Monthly Archives: May 2017

Kiss them drunk

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We’re conditioned to doubt ourselves. To think twice before we act and draw lines between everything. A friend can’t be a lover just as love cannot be synonym to lust. Differentiation is what marks the small space between sanity and insanity. You can’t kiss drunk. You can’t spell love and lust within the bones of the same man. It makes me anxious to see how we’re taught an appropriate behavior. In trying to chase “forever”, we find the present slipping away. Out of reach. Out of grasp. Suddenly, only a concept of what could have been.
Next time maybe, don’t over think and kiss him drunk? Because, there are no right or wrong people. They’re just people who were best for you during that time and now they aren’t anymore.

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Unfitted Lover

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When we were together
I wrote poems about you on nights that I couldn’t sleep
And on those mornings you would read them
You said that you fell more in love with me
I’m more efficient in penning my love down
Heck, penning everything down
Than verbal proficiency
You liked the concept of twins
When I told you that I’m not one but two
So it’s hard to tell which part is at play
And you said you loved each part
Regardless

When we were together
You adored the inner child
The reckless brat who sought thrill
Took uncalculated risks just to land bruised
Someone who would jump when you counted to three
You liked the taste of burning skin on ice
The highs came with the lows
The ecstatic and erratic self
Countered days of being depressed without much reason
Those days
You said that you’ll be the one rowing us across this ocean
My bones won’t sink and I will make it through
I believed you

When we were together
My poems got annoying
You wanted more spoken words than poetry
I opened my chest to show you that I’m more riddles than simple sentences
You felt that I was putting you in danger
I showed you the last time I fell and ended up with a bruise on my right leg
The highs were dangerous and the lows drained you of energy
You let my bones sink on days when I couldn’t get out of bed
Nobody rowed me across the ocean and I was stranded
Floating
I swam to the shore on my own

When you left
I still searched for you on the shore
Now, I try to be more words than poetry
I write less now and try talking more
I take small steps and drive slow
I sleep more and don’t let my bones sink in on the bad days
I work and never let the gloom takeover
I’m one person not two
I try to be whole

Will this be enough to bring you back home?

Conversations with my therapist

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One day my therapist asked me, ‘If you know being inactive and dormant won’t get you anywhere, and this is what triggers your depression then why don’t you move or try changing?’

‘It is like ice’, I replied, ‘Imagine being stripped naked and splayed out on it. The ice leaves cold burns on my skin. Air just makes me more aware of the sting so I don’t get up. I am afraid of the wind burning my skin. Lying there, on that block is all I have known. It feels like home.’

He told me that I can move. I’m braver than I think. I got my entire life to live. Temporary pain can prove to be relief forever. I still did not budge. He gave up and asked, ‘So you don’t want to get up?’

‘I do, but I’m waiting for the block of ice to melt. Somethings in life require more time than effort.’

The traffic on the highway

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The construction on the highway
Has the traffic crawling
So I cannot normally cruise
But rather spend long hours in line
Stuck
Looking at blank faces
Men and women
Some have children in the backseats
Looking ahead
To nowhere

The rush hour has everyone
Running back to their homes
To their bored lives
Running to watch soap operas
Which shows a life of romantic grandiose
The likes they will never live but only see on the telly
Running to watch the news
Cursing the government but unable to start a revolution
Running to the end of the day
Only to start again

What we need is a revolt
Against our old systems
Rip it out from the root and burn it
Throw it in the air

But we don’t
Because, a revolt against the system would mean
A revolt against self
We’re quick to take action against others
Not ourselves

I pick a bottle of whiskey on my way
Running to no way particularly
Cheers to my own revolution
I smirk
Maybe, I’ll be a changed man
Or so I would like to think