingers forge the sky and I embody the universe.
But I suppose universe has its boundaries. It too needs to slow down sometimes and close its eyes when things go out of control. What if control is an illusion? Why is too much always considered to be hazardous? Isn’t the sky too expansive for the eyes? Why aren’t we ever tired of looking at it? Why does a heavy downpour scare you? I know. It’s because we dream of the skies and envy the rain. We want to fall free, effortlessly. We want to be loved regardless of how ugly or scary the fall is.
So is the case with writing and us. You want to write, set the words free, to feel, no matter how much we try and deny. People expect. Expectations are inevitable and sometimes expectations are heavy. No one is telling you but you know, you can feel. So you start running backwards, you don’t count steps. It’s a good thing; it leads you to a good place.
Too much emptiness. Too much silence. Too much solace.
I have kept all your words safe in the flowers that dried pressed next to the stories you left, and the pace at which you were running towards sun, I hope somehow you have learnt to rest. There’s something very primal the way your words are building home in my chest now, In distance we are growing close to each other and I don’t know how. I know someday we’ll meet at the cliff before falling off or learning to fly, Maybe this way sky will teach us to live a little before we finally die.
Once I met a broken sunset
stunning in pink and beautifully alone,
He was tip toe-ing through twilight
asking me to step into unknown.
My inside and out felt like stones
but I was willing to know what it has to say,
For sometimes the most ordinary things become blessings
and I had nothing to do, anyway.
He took me to the core of colours
and said he can give me all of them,
And he asked me:
Humans talk about the lonely hearts that bleed in silence whole night, but what about the open wounds that stinks at 2 pm?