Read the news…let it fill me. I need happiness. No a warm gun. I am not feeling like this is the end. But I feel rather like this is the beginning of a nasty chapter.
Season’s changing…heavy breeze…some icebergs melt-a band sings about it in a concert, a few hundred tigers and elephants are poached, some protesters are killed in Lhasa for crossing the line, politicians snore as the bill is passed in the parliament, some cry and shout and try to disrupt the proceedings but some just keep on sleeping , America invades and bombs another village whose name it can’t pronounce, more Qassams rain down on Israel, more Palestinians are killed…no one will ever know.
The fat man lights a cigar, price for oil is set, the deal is signed, camera bulbs flash, the ‘clink’ of wine glasses are heard, the nib of the pen breaks, the ink spills over and fills the page, blots it, they shake hands, calls are made that we need another war; he nods as a sign of approval.
The world is not a happy place…my face doesn’t don a smile now as I’m getting to know things that gathered dust before my very eyes…things I had ignored and hadn’t pondered about. Little angry, little irritated, anxious about this and everything. Scared that this won’t turn out the way I want it to. Like all those times you feel really happy…on top of the world with your little accomplishments when you’re kid…’oh, I climbed the tree today’…’I scored high marks in the maths test’….’today I won the race’…’merit card’….’box of candy’….it sure feels like a million bucks then. Times like these, no matter how young you are, you always imagine yourself as something else, someone else, bigger, better…something you WANT to be. Now when I look back on those times and think to myself what I wanted to be then…I realise I am none of those things.
Is David Bowie right? Have we only got five years to live? To save this earth…? Please don’t let this be true. There are so many other things which should be.
If happiness was a paper, I would roll it into a ball and keep it in a box…keep it safe from fire and others things that may destroy it….leaving behind only ashes.
This sounds very pseudo…unreal…untrue. Maybe I was just kidding myself when I told myself sometime back that this will work…this will help…I should have told you that I am sick of being wrong but I love it when you make me right and show me what is missing…I’ve realized that that is something which is absolutely necessary…in one way or the other…sometimes I want to cry when I am just with myself…your simplicity is untouchable…I feel too complex to be with anyone…maybe I am not but I feel like I will never understand me even though I’ve usually seen that I am like a bad sweater….just pull a string and I’ll come undone. You’re more than anything anyone could ask for…you’re real…something I can touch and feel and hold…you have the answers…I feel stupid that the scar I made on my left arm doesn’t go away but maybe there is a reason for it.
There are so many things I must do and be. I feel scared that I will fail. I am not natural at anything. Music doesn’t move my feet. My hands don’t glide with a brush. They don’t slide on a guitar. I’ve been telling myself and forcing myself to write poetry since class 8 and maybe that’s why I’ve gone far with it. But just like everything else, there are many things I must explore and make something my own…many doors remain unopened still.
And you told me to laugh…well, now I am laughing…but there’s no one around to hear it…I am not angry I just feel alone…do you hear it…can you hear it…?