I think I think too much. I think I feel too much. I think I can’t run when I do.
I think I have to start again. I think I am getting tired of it. I think I will do it now.
I think I am uninspired. I don’t think anymore. I think I will be replaced.
I think I am a dreamer. I think that’s not allowed.
I think I believe in miracle drugs. I think she has no faith in medicine.
I think I just do what I am told. I think they are always right.
I think I have always been too quiet. I think I want to scream.
I think I am wrong. I think its okay.
I think I still need you sometimes. I think you are not coming back.
I think I will give up. I think I will get up again.
I think I am not going to die now.
I think poetry is still there in me. It runs through my veins. It beats through my heart. It breathes through my lips. It drips from the nib and the pen will never run dry.
I think I am not afraid to try. I think you are. You always have been.
I think I am passive no more. I think I love you. I know.
I found my inch. I am keeping it.
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Friday, 24 October 2008
Song to Say Goodbye
Run, like magnets
On the wood
Slide like paper off the wall.
Fly, like wishes in
The wind
Out of the frame, the box.
This new hurt
Is unlike anything
You scratch the itch
Peel like second skin.
And lately, I have
Come undone
Like her dress
A ball of string.
Take a dive,
My paper plane
You’ve learnt how to soar.
Teach me, and
I will try
To not follow you anymore.
You will sing this
Just the same,
Moving pictures in my mind.
Chase me
An umbrella in
The rain
I’m not too far behind.
On the wood
Slide like paper off the wall.
Fly, like wishes in
The wind
Out of the frame, the box.
This new hurt
Is unlike anything
You scratch the itch
Peel like second skin.
And lately, I have
Come undone
Like her dress
A ball of string.
Take a dive,
My paper plane
You’ve learnt how to soar.
Teach me, and
I will try
To not follow you anymore.
You will sing this
Just the same,
Moving pictures in my mind.
Chase me
An umbrella in
The rain
I’m not too far behind.
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
Passing Through
Certain strange things
That make me want to cry.
The fresh smell of newly cut grass
My grandmother’s skin
Top of a baby’s head
Kerosene
I know its time to go when
The ground is yawning at my feet.
But I smile,
Not tell anyone.
Inside,
I think of you
When the shadows become longer
And the fire dies down
When the night is awakened
And no one is around.
In the morning,
Not easy when,
I’m alone with myself and,
My hand goes out to touch you,
But you’re not there.
It’s just the summer breeze
Passing through.
That make me want to cry.
The fresh smell of newly cut grass
My grandmother’s skin
Top of a baby’s head
Kerosene
I know its time to go when
The ground is yawning at my feet.
But I smile,
Not tell anyone.
Inside,
I think of you
When the shadows become longer
And the fire dies down
When the night is awakened
And no one is around.
In the morning,
Not easy when,
I’m alone with myself and,
My hand goes out to touch you,
But you’re not there.
It’s just the summer breeze
Passing through.
Thursday, 16 October 2008
Ayya
Pure poetry, she
My grandmother in her sleep
Nodding,
Yes and no and yes.
War and truce.
Her belly,
The tides with,
A whirlpool in centre
Skin is pale and has lines that stretch
Like a newly washed shore
The waves gone.
And like the water
She is not of the same shade
From afar.
Her eyebrows,
Scattered sea shells today
That glisten like pearls they hide
From the sun.
The stories that rage
When it rains
Come alive
Inside
Where she takes nothing in
And gives back sunken treasures
From her heart that grows weary
But beats, still.
My grandmother in her sleep
Nodding,
Yes and no and yes.
War and truce.
Her belly,
The tides with,
A whirlpool in centre
Skin is pale and has lines that stretch
Like a newly washed shore
The waves gone.
And like the water
She is not of the same shade
From afar.
Her eyebrows,
Scattered sea shells today
That glisten like pearls they hide
From the sun.
The stories that rage
When it rains
Come alive
Inside
Where she takes nothing in
And gives back sunken treasures
From her heart that grows weary
But beats, still.
Sunday, 5 October 2008
The Rambler
Anti social
You’re soaked with touch.
I think I’ve had too much here,
Bodies glide in a silent room,
Silhouettes wait for midnight,
Morning
Some for the after noon
And who’s seen you?
You who were born in the rain
I remember everything
The swell and the shade
Of your dress
You tears and shouts
In darkness
I don’t want forgiveness or sympathy, for I am not sorry for anything. And maybe I am scared because, I think it would have been easier to, converse if your face was cloaked by hair, but know for sure that I was always willing to try. And in a room full of strangers I will never act my age (for what is my age?), maybe just maybe you’ll see that the only thing that scares you the most is what you have inside. It may come true like something that lasts.
And maybe you will change you mind
Maybe everything will be okay
After tonight.
You’re soaked with touch.
I think I’ve had too much here,
Bodies glide in a silent room,
Silhouettes wait for midnight,
Morning
Some for the after noon
And who’s seen you?
You who were born in the rain
I remember everything
The swell and the shade
Of your dress
You tears and shouts
In darkness
I don’t want forgiveness or sympathy, for I am not sorry for anything. And maybe I am scared because, I think it would have been easier to, converse if your face was cloaked by hair, but know for sure that I was always willing to try. And in a room full of strangers I will never act my age (for what is my age?), maybe just maybe you’ll see that the only thing that scares you the most is what you have inside. It may come true like something that lasts.
And maybe you will change you mind
Maybe everything will be okay
After tonight.
Photos
Looking at photos of people you don’t know is easier…they are not that different from people you know in photographs though. They are smiling, laughing, making funny faces, holding hands, pulling someone, hugging, touching, leaning, sleeping, jumping etc just like your friends in photographs, but its okay to look at someone and not remember anything because you don’t know them and you probably never will. It’s easier when something that freezes time doesn’t remind you of anything.
Writing everyday is hard. How did the others do it, others who are dead and long gone? If not anything, I guess it’s important to be in love. I guess it’s important to feel something…anything. I believe we should just keep burning forever with some emotion or desire. But burn too much and it will make you weak.
I wish I could walk away from most things that have departed from me. I guess sometimes it’s hard to accept that the closer you get to something, the farther it moves away from you. Ever felt like a magnet with its poles reversed, like you attract nothing? But sometimes you should let things go. Maybe people just want to be free. Maybe I am very uninspiring and never give anyone a chance to stay or remember something I said. I just don’t know anymore.
There was a time not long ago when I saw heart attacks, apocalypse, end of the world, but I stopped thinking about it (…stop thinking about it!!)
It hurts to think that to some it doesn’t matter at all. A sense of loss is just a slight glitch in their life, just a minor alteration, and they deal with it perfectly. Why the hell am I such a nervous wreck without any confidence whatsoever? Why do I keep holding on? Why do I need a confirmation or an affirmation of the pain inside being physically manifested in the real world? Why can’t I do anything about it? I am not that old but I guess I am tired of starting again and again from the same point. No, it’s NOT ‘beautiful’.
Advices stop meaning anything when you just don’t want to listen. Advices don’t mean anything when you know they won’t help. Time doesn’t heal everything when it is time itself that reminds us of what caused the hurt in the first place.
They call me a dreamer. They say I give them hope. Why do I keep none for myself?
The festive season is on and I feel more alone than ever. I feel like no one wants to come and see me and I am only running after people…could my mother be right? The subtleness of Eid will soon give way to the chaos of Diwali and after the fireworks will die, the dim lights of Christmas will shine in the night. All this will soon wash away and the only thing that will be left will be the silence of the coming year. But where will I be on these days and what will I do?
Maybe I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Maybe I just keep telling myself the exact same thing because I am here every year. Maybe nothing has really changed. I just don’t know anymore.
Writing everyday is hard. How did the others do it, others who are dead and long gone? If not anything, I guess it’s important to be in love. I guess it’s important to feel something…anything. I believe we should just keep burning forever with some emotion or desire. But burn too much and it will make you weak.
I wish I could walk away from most things that have departed from me. I guess sometimes it’s hard to accept that the closer you get to something, the farther it moves away from you. Ever felt like a magnet with its poles reversed, like you attract nothing? But sometimes you should let things go. Maybe people just want to be free. Maybe I am very uninspiring and never give anyone a chance to stay or remember something I said. I just don’t know anymore.
There was a time not long ago when I saw heart attacks, apocalypse, end of the world, but I stopped thinking about it (…stop thinking about it!!)
It hurts to think that to some it doesn’t matter at all. A sense of loss is just a slight glitch in their life, just a minor alteration, and they deal with it perfectly. Why the hell am I such a nervous wreck without any confidence whatsoever? Why do I keep holding on? Why do I need a confirmation or an affirmation of the pain inside being physically manifested in the real world? Why can’t I do anything about it? I am not that old but I guess I am tired of starting again and again from the same point. No, it’s NOT ‘beautiful’.
Advices stop meaning anything when you just don’t want to listen. Advices don’t mean anything when you know they won’t help. Time doesn’t heal everything when it is time itself that reminds us of what caused the hurt in the first place.
They call me a dreamer. They say I give them hope. Why do I keep none for myself?
The festive season is on and I feel more alone than ever. I feel like no one wants to come and see me and I am only running after people…could my mother be right? The subtleness of Eid will soon give way to the chaos of Diwali and after the fireworks will die, the dim lights of Christmas will shine in the night. All this will soon wash away and the only thing that will be left will be the silence of the coming year. But where will I be on these days and what will I do?
Maybe I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Maybe I just keep telling myself the exact same thing because I am here every year. Maybe nothing has really changed. I just don’t know anymore.
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