Us against the world

Ephemeral vanity. Storms. Electric radio falling down a tub. Bullet holes. Bubbles in summer air. We’re everything, all at once. Reckless and cautious. Motionless and spinning. Night and day. My atoms dissolve into your body and your mere touch ignites my being. Sweat and tears. Broken promises and midnight embraces. We are nothing more than strangers but breathe together through each other’s failing organs. Windows of the past life and closed doors of the future. All we have is now. You and me. Us Against the world. Lying in shades of the sycamore tree under a sky of indigo. The hue of your smile. Nature’s daylight never had such colors. Ambition fades away. Sins come alive. Mock me, if you will, but this is what it amounts to. There are landscapes with our names on the dirt. We belong in a world we haven’t seen. Yes, I’m soft as clouds when it comes to you but thunder is all I’ve ever known. You’re the sun and the rain. You’re the light in me and my darkness. Choose wisely and act on it, for your ruin is in my hands and mine in yours. It’s always been that way. Help me in becoming what I want to be and I promise, one day, not far from today, we will leave this mass of mediocrity and merge with the mist.

Same Old Love

Eyes deceive softly, people swiftly. Sounds become mute movements from parched mouths. I used to be afraid of snakes but now snakes are people and people, snakes. Glistening in crimson heat, waiting to swallow you. Aching bones and silver shadows. Pretense rises like dewy mist in the air and as everyone around me inhales these fatal vapors, I simply stand and watch for there’s nothing I can do about it. Maybe I can, but I know too well of its beastly futility. Our lives are enigmatic miseries and yet we ramble on about how beautiful we are. We are organic dirt, a splattered hue of scarlet blood veined creatures so fragile, so ephemeral that we splinter into thousand fragments thinking we’re on the verge of an immortalized epiphany. The truth is, you and I are as messed up as our ruffled hair and our skulls are secretly cracked with sinful entities. As much as they glorify something that doesn’t exist, we’ll always be surrounded by painful lies and people who hurt. You may think someone is perfect out there for you but there isn’t. Imperfections come masked in graceful figures reeking of a beauty that isn’t even there. Deception crawls slowly as time dwindles away in the lonely hour. People make you feel when you don’t want to. Crystals of tears succumb to the gravity of emotion and there’s so much to say sometimes that it kills you on the inside. Feelings would’ve never meant so much had it not been for the people you desire from the deepest corners of your heart. But when everything merges in an endless sphere of fear, morphed by flaws you find and people you pursue, all you’re left with is yourself- battered and bruised in a love that was never meant to be.

Mystic love

 

Bleeding hearts ache the most. We travel in imaginary subways in the dead of the night when the rest of the world lies down amidst heavy breathing and strange longings. Our hands are designed for deep wounds and tattoos gone wrong. But they’re also made for catching heavenly droplets from the tip of our butter fingers under grey smoke and dark clouds. Hope is a sweet poison and passion, a lustful hunger. To roam aimlessly through narrow streets is a game we play every night for it’s then that I see your smile under the soft streetlights. In a world devoid of beauty, I find reasons to wander past sleeping souls and broken windows for when we walk together inhaling bursts of midnight fog, that’s when we are truly alive. For us, others cease to exist but we couldn’t care less, for all that remains of us, at that moment, is nothing and everything. Our bodies get swallowed by galaxies unknown to the rest of the world. But, They are our empires in the making, they are my entire universe, for if nothing, they’ll still have your smile. And that to me, is hope.

Blue song delirium

 There’s another galaxy somewhere very far from us, singing our love story. I hear it in the suffering you talked of. I see it in your broken verses and in my broken dreams. There’s pain and longing buried inside us but somehow, we make do with midnight coffee shots and moisture on our pillows. You had your muse in front of your eyes who couldn’t even smell this strange love. It could’ve been something and yet it never was. You waited with hope and I stole it from you. The agony must have teared you apart. And now it seems to be my turn as I ache with remnants of regret. It could’ve been something and yet it chose not to. Wasted tender gazes and woeful lonely passions. You were meant to be a supernova; but aimlessly I spun away from your iridescence, drinking in my ignorance, forlorn and cold. I wish I had undressed my old wounds and let you in to heal them. I wish you had seen the warmness instead of the cold I made you see. I wish you would’ve known of the intense passions I smolder like you do. But most of all, I wish our atoms had collided and merged, just for once.

To write love on her arms

You know how there’s this one person in your life who comes out of nowhere and suddenly means the world to you?

Well, if you do, I shake you warmly by the hand because you and I are both lucky. As for the ones who haven’t found “the person”, chances are, he or she is probably taking a nap right now. Or laughing for no apparent reason. Or pushing a door that says pull.

Isn’t it strange though? You’re doing the same old drill called life and out pops this fruitcake of a soul bursting with enthusiasm and wearing an adorable smile. And suddenly, you can’t get enough of them and no matter what, they’re somehow always there in your thoughts.

It starts so normally, really. They mispronounce your name and you remember them as the one standing next to the other random person. You two eventually get to meet again (small world, eh?) and make -exciting- small talk. (Reason no.47283 why I take weather reports so seriously.)

It’s so formal at first that it annoys you a bit. But before you realise, you get to meet everyday for the next few months because turns out, you attend a same lecture in your freshman year. *Score*

And then a little homogeneity creates an awkward friend circle with unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar habits and unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar Everything. The beautiful enigma of time presents itself along the way. The two strangers get to know each other’s set of favourite things (Chinese. ColdPlay. Books. More books. Check.) And (Chinese again. F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Purple. Blue lays. Check.) Fast forward to a few more months and the idiosyncrasies and insanity emerge from the depths of the layered personalities. This is when you realise that you’ve given way too much personal information and backing out is hazardous and no longer an option.

Okay so. You’re really into this whole friendship/ destiny-ancient voodoo dichotomy/ when-did-this-happen gig. All your time is spent together and even the insults start sounding like music to your ears. The basic requisites for the bond to prosper further are fulfilled along the way- being friends with each other’s parents, random movie/lunch plans, talking incessantly about everything and Nothing and *drum rolls*, the big fight. Well, plenty of them actually.

So finally, you take the tiny pieces of the jigsaw puzzle and start assembling the parts into one integrated whole, right? And oh dear lord, the realisation.The stranger who didn’t even spell your name correctly the first time (who now happens to have a brilliant nickname for you in the history of nicknames if they were kept for aliens), is kinda-sorta-completely your truest friend that there ever was and as you realise this, you are washed over with serenity and happiness and some more of it.

One thousand six hundred and seventy five references and a pocketful of memories- that’s what we’ve got now. And each other. (Softly scribbles ‘duh’ but then backspaces because it’s ‘duh’. And lame.)

Well, then. Guess that’s all. (Miranda Priestly raincheck done.)

Am I not making sense anymore? Excellent.

-Happy birthday, love-

My work here is done.

 

(we aren’t drunk)

 

 

 And I see you in the stars now

Soft smiles under moonlight music

Maybe our atoms exist in those flickering lanterns

And maybe we are supernovas in the making.

All I know is how you are the best of me

And maybe something more too.

For, all the unwritten verses in my mind

Speak of you like you’re the only one I know

In this vastness of life mortal

Silver glimpses of time frozen

In every memory there’s something so calming

Like finding lost stories again

Like traversing the entire universe.

And to have found you in it;

They will call it a blessing perhaps

But beyond travels this soul inside you

So far that its light lives in the stars I see

Maybe that’s how a part of you belongs to me.

 

P.S.- Hit me up in the comments section and tell me about “your person”. I’d love to hear from y’all. Much love.

Delusion

 

My fingers burn with the slightest touch of your hands and even when we are surrounded by personalities of guile and bodies reeking of obscurity, time somehow freezes. With every gaze into your hazel orbs and every touch that could’ve been something else, I speak to the stars about stories I imagine. They’re all beautiful, for they have you in them but it still doesn’t seem enough. Cracked smiles through silhouettes of the frayed doors and a poetic breeze that never blows, I mock myself for feeling something that didn’t exist. Anything that could go wrong did. The Earth has become The Sun for there’s only heat and it scorches and hurts. I see death in souls that claim they love each other and leaves that fall off trees lie there waiting for my tears to glisten their verdant veins. There’s destruction in gray buildings and the night sky makes me miss you. Songs at high frequencies drown the voices in my head but the aches just never leave. The heartbeats that were supposed to synchronize with symphonies died down and arterial bursts of love turned stone cold to leave fragments inside the ribcage. To find a haven in someone else is difficult. What’s more difficult is being left to decay in a haven you thought you had found. As I watched you leaving, I had but a box of abstract memories and the sound of your voice and old conversations to hold onto. I’m so glad you have found a haven now, I just wish you’d never left the one I made with dried petals and songs of the rain. Maybe you were right and I was wrong, for sometimes when you fall, you fall for the wrong one. I know I did.

Bittersweet Symphonies

Her hands feel the cold metal strings of the guitar. I see her sitting by the windowsill and I see her mellowed face, with eyes fixated on her instrument, lips moving in silent whispers and eyelashes fluttering pensively.

And then she begins. A voice like the warm comforting summer breeze, swirling gently through the ears, a thing of beauty.

I gaze with absolute wonder. A voice I am accustomed to; yet every time I listen to it, I can feel the shivers down my spine. Breathlessness. Words elude me. All I can do is smile and feel grateful. To be able to hear something like that voice, it’s magical. I close my eyes and let the musical symphonies invade my heart. This simple voice has been my solace. And now that my life is devoid of this sound, her voice, I feel empty. It’s not just because of her heartfelt absence. It’s the voice that I miss more. It hurts to miss it but it’s worth the pain, worth the bittersweet torture.

It’s funny to realize this. But I guess I never really knew that a singular voice and the source from which it emanated could become the reason for my smile and as it turns out now, my sorrow.

So let me stop writing for I can’t go on any further than this. Not today. Let me stop writing. Hopefully, the tears will do the same…

 

Dedicated to an old friend and someone I’ll always remember.

You and Eye

We walk on dry autumn grass. I pretend to not look at you while we walk. Stolen glances and swift gazes. You smile because you know it. It’s not through words that we speak, we realize. I get lost in your deep set hazel eyes. Somehow, that’s how I find myself too. You pick up twigs and branches with your gentle hands. I smile as you marvel at the crisp wooden pattern and dried olive hue. Our minds are woven intricately with a fragile thread. We call it love. Because it’s the details that meet my eye. You could ask me how and why I find beauty in everything that you do, in every action of yours that I see. But I won’t tell you. I, myself, can’t define it.

We sit across from each other on a distant misty hill, our silhouettes blanketed in tangerine tints. We watch the sun go down. Softly. Silently. I see the warm afterglow of sunrays in your eyes. It’s like I am seeing my own reflection in them.

Serenity washes over me. Being with you is all it takes for me to find myself. And as I realize the enormity of meaning your presence brings to me, how badly I start to wish I could put that feeling of gratitude in words. But I know I can’t. I know I can’t because it’s you. So I let my eyes speak to you.

And so we speak with the movement of our eyelashes; our mellowed visions dancing to the symphony of love. And when it ends, I see a translucent drop about to fall from your orbs- and I just wait patiently to be the one who catches that molten pearl.