Tag Archives: contemporary

What fuckery is this?

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I look at the long stretch of road ahead
As I drive home after a day of doing nothing
The truck I see in my rear view mirror
Looks very tempting to crash into
I imagine how it would be
Tilting the car to the side
And
The collision would have me drifting off
Off the highway to the other side
Impact from the collision would leave me unconscious
I hope dead
But then someone laughs
I think in my head, or the radio

You see the thing about bipolar disorder is that it creates scenarios
Shit that won’t happen but it is fun to imagine
My mind will convince me that it’s the best thing to do
Crash my car
Break stuff
Vandalize public property
Or go on an excessive abusive spree

Disturbed cognitive functioning sometime means that I alter my perception of reality
So I’ll imagine cruising down the highway at 100km an hour
After having a wonderful time out
And suddenly it would hit me that I don’t want to live anymore
At times I will go silent in a second
Because the happy switch that made the world seemed perfect
Was flicked out
It’s time for the gloom to take over

When you swing between extremes
You’ll be out hiking with your best pals at 8 am on a Monday
Laughing and dancing
But the very night
You decide that you’re not leaving the house for the next five days
The very sun you embrace
Is like thumb pin pricks on your skin
And your bones decide that the weight of all of this is too much
So your mattress on Wednesday will have imprints of your skin
On Friday the voices will haunt you
This is not real, you know it
Yet you won’t move
Because,
You know that happy days have a price tag associated with them
And this
This is the price you have to pay for being so happy the previous week

Sometimes, you imagine that nothing is real
And that you don’t want to wake up from this
Other times you slap yourself because it’s unbearable

Your friend comments how happy you look
And you don’t tell him that you’ve practiced this smile in the mirror
All the way from home

So next Monday
You refuse to give up
The world is not beautiful and it’s not painted in your favorite colors
And sunny days are not the best ones
A lot of times you want to kill yourself
On spot
But you don’t
Because, fuck! You deserve to live and carve out the life you want
The happy days will be back
You’ll live this one through as well
Till then,
Scream on your way home
Don’t crash into that truck

Gypsies in Love

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A gypsy heart
You and I
Wanderers running in search of the next best thing in life
Present known

A nomad soul
You and I
We danced our way through life
Tomorrow unknown

Khanabadosh, someone once said
You’re one of them
He is too, the woman pointed
Bound to leave eventually but you’re meant to be
Somewhere up in the constellations

I don’t believe in chaining people down
You don’t believe in commitments
We head for a shipwreck among the stars

Let us drown
Let us drown
Among the ones where we belong

Lovers United

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Depression. It’s like a lover that sweeps me up in its arms and throws me on the bed so hard that I end up breaking no bones but for the next few weeks, I can hardly get out of bed.
No. I don’t want to be yours, anymore. I see it go away and muster the strength to start afresh in life. Every effort against it is a win. I think I’m winning.
But, I am afarid.
I’m afraid that it is still there lingering like a shadow ready to turn into a ghost that will haunt me. It stares at me from outside the window and I am too afraid to let fresh air in because I cannot run the risk of letting it come back.

Depression is back. Sometimes the emptiness in my chest gets so heavy that I find it hard to breath. I end up beating my chest to unclog my lungs in an effort to rid of this disease. It goes away but I’m not sure for how long. I wouldn’t know because last time I spent two months without it and bid it farewell.

What I’m saying is that the dark clouds are back again and like everytime, I fear that there would be no way out of this. I’ll crumple like a piece of paper in the corner of my bed and my bones would sink into the mattress. My chest would be empty and suffocation will be the death of me.
I see it smoking by the door. Depression.
It’s coming at me like a war torn lover coming home.

Wrong Places

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I wish to have loved you in another place. Maybe another continent where the sea could run through your veins and you wouldn’t have to worry about drowning. Maybe a place where the air is gentle on our skins and we do not fear it becoming a tornado. Maybe another land where we could have played with the constellations instead of mistaking a fallen star for a drone attack.
I wish to have loved you in another place, another time or another dimension.
All my life they told me to be wary of people who talk sweet but have poison lips. It’s a sacred body described in metaphors. They taught me to stay away from the ones who dare to paint their futures with blood stained hands because the likes of them are dangerous.
Men are dangerous.
Women are deadly.
I’ve been away far too long from those who wore their flaws like medals and declared war on their past to have the future that they painted.
I wish to have loved you in another place where my lips weren’t poison. We didn’t need metaphors to describe our love. I wish to have loved you in another place where the air swept through our pores and the tornadoes didn’t ruin us. A place where we could have played with the stars and your wish on the fallen one would come true. I wish to have loved you before I became one of them, another one from the lot of blood stained hands brewing poetry behind closed doors in an effort to taste freedom.
I have loved you in the wrong places but the time was always right.

Love in loveless

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I’ve always been against the notion of “hard” love.

A love that does more harm than good to your soul is not the sort of love you should strive for. Like a lot of things being in love sounds very poetic but living “a life with the love that you want” is an entirely different concept.

There is a moment when you need to decide that there is no place for a love that makes life hard.

A moment where you need to recognize that toxicity is not a synonym for liberation.

Love is a poetic concept but it should not make you dwell in riddles for long

Love and Misery

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Some people never lay a hand on you but still leave a bloody trail. We brush it under the name of “love” and smile. Who said love has to leave us bruised and crushed in misery? Love isn’t supposed to break us. Love is supposed to make us. And if you’re love is breaking you down, constantly, then it’s time to reconsider.

Love in the 90’s

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When I was 8
A boy in my class gave me a book
Of rhymes
He said he loved me
And decided to give me something
That I liked
Poetry
 
Back then
I didn’t know much about love
Except for a word tossed around
To make people happy
So I told him to rhyme something with it
He didn’t
I said
I love you too
And it rhymed
 
You see I liked the way two words
Came
Together
Different but with the same sound
At the end
Sort of like this
I love you
I love you too
And it makes all the difference

Confusions

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I’m not good at letting things so. I guess that is why I try not to get attached. Attachment means vulnerability and I’ve never liked being vulnerable. Sometimes; it means exposing the galaxies inside your chest but how can I if mine is a black hole? I have no justification for what I do at times. The constant manic cycles that leaves you bloodied. Running back to you on lonely nights just to howl outside your door. At one point in time I thought I knew what love was like. It smelt like your cologne and cigarettes. Love tasted like tobacco and caffeine. Love felt a lot like shutting the world out on rainy days. Love was sneaking around with the adrenaline pumping through our veins. It was stolen. Our love was always stolen and sneaky. It was a chase. I still have no justification for leaving.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m not able to let go of you or the feeling of love?

A poem for your manipulator

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I’ve been too afraid to lose people. So much so that in order to make room for their personality, I diminish mine. I learnt it from my parents. My mother turned from monsoon rain to a chaotic thunderstorm. My father became the ruins rather than the fire.

I make room for his,
dreams
aspirations
hopes
love
goals
in this process of providing space. The little of myself I was left with is crumpled in the corner. To keep a love one has to bend.
One has to change.
One has to make room.
One has to apologize.
One has to let go because love,
Love is worth keeping
Love is worth fighting for
But love is toxic
When he tells you that you should be sorry for your choices. When he makes you feel like you do not exist except for his shadow. When he makes sure you know that he has the string and you’re just a puppet. When his silence screams at your face more than his words. When he tells you that he will leave. When he emotionally manipulates you with your answers and you can’t do anything about it. When he takes the little space that you had.

I’ve been too afraid to lose people. But, I’ve realized I’m more afraid to lose myself.