やめってよ！

I do not somedays, know how to stop,

this tirade of feelings, the conversations in my head,

the silent hum of nothingness in one of my ears,

So I lay where I feel safe,

under the covers, on my bed.

I trail off for hours, feeding silently to what may never be.

Holding off the things I need to do, the places I need to be.

The laundry rolls its eyes, the dishes sigh for a while,

how lucrative it seems in my head, to just 'Bibbity-Bobbity' it from my haven, where at least for now, I want to die.

Death is soft, like your favorite cardigan

Putrid, perhaps, like a day-old shower, 

Smells and victory from the night before linger in the air

Autumn foliage and venomous salamanders, cheesy karaoke dates, and Pachinko winnings

They like to sit bare feet, you follow their lead 

Robot babies and empty onsens 

Disney fantasies and 80s rock

A fridge full of food, Kheer that reminds you of home, a glass of water, endless jars of supplements, a hot shower,

seem so far away, so unattainable,  from under your blanket town

So you lay there some more, and try to sleep, 

but the owls find out!

Now it's you and them, the nocturnal gang, trying to figure it out.

Tokyo まで Osaka

Tattered tissue paper, secretly piled under the bed linen

a missing neck cushion

a crime committed in the wee hours of the night: ringing a door bell and running for your life

gullible like the orange

two pairs of identical pants 

face masks and book marks

trains whizzing past

cafes that served bad food, no food, great food

stale morning coffee

forced Japanese pronunciations

Taxi men: some old, some Genki, always apologetic 

Bananas to bid luck for the new year

a very sudden goodbye

home is where your heart is 

Dead Superwoman

 

Torquoise scarf, Pom-pom ornamented khussa

       flailing her legs on the bike 

A lady with perfectly set hair, on a bluetooth phone in a polished car

Women in dusky Chadors, helping their next-of-kin up the endless ladder of tourniquet: the overhead pedestrian bridge 

A duo, with their hair in a bun, strays sticking out

Heading home, zig-zagging through the rush hour after a day of manicuring other women’s delicate finger nails,  

Twenty-something with hair now showing hints of silver, Jhumkas dancing in the post-precipitation wind,

breathing the last bit of freedom.

Before they go home,

 

To a stack of dishes, 

Piles of homework, 

Supper preparations, 

That if isn’t served on time; isn’t flavoured enough; isn’t warm enough

Will bear the brunt of the SuperWoman Syndrome

Abuses hurled,

Blue-purple bruises, 

A headless torso, 

Tell me again how home is the safest place for a woman. 

Noor

Love blinds women, they say
He’s not all bad, 
He’ll come around, I know he will 
Someday too soon, when I’ve given him my mind, body and soul 
Love changes everything
His rage: an expression of masculinity 
The workings of his lineage 
Anger is instinctive, isn’t it? 
Titular perhaps 
Perhaps it will wash away,
Like the ocean does to a cliffed coast 

Perhaps there is another horizon 
Patience is a virtue that will sail us through 
To prairies and vineyards 

Perhaps. 

Closure

Diagonals of dark abyss: the numbness of you

Slow, steady, surreptitious: rasps of jagged breath. 

Convulsively now. For it may be over. Commemoration of Closure.

Abyss flames through.

 Demented diagonals now fireworks of sharp, aching pain that begins in the pits. And ends right there too. 

Like lava baptism,

 burning yet purifying.

Whimpered, breathless, spasmodic sobbing.

Prostrating for forgiveness.

History

Of hope and tragedy
that repeats itself

Of smile that reaches the eyes,
masking the forlorn

Of people born to the Zodiac
Of losing love that was never yours

Of butterflies in the stomach
Making you feel lonesome again

Of history repeating itself,
For some things shall never change.

Of Gods and Goddesses

                                                         Apollo by Michelangelo 

like Velcro
they rip your skin apart
scabs of red flesh protrude

the gimmicks of the diety
cupid's hysterical
lovestruck, the pain is sweet
like sulphur on a wound: melancholy, but sweet

the symphony of eternality
of the bittersweet ache
we call love
is heard not by the gods
but the mortals.

Broadway Love

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return- Moulin Rouge

Reciprocation. Balancing the act, like a scale. You're not fair if you don't. That's what Hollywood taught us. It's ingrained into us.

Love must be scored. You love me to the moon and back? I love you to the moon and back times two!

Love is overrated. And unquantifiable. Love knows no answers. What is it that you love about her? If you can answer, you probably don't.

Love is everything we don't know. Is it the butterflies in the stomach? Yeah. Yes it is. When you're 14.

Love is doing math together when you're 17.

Love is not knowing when it's going to end, when you're 20.

Love is saving up on your first paycheck to go see them when you're 22.

Love is hoping it will never end. But it does.

Love is the acceptance of love.

Taurus

Black Raging Bull
History mapped on him
Smile that touched his eyes

Venomed
By love that was never his
The world
That he was never a part of

Sublime
Subdued
Tranquilized

The star in his eyes
Burns ever bright

Knight in shining armour
May the metal on you never blight.

The Wisp

A wisp
floating,
gliding,
zooming in and out of abyss

Eyes,
The colour of caramel melting
Hones the skill of seeing past it

The Horizon
With its seductive snare
The promise of warmth
Of youth
sings with all its galore

The Wisp
Condenses away
To vapour
To particles
To nothingness.

The pupils constrict.

Stubborn

Be the stubborn frizz
Or the rigid stubble

The imminent morning alarm
On a forlorn Monday

The spec of weed in the perfectly manicured garden


Love them,

So deeply,

Fanatically,

Habitually.

The Forgotten Mistress

The constriction in my throat tightens.
I can smell you around me. Your gentle presence. Like the timid jasmine runner that once adorned the garden. The garden that you loved.

It has now lost the bloom. It may be greener. But it cries for the mistress.

The garden isn't alone in it's mourning.

Flashback

Flashforward thirty-five hundred days

Each day for a greying hair 

A slower metabolism 

And fewer laughters

Geography altered 

Apparel warmer 

Tide and time, wait for none

But time has stood still for one 

Glass, a two way mirror

Sees right past 

Shields one world from another 

For another thirty five hundred days.

The Weeping Willow

Laughter bounces amidst the branches, the wind playfully pushing a child

a traveller's den, a writer's retreat,
sat both under the shade to unwind

Vivacious Green, till the Winter's Might
covered in frost, awaiting the delight

Vicious and Fiery, shrugs off the snow
breaths tidings to the Natives of the Land

A disfigured scrap; ruins of The Flying Car
Malevolent and Merciless, protecting a covenant

Roots so mighty, towns have perished
Bizarre and nurturing, the Power of Weeping.

Poignant

Rainbows and butterflies, chocolates and moor.

It was all that and more, they thought about you. 



The dust shook off; fairy dust.

Dark side they saw, residing in you.


Burning and bleeding, gnawing and clawing.

Repugnant the sight, so dreadful; the fright!


Bring back the ornaments! Fairy dust! The royal camouflage! 

Adorn me, for I must now be an outcast.


Unicorns I see. What do they hide?

The hell hounds I think, they must now be tied.

Rubble

All that you have ever worked for, will undoubtedly crumble down to nothingness.

Like the rubble after an earthquake.

You’ll scream, go crazy, maybe spit at it

Turn to walk away, but you won’t.

You knew you wouldn’t. They knew you couldn’t.

You’d go back. Rebuild. Recreate.

Hoping that this once, it might just flourish.



Fate silently smiles at your ambitions.

It has other plans.

Ashes To Ashes

You're a story I tried to write.
With all elements good.
I had sleepless nights.  A writer's block.
Struggling with all I had, to give you the life I dreamt about. To inspire.

Eons later, i gave up. It was making me a monster.

I couldn't breathe around it; tore it into hundreds of bits and pieces.
Then burnt it down to ashes.

Im old and weak now; a monster nevertheless. You lure me to open you up, again
Dip that feather with ink and scribble your story to immortality. Despise myself, meanwhile.

It's ashes, my dear. It's gone. You can't recreate from ashes.

Sane

"You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to every one."

                             (Extracted from "The Picture of Dorian Gray", Oscar Wilde)

Love sucks on you like a leech. Lives on you like parasite. You get up every morning anticipating the butterflies that shall flutter in your tummy; little do you foresee the hurricane that shall sweep away your beautiful yellow-blue-pastel butterflies and leave behind giant, monstrous moths.

This happens repeatedly, over a period of time. Years go by, and you forget what the butterflies felt like.

They blame you for seeing through them. They don't know its a wall, a barricade, a lock out procedure. You're no more vulnerable.


You no longer shall fall in love, ever again.


Time heals all wounds, they say.


You are happy again. Or content at least.

You have lost what they labelled as "impulse", "extremism", "insanity". You are quite normal.

You like everyone. You may dislike some.

But never hate.

Or love.

Those are the extremities you are now alien to.

The World of Normals

You're anorexic! Eat this!

You're too fat. A girl should never be fat. You'll have problems having babies later, i tell you. Is that chocolate? Do you THINK you need any of it?

Damn gurl! Your hair is too long I love em! but maybe you should get them trimmed just a little bit from here...and then there.

WHAT? A BOB? You crazy? You look like a fat 5th grader.

Can you SHUT up? Why are you ALWAYS up for jokes and laughing like a lunatic?

C'mon..lighten up...the world isn't over! You need to be a happier person. STOP whining ok?

You need to be less dependent on people. Start doing things on your own.

You DROVE? To the END OF THE STREET? ALL ALONE? Good Lord! You're too independent!

Maybe you should dress up more appropriately. The clothes you wear are a little too revealing.

You wear a head scarf! DAMN. What got into you? Joining Al-Qaeda soon?

You should get married. Its high time. Career you want to focus on? Beta larkiyon ka koi career nahi hota end main rotian he banani hoti hain.

You're getting MARRIED! But you're too young! What about your career and your goals?

You should love your country. It needs you. Yes lets go all patriotic on independence day and cricket world cups.

Get out of the country. The socio-economic conditions are deteriorating. You can make a difference? Yeah right.

These Amreeki organisations in our country are making us slaves! Damn you IMF and US AID.

Amreeka say rishta aya hai??? sochna kaisa? 

The electronic media is going cuckoo. PEMRA should really start getting serious on the regulations. Katrina ka mango slice wala add dekha? kitna behooda hai! Astaghfirullah.

Haan tou theek hai nah. Yeh News Channel walay jhoot tou nahi batatay..tsk tsk dekho kitna zulm kia becharay journalist per.

Raise your voice against unjust. Always. No matter what.

NO!