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/
Centuries ago, during the course of evolution, humans brought the whole species together, on the base of One belief system; Religion. We thrived. They say nothing lasts forever; humans have this obsession with change, To know more, To be more.
And now ( fast forward to ‘I’ ) As ‘act of God’ I see my country moulding beliefs of generations. God has now become a tool To control masses; we are given a Reason to be scared of the sacred. I see them locked in fancy buildings like you and me, having ‘no right to speech’, worse, they can’t even speak because no one is actually asking them.
/I used to think/ I’m an atheist/ but lately/ I have started to believe otherwise/ like y’all/ I too have a holy book/
My God is as panicky and breathless as yours. I watch TV till my heart starts aching, I clutch the Constitution close to my flesh, with hopes of lending some air to it; I hear him suffocating. Then I sleep to the weeping sound of my God (Constitution); who cries with all the other Gods because Gods are dying in my country.
In his Letters to Milena, Kafka wrote, ‘You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.’
And I can’t help but wonder number of times I ate my own skin to feel your touch on my lips. And number of times I died, trying to reason with unknown. In search of words I travel through my spine; your garden in my lungs is dead. Butterflies have turned into fireflies, illuminating me while burning my senses, I am alive you see.
There is a reason why I hate September, we all have reasons, to reason with unknown is a silent revolution, a war with possessiveness. Like a failed theory my eyes look for you in patterns, for hints, so that I can reason with my tied hands; there are songs of lost touch in my heart.
All I am left with are questions. I can’t come up with an explanation for my fear of something that already passed. Like the evening sky there are too many colours, too many shades of verses leaving my finger tips; I paint my nails red when I miss you the most.
My skin sweat in how, why and where? You ask me why no happy poems? These, my dear, are barely poems.
You try to hide your women in thin threads of colour cast and religion. You hide them behind the shattered ceilings of your sin. And you tell them “It’s for your protection”.
You stop women from going out, meeting people, and cover the thick khol of their eyes and you tell them “this is because I love you”.
You beat your women for having a voice, a right, an opinion, revolutionary sight. and you tell them “it’s because you’re mine”.
You are against your women for having an education, to get a degree, and to work in cooperative sector. And you tell them “It’s because you won’t fit”.
You rape your women because the clothes were reveling, her walk was appealing, and sometimes, only because of the gender. And you tell them “It was your fault”.
Every other day, You tell your women things You instruct, You command A lot. And justify saying “You don’t know enough”.
So, today I’m here to tell you. You do all of this because you know, 1. They don’t need your protection. 2. You’re in love with the bodies. 3. They fit everywhere. Because you know If you can fit in them, they can fit the whole world in them. 4. Every time you say it’s their fault, you show your cowardice in accepting yours. 5. And you definitely know, that your women know A LOT, more than all of you combined. And you’re just scared of the things they know.
And everytime you break a woman, you break yourself.
Lately, I have been feeling so pissed at world and my head seems full of rants, probably not going to talk about that to someone. So I guess I’m starting to write them down here.
I have been called pretty, beautiful and all the things someone want to hear, but I don’t want to hear that. I wanted to hear something more that that, something that have value to me ( values and ideas vary) .Recently, I met one of my aunts, she looked me and said you’re going to be a great mother…
Okay. I get it. Women are the arc reactors where we put the same ingredients and wait for the same products, the same expected results from generations.
She didn’t ask me about my major or my favourite book, what if I don’t want to be an arc reactor? What if I want to be more that what I already am?
Why people always talk about boobs and womb, why nobody talk about strength and brains? Why they always talk about finding the right guy and have the fucking happily forever and after? Are we living in Disney’s dimension?
Why no one is teaching their kids to be more than what they can be?
Your heart was a hurricane
soul was a vast sea,
I miss the old times
when your words were free.
Layers on layers of impair
what have you become?
Let me hear this story
sit here, come?
Talk to me, tell me
where all of this went wrong?
I’m here to listen
even if it’s infinitely long.
You’re the closest to me
why still feels miles apart?
I know it hurts
we share the same heart.
Even in summer
your smile is cold as snow,
I never left during storms
I know, you know.
When I was painting sunsets
you were busy looking for rain,
I tried to show you spring
but you kept looking for pain.
It hurts my heart to see you
keep roaming here and there,
I yelp at your scars
but mostly cry over the tied hair.
I have always been here
please try to see,
Together we can acquire anything
I just need you, us and we.
I have lived with you
in between your screams,
cried for your laughter too.
I have always loved you in silence
because I know you.
I carry you every where just not in my heart, And keep losing my mind at the thought of a new start. Sleepless nights and exhausted will, My soul is lost at the top of a hill. You’re the most prominent scar on my chest, Keep getting worse if I stop to rest. I keep you at the top of my lungs as a reminder of what not to breathe, It keeps me empty and fine just like a swordless sheath.