Lost

This is a story of all I’ve lost,
All those who believed in me once,
All those who I thought
Would stay here forever.
All those who were my people.
My people.

But there’s a river always,
And there’s the other bank,
And I’ve seen you go to the other side,
And there are beliefs there too.
Yet I’ll come there sometime,
If I’m strong enough,
To fight against the currents,
And to fight against the odds.

But what’s in store for tomorrow,
Nobody knows,
And the clocks go tick-tock tick-tock,
And I keep losing my faith,
And my people,
And they lose their faith,
And me,
An endless cycle.

But all’s not lost, there is a ray of hope,
Shining from behind the clouds,
Which cloud my mind presently,
Making me unable to see what’s across it,
Whether it’s a silver lining,
Or are there endless clouds,
Hiding the sun, my source of energy,
I don’t know,
And nobody can tell me, unless they go.

This is a story of all those who I have lost,
To love.
Because sometimes,
Love is a poison,
One which comes back to get you,
To destroy you, and to harm you forever.
Memories hit me,
Like cold gales lashing across my face,
Of things that had best remain unsaid,
That had best remained undone,
But were done, in the moment,
Not foreseeing the future,
And here I lie, in despair,
Thinking about it without a course.

And there are others that I’ve lost,
To time.
For time is like sand, forever slipping between fingers,
No matter how hard you close your fist,
People, memories, happiness, friends,
Dwindle out.
Like the candle, having served it purpose,
Reduces to wax, and a part of it,
Forever stuck to the floor,
Like memories,
The memories of my people.

I’ve lost people, and I’ve lost time,
But that’s not all,
I’ve lost memories, so many of them,
In a chest full of gold and other treasures,
But someone robbed me of it,
In a dream one night,
And I have never found them again.
I’ve lost dreams,
He came one night, and told me so,
That dreams were only for those,
Who had their memories safe and sound,
But I had lost them.
I’ve lost wishes, which I had saved,
To demand of a genie should I find one,
But he came in the midst of a night,
And told me he wouldn’t grant me any,
‘Cause wishes were given to only those,
Who had big dreams, and I had lost them.

But lost things may yet be found,
Like toys of a child hidden in the cupboard,
And some day when I rush across,
The pages of time,
I might catch one at the end of a page,
Waiting, sitting there, just like me,
Trying to look out for those she’s lost.

Five

I want to talk a bit on the idea that some of us like to follow. “Live in the present”.

Although it sounds very appealing, I want each one of us to really think how much this matters and how much or how less this would affect our lives. The effect of living in the present is huge. We are always happy in the moment. We love today, and we know we will love what tomorrow has in store for us. But personally, though I love today, and I might love tomorrow, I really hate yesterday.

Think about it, if we were to live in the present, we cannot control our past, nor our future. Great quotes have been made which say, “Do not think of the future or the past because you cannot control them, so live in the present.” But now when I see back at all those years, I see so many mistakes that I have committed, that I was well aware even at that time, but disregarded their importance because I was too busy living in the present. Sometimes, I just sit, and introspect. What if I had done this instead of that? Would I be happier today? The answer is almost always “Yes!” Almost all through my school and college, I used to put this extra focus on friendship. My early posts bear testimony to this. Friendship and love were the two things that I considered the most important. Then slowly I realized that love is not really that important, you can make-do without it. This one time my blog put my friendship with an entire group in jeopardy. Now that I think about them, everything seems so trivial, so stupid; we seem so immature it is hard to believe we have come this far.

Back to where I was, introspection. I am one person who believes in the power of it. “Five” represents my very motive to write about introspection. Give yourself five minutes of your day, but give those five minutes entirely to yourself. We are so busy with the affairs of the world that we sometimes forget that we should take care of ourselves. Wake up in the morning, watch the news, Air Asia flight missing, rapes all around, people dying of the winter, new parliaments, red alerts. Go upstairs and your computer is waiting for you with a hundred mails that huddled up last night. Bring a cup of coffee, but you’ll forget to sip until it gets cold. You read a Whatsapp message, write down the reply, forget to press the Send button. Story of our lives. And so, sometime in the day, just sit back, close your eyes, feel the darkness, plan out your evening, plan out your night, smile that the weekend is almost around the corner, and be happy again. Those five minutes will be the best ones of your day.

I am more than half-way into Decagon now. In another four posts, I will have to close this chapter. This has been the most personal and treasured set of write-ups that I have shared. And yet, I yearn for more. I yearn for your response. I wish, some day, you come and read this again. And then you will remember about today, and how much your life has changed between the two times you read this. Change is lovely, and change is inevitable. So embrace it, let the new year bring a fresh wind in its winter, wrap you in furs, prepare you to battle against all odds, and make you a stronger and happier person in the days to come. Happy reading!

Four | Six

The Last Prayer

The taste of brine, foam in his mouth,
He smelled of sand, the sun and the birds,
Kept going deeper every next moment,
Drowning, drowning into the sea,
When he spoke, only bubbles,
And he breathed, only bubbles,
No one to see, no one to hear,
They said under water, the dumb and the rest,
All are alike, because neither speak,
And here he was, proving it true.
The sun glimmered, shining through the waters,
But every second it kept being dimmer,
Whether his eyes were closing,
Or he was going deeper,
He could not tell.
He’d lost track of time, didn’t know,
How long it had been since he was under,
His eyes were closing, his eyelids heavy,
He realized he should have drank lesser last night,
He longed to know one last time,
Who it was that had pushed him,
They were all his friends, all close to him,
Yet one plotted behind his back,
Or were they all involved, he could not tell.
He prayed one last time, prayed fervently,
That the gods forgive him for all his sins,
And slowly he stopped struggling,
One last breath, and then he decided to rest.

Stranded – 2

Read the first part in Stranded – 1.

She looked at him, he was still drinking,
He hadn’t said a word in the past three hours,
Wondered how terse he had become,
And wondered whether he even loved her anymore.
The blood on his face had dried to black,
A stream of it from his forehead to chin,
She remembers how that had splashed on his face,
And the axe that he used to kill him.

The boy who was waiting on him came up later,
And told them they needed to pay for the ale,
She explained how their money had been stolen,
How they had been robbed of everything as they came.
He went back to his mistress, explained everything,
The wench was ruthless, she didn’t care,
Came up and slapped her on both her cheeks,
That was the last time the wench ever breathed.

As night fell upon them, they decided to sleep,
Shared the hay that the horse in the stable slept on,
She talked to him about love and hopes,
About the children that she planned to have,
The things she had ruminated on while he drank,
He listened intently, or so he pretended,
Until a point when he dozed off,
Leaving her to herself, still talking intently.

When the sun next rose, the girl woke up,
And as she rubbed her eyes and faced his side,
Lo, her love was nowhere to be seen,
Nor was the horse, the stable gates open.
She leaped up and started running,
Never missing the footsteps the horse left behind,
But after some hours she realized her folly,
Sat down where she stood, and wept out loud.

She learned that day what love was about,
How it seldom stood against the face of adversity,
How people changed, and did not realize,
And how love like all things eventually came to an end.
Her love knew no bounds, then why was she,
Alone today, in despair and turmoil?
Stranded she sat, amidst the sand,
Which would bury her into itself, come tonight.

The Time Paradigm

So why am I suddenly writing so much? So much more than before? Why have I stopped writing poems? Am I so out of thoughts? Is there nothing else I can write about nowadays, that I have resorted to writing personal details out here, the nitty-gritty ones? Well then soon probably I’ll be sketching out my entire autobiography here if I don’t stop doing this right here, right now. Ah well then, let me stop.

Yes now, let me think a bit too. I should really use my brains. They are meant to be used. Use them. “Use me,” it cries out. So what is this post about? This post is really about nothing. For the first time, I want to write about nothing. In fact, the truth of the matter is, I really don’t want to write this post. I actually want to go out and eat something good from the street. May be a shawarma. I had four of them yesterday. See what I did there? I just told you something about myself that I didn’t intend to. This is exactly what is happening with me. I am so bored I am actually telling people about myself. I used to fashion myself calling me an introvert. That was the trend then. Call yourself an introvert. Do everything, be everything but an introvert, but don’t forget to call yourself so. Yes, then, so I was an introvert. I had plenty of friends, plenty of talking, but to other people I was an introvert. There’s this saying people say, “I’m an introvert until you know me.” Well hello, if I don’t know you, you aren’t an introvert, you are just nothing to me. Nothing isn’t a synonym for introvert, so stop calling yourself so.

It has been three and a half years since I started writing here. I was going back through all of them. There’s a lot that I have indeed written out here, and for someone like me to be writing so much, it really only implies that I had been jobless for quite some time in the past three and a half years. What was I doing for the past three and a half years? I was attending college. Well, that makes complete sense now. But I was also full of thoughts. Full of ideas. Now I can’t write poetry. It has been some time since I have been thinking about my next poem, but I haven’t been able to come up with one so far. It all started when my interest first drifted from the genre of love and tragedy to the genre of happiness and fantasy. Writing tragedy has always been easy, not because of any personal incidents, but they come soon enough. You can write and you can imagine it because you see it all around you. No, my family isn’t sad. They are all happy. Oh, that does prove it right? Since I came home, I haven’t written one sad piece. Hah.

Oh, I forgot completely why I had started this. The time paradigm. So what is the time paradigm? Well I just gave it that name because the words rhyme, but let me tell you what it is really about. It’s about an article I read a while ago, on time. The author of that article seemed to be a brilliant sci-fi guy, and he had this brilliant notion about time. So yes, I am kind of copying this article, and I would like you to present your views on this as well. Because, for one, it is really interesting. So this guy here had the idea that probably time isn’t moving, which is quite the opposite of what we presume. So let me give you an example of what he really means. It is kind of relativity in itself. For example, when we move in a train, it seems we are at rest and the trees are moving backwards right? Similarly assume time to be the scenery around you, and you are moving on a train. You pass the years as you go by, but the years by themselves, and the time by itself, is stagnant. Quite simple. But if we extend this theory, it might well mean that at a later point of time, someone will pass through the same years that we have passed through. Of course, for this we will have to consider the truth in the theories of parallel universes. Of course, there are a lot of other concepts that closely follow this, but this one was particularly interesting. It means that what has happened may happen again, because nothing is infinite. This may also prove why we get the feeling of déjà vu. But then again, all this later part is just what I deduced and what I think, and none of it has been proven or written.

Anyhow, it’s time for me to stop writing again. See you soon, with a verse hopefully. I haven’t written a verse in long. Hope some idea just blinks. Good bye for now.

Abyss 5

Someone walked in through the bedroom door,
Walked out through the balcony,
And jumped to the ground below.
I kept looking at him, a known silhouette,
A plethora of emotions, a croaking of a raven,
The smell of first rain, and the salt from the sea,
The early morning breeze, and the hundred known faces,
All converging into one, then diverging into many.
I looked at the mirror, he looked at me and smiled,
Then vanished as the waves that lap against the shore.
He jumped back from the ground into the balcony,
This time I jumped to reach him, to hold his hand,
He wasn’t real, the face was now mine,
We had interchanged, only if it were for true.
The smell of smoke, of petrol and the wind in my hair,
We were racing on a road travelled years ago,
He looked at me, and his bike speeded up,
In a moment he vanished.

I was back on my bed, getting down to open the door,
He visited me for some notes,
We broke our fast together but his plate was untouched.
There was another woman going up the stairs,
She waved at me, and her face changed into his.
Then there was laughter, and I was in the classroom,
Sitting behind him, and he cracked a joke.
Everyone around was laughing, laughing merrily.
We came out of the class into the open air,
The grass so green and soft, like it was alive all over again,
We smiled, and yet tears were shed.
Someone shook me and I woke up, it wasn’t that bad a dream,
After all it was only a dream.
Or so I wished.

Nothing

Sometimes I sit and I wonder,
What to write if ever I write,
‘Cause nothing happens in my life nowadays,
No more fun, no more life.
Gone are the days when you missed me,
And talked to me thrice a day,
Now you don’t even remember my face,
And I let it go that way.
Gone are the days when I thought about,
Convincing you of the fact that I love you,
Now I’ve just let it go, hoping some day,
You’ll realise and come to me.
Gone are the days when I cried softly,
Because my friends hurt me to the heart,
Now I don’t care, because I’m used to,
Giving everything and getting nothing back.
I wish sometimes I could go,
To a time some three years back,
When you were all that my thoughts comprised,
How happy was I then, how am I now.
Sometimes the smell of the past lingers around,
I stop sniffing then, I cannot bear it anymore,
And though I never told you that it was true,
I wish you’d know everything by yourself.
Sometimes I wish fairies were real,
So that there were more like you,
But being only one on this world, you won’t survive,
I’m telling you, I’m telling you.
Now I know you don’t know how I am,
And I know you don’t care either,
But I wish if we’d cross paths again,
I wouldn’t smile at you, you would neither.