coffee date

another valentine’s goes by as i stare onto
fairy lights on curated café walls
these are the places you’d
find romance they said so i somehow
convinced myself to a coffee date,
not that it was easy by any means

my eyes are lost looking
scavenging for meaning in graffiti
but i do check back often to
ensure that i still believe that this
singledom is by choice and not
by running away from
all the doors with neon signs
for i still need myself to believe
that if it was really meant to be
there’d be yet another chance
another moment where the stars align and
all of the universe conspires for
us to run into each other

for the last thing i’d want you to know
is this battle i fight with the longing
not that i know what i want but
sometimes i think that i’m not made for love
or perhaps i have been promised
forever too many times yet i
know deep within that this won’t
just go away on it’s own

i’ve been loved for brown eyes that glow
in the morning light, for how my
fingers could weave magic with graphite, for how i see pictures that everyone missed, and
for the tender ways i kissed, but for once i would like to be loved for all
the flaws that only i see in the mirror,
for all the things i could never be
for all the promises i could never keep.

i look past and there’s another set of eyes
probably as lost as mine
and for the little moment they meet
into different directions we leap
it’s funny how we all long
for something that we’re so unsure about
yet the void has to be somehow filled

so we continue living tiny lives,
little stories in someone’s mind and blurry
group photographs that you’d someday find
for there’s plenty more like me with stories
of beautiful skies and tiny puppies
but no one waiting to hear them all
brave enough to let strangers
cry on their shoulders
yet aching to find one to call their own

love

there’s half a dozen messages lying in my inbox
all with the blue tick on them and yet
I don’t have the energy to send another for I am afraid of being left on seen again
after all I think that I am a softie
getting attached to people so easy even
when I was told a million times not to

I have been taught to not expect love and
yet I have never fallen short of people
breaking apart on my shoulders,
telling me about the hugs they yearn for
and when they finally gather all of the
pieces from the now moist fabric of my shoulder and walk back into this world, they choose to
do so with this heart lined with lead

it is funny how we all long
for this same kind of love yet
we push it away the moment we find
the tiniest shimmer of Cupid’s arrows
for vulnerability might lead to pain
o darling, isn’t it what you’re already in?
we fail to love and then hide amongst the lyrics of Taylor Swift songs
throwing away blame on everyone around

for a long while I have been told that
humans are created halves and
the longing that we feel deep in our hearts
will begin to fill in waves when you meet
that one pretty person
who makes your heart pound like the first ride on a rollercoaster and that
mile-wide smile plastered across your face
perhaps a bit longer than the great wall of China

but oh darling, how do I break this to you
that I’ve lost a lifetime of love
hustling around to find this kind of love
how do we find this kind of love when
you be the same person as me
leaving me on read
hoping that the other person would text back?

numb

Some days feel tough right from the moment they start. They weigh down on my chest and make it difficult to even breathe. They say that the easiest way to feel better is to talk to someone, but what do I do when I can’t even squeak?

All of what you’ve heard is false. All of the psychology posts you read at 3 am missed the point. You can never see it. It stays right in front of you and could go without spotting it. The perfect camouflage.

A friend once told me about his dreams of sinking. Somehow, that fails to scare me. Is it perhaps the call of the void?

I seem to have trouble feeling anything. Not that I’m physically capable – I can feel the gentle whiffs of cold air from the ceiling fan, the thumping of the heart in the silence of the night, and the warmth of the blanket on my legs. Yet there is something missing.

This is precisely where the storm starts brewing. It is within somewhere, but I can’t see it approaching from any direction. It is only when the waves start getting bigger that I notice. That I realize. And it begins with the first raindrop.

There is a moment of pause. Between then and when the clouds start to burst. And then it is just thunder and lightning and water everywhere, until you can no longer hear everything.

And then you walk along the little library beneath the staircase, turn on the little lamp and run your fingers along the spines. The whispers barely audible as the fingers brush against compressed paper. And you come across this one book that you haven’t picked up in long.

All I could do is skim through the pages, explore the texture of the paper and the color of the print, barely visible in the lamplight. And before I realize, the storms are gone, there is only a gentle patter of stale raindrops against the windowsills.

Outbursts are good for they bring the calm that follows. A gentle moment of clarity. A little sunshine that brings hope.

Perhaps a distraction is all that we need.

chase

Everyday I notice these treadmill runners on my evening walk.

As the last rays of the sun slowly begin to disappear, these tiny humans get onto these sophisticated machines consisting of rollers and a looped mat. They then choose move their limbs at a set pace, music blasting in their ears, heading particularly nowhere.

Ever since I began running, which was about a year ago, I’ve found it addicting too. The sense of achievement that runs through your veins, along with the adrenaline and all those happy chemicals, knowing that you’ve pushed yourself beyond what you imagined was previously possible.

And secretly, also realizing that you are better at someone at this.

I’ve always found dogs chasing cars interesting. Yet I could never make sense of why they do it.

And then it hit me, it’s not just them.

From the moment I wake up, I am running towards something. Whether it is reaching office earlier than yesterday, or maybe trying and talking to that girl from the lift, or to simply reach the eight-thousand step count on my fitness tracker (which experts tell me is the minimum required amount to stay fit), I’m constantly chasing goals.

And today, when I chose to take a break and accidentally ran into this spiral of thoughts again, I wonder what made me this way. Perhaps it was the way I was taught to go for gold every time. That anything lesser than an A could make a difference to the width of the smiles on my parents faces. Or that I was always taught to hustle and get to the top.

I have probably reached that floor of the building where most of us humans exist now.

Being incapable of identifying the value of things we have. Not unless a random celebrity or an exclusive workshop tells us to.

It saddens me. Being incapable of appreciating the small things in life. Of appreciating art that people make. Of showing gratitude for the little things. Unless they are grand masterpieces.

I couldn’t blame myself either. I believe that as humans, this is what we do – progress. Perhaps at the cost of what makes us human. Interestingly, even our scientific theories are based on this – survival of the fittest anyone?

So the next time you begin to fall into this cycle of chasing, maybe pause a moment and take a deep breath?

void

have you ever wondered
how it feels to wake up
every other day
with a void in your chest?

that feeling of nothingness
but at the same time
something so heavy
that you can’t cross the street

on some days
i have this feeling
like i am this shattered lensball
picking pieces of myself up

we both know that
it’ll never be the same
on the other days
i try to turn this pain
into folded paper and
necklaces woven out of words

but then most times i fail
you dreamt of a house
while I found solace in the unknown
for the feeling we know as home

we both know that now
it is all a memory
but can you tell me how
to ease this pain
for I have been lurking

in the shadows and between
the warmth of unknown bodies
looking for a way
to feel at peace with the memories

cold

why is it
that we choose to love
knowing all the pain
that it will shower

you know that it hurts
but the arms wide open
choosing to trust
knowing it will break

aren’t we the most
vulnerable of creatures
risking it all
still afraid to fall

for isn’t this the love
the one that doesn’t
let the pillows dry
that we all crave for

more

why are you like dreams?
I wish you’d lasted longer
not a lifetime but
just another moment

to savor the happy place
away from the troubles of this world
and then hold you back
perhaps with a gentle embrace

then I’d want you back
but it seldom works that way
for you’re a dewdrop on the grass
making mornings beautiful

into plain air you vanish
my hands grasping in the air
into that smoke lit by the streetlight
for all that beautiful nothingness
I’ll always miss.

asifa

Asifa Bano was a just like all the other little girls.

Chirping like a bird and running like a deer.

She was the centre of the universe connecting her family.

8 years old.

What she went through for a week was worse than what an eight year-old could ever imagine.

They found her body days after she went missing.

Yet another life was sacrificed over land and lust. People are still fighting over the religions and borders.

A beautiful soul was forced to leave the world even before it could imagine its potential.

A child snatched of her dreams.

But Asifa is just a name. Just like the many forgotten Nirbhayas. An innocent face which I find difficult to erase from my mind. They would’ve found some other girl and even worse ways to attain their objectives.

This is just one of the many stories that we end up hearing every day.

Let’s face the harsh truth : this fire you see now is going to die down. Just like all the other cases we have seen. The tons of likes and comments that we recieve is NOT going to bring that girl back. Even if it did, it could in no way ease the suffering she would have gone through.

But that face is going to haunt much of our lives for long.

In a way, it is better that they put an end to the torture inflicted upon her by taking her life – she could never have survived this society.

Souls like these deserve better – much better than the world we live in.

Let every like on this post be a prayer for her.

Let every comment be a pleading towards every person who decides to pleasure oneself over the suffering and torture of another.

I feel angry. I am burdened with grief. But then I know that I am powerless.

Sorry Asifa, we failed as a society.

Yet again.

We failed you.

Hope that they got the pleasure they’d been yearned for.

nothingness

Stemming deep from within, a desire to know what you are. Trapped within a soul, who am I?

People seem fake. Excelling at their assigned roles. Why does it all seem like a play all of a sudden?

The achievements, moments of bliss all seem to have withered away. Just like vapor on a cold windshield. When all the praises showered upon feel like flattery, none of them real.

When you look back and realize what you have achieved, only to see there is nothing. What have you been doing all these years?

Depressed? No. High? No. Then what makes you all philosophical all of a sudden? The voices around rise in chorus. The society maybe. Or my conscience.

The ideas seem to have found an end.

What about me? I live. Merely exist, to be precise.

Questions, questions. Wait, isn’t that what makes us different? Life. No matter how much you run away from her, she always finds a way to enchant you again. Interesting.

Live every moment. Leave a mark.

A good one.

dreamland

He was running out of time.

Holding onto her he ran as fast as he could.

‘What if all of this is unreal?’, she asked, her face quite disturbed.

‘No, this has to be real. This thing has the power to change our lives’, he mumbled trembling, the answer hardly satisfying her curious mind.

He looked back to reassure her when he saw her face change colors.

Her face was now terrifying. The pretty doe eyes now had a fire in them. Her face had odd looking bump, and the skin had turned a dull shade of dark green, sharp canines poking out of her mouth. He slowed down but she kept her pace crashing into the wall ahead, turning into a cloud of smoke, quick to disappear.

He screeched into a stop, almost losing his balance. He stood there, confused.

Beads of sweat began to flow down his face while he tried to make sense of everything that happened in the past hour.