Blog

In the desert, let me repeat, in the lonely and sad desert, he did stand alone with no hopes so far, that night that chilled almost everything to death. He was being killed every moment, with every sandstorm bringing something disastrous to him. Every moment passing by, was bringing him closer to a brutal end of his life.

Remembering the moment sometime back then, when he did smile for the last time. Now with all of his perfection in faking that very smile, he did spread happiness.

After all these insomniac nights in which he used to bleed his woe on the paper, he finally had no expectation from anybody to come and take him outta that darkness he was becoming a part of. Obscure reasons made him an atheist and the saddest part was even he could urge God to send a light now.

Chances were so little for him to be able to make it for few more years with this disturbed psychological balance. But did he even care for the days to be lived? Every morning, when everyone else used to wake up to chirping of birds or some to bed tea, all he did was to look into the mirror at his scary swollen eyes, getting darker every night, tears sticking on his cheeks and these relentless cuts on the wrist he can’t even count the number of.

When he had exactly no chances of his “survival”, she happened to him in the most unexpectedly beautiful way. That Diva, charm of whom overruled all his demons and induced the devil in him, for her. His lips which had acquired a whitish layer were now shining with the effortless smile. Fearless of the disasters this love was going to bring, she held his hand and kissed his forehead. While he kept on blushing, she was still busy in collecting his broken pieces and adoring them all, for they were all parts of him, once.

In these howling chills of night, he was starving from severe thirst. All he wanted were few drops of water to quench his thirst, but less he did have any idea of happening of a rain in the desert, which would get him dissolved in her, making a small piece of their forever.

For it was the rain in the deadening cold night, it did quench his thirst but froze him to death. This time he had no regrets of getting this life ended as he always used to say, “I wanna die in the most romantic way, ever possible.”

Life could not let them meet, the death definitely did. Their souls danced in the romantic ways they both fantasized once sparkling the love that made him alive after the death.

Well, you know what I’ve been feeling lately —it’s all overrated, extremely. Everything including the concept of infatuation, love, affection and particularly the pain. What comes to me is that it’s all a highly unrealistic mess that’s created from within by none other than ourselves, badly choked on assumptions and rusted beliefs. All the celestial metaphors and the deadly heavy words, merely to put weight onto emphasizing things. Nonsense. Utterly crap!

Well, during this substantially long period of time, away from writing the way I used to, I have finally realized few things. At the end it’s not about how complex metaphors I had put forward in the name of poetry but the simple evenings when she was along with me, sitting at a measurable distance so that we can watch each other along with the horizon and savour the beauty of both creations of nature at the end of each other’s gaze. These evenings with awkward yet perfectly sensible silence surrounding us and we both laughing like insane best friends before succumbing relentless kisses against each other, like two desperate lovers.

.

PS: That was a beautiful, very beautiful evening!

I was holding her hand, as usual. But the grip of her fingers crossing mine, was tighter this evening.

Though we were walking but I was finding my self still stuck in that smile she passed while coming to me. Yeah I know she smiles a lot, but this time it was different, entangling me maybe.

“Are you really okay?” Even if I am, she never foregts to add “okay” with this particular question for that matters a lot to someone like me who if affected by nothing but small things.

“Yeah I am, obviously I should be okay when you’re with me”, I said, trying my best to hide the storm rising inside me.

“But you seem to be restless my boy”, tell me why you’re shivering and just look into my eyes !

I tried to control my breaths while she held my hands and made us sit on that bench near the road. Her embrace had always been soothing but this time it was a little more, perhaps what I exactly longed for.

It was already quite a dark when she wrapped her arm around me and slightly touched my cheek. I bet I couldn’t have imagined of anything more pleasing than this evening.

“You’re hiding something from me and you better tell me now. Come on, go ahead”, she said, willingly coming an inch closer to make me feel more comfortable.

“Don’t you know that I love you? Don’t you think you’re running away from the fact that you love me too, even more? If this is not love which is muffling us, then define it? Friendship? Oh you please! Just like my heart, see yours also can’t beat faster.

I may not be that handsome, I may not be that good-looking, I may not resemble that prince charming you’ve been dreaming your whole life or that perfectly romantic hero, but I’ve an heart. A heart that beats only for you.

Yeah I’ve demons inside me for I am a devil but I’ve seen these demons slashing apart by just your voice. I’ve never been romantic and nor I can ever be but I’m practical and that’s why I couldn’t fall for anyone but you.

I’d left with no reasons to write, until I met you. All reasons to love anymore had abandoned me back then along with these escaped out emotions. I was a writer with no ink. You became my ink, my poem. I did love once with no hope that it would get over and if I’d ever emerge out of it. Perhaps some part of that story resides in me still, along with that pain and memories and love and happiness, but I wanna remember nothing.

I’ve been healing everything I could, but found my remedy in none. None, until you drove me out of that darkess for never to turn back.

Darling, if it ever ends like everything does, let me carve some poems beneath the sheets of our love till then. If this too is to end in heartbreak, I’d prefer to have the pain of yours.”

This was all I could manage to speak before we both bursted out into tears and she hugged me tighter than she ever did.

“My stupid mr.writer, I love you. More than you would ever know and far more than I could ever tell.”, she said after a few mintues which she took before her cry turned into normal sniffs and sighs.

That “my” made me fall for her once again and I still wonder how she manages to make me fall for her, millions of times and every time for a different reason.

I still regret for making her cry by this ultimately unromantic way of proposal. :’)

That rainy evening, when your lips were exactly between mine and your eyes were refusing to open up anymore, in that divine moment of our romance I sat with my gaze on your closed eyes and saw my nose resting at the tip of yours. It was then, when I inhaled the maximum of you, I could and I still couldn’t fill my lungs enough with that fragrance, they helplessly craved for more of you.
With that inhale, I puffed my lungs with the scent of you and the rain and could not differentiate the very two of them for they were too similar and too soothing to me.
Isn’t this exactly what happens when you come out with your arms wide open to feel the scent of the very first shower of monsoon on the dry sand, you just can’t have enough of it inside you.
Since then, I come out to smell the petrichor, every monsoon but the lips still wander for that taste and the lungs still crumble to be filled with that fragrance.

In hustle and struggles of daily lives, running back and forth to the places, like revisiting memories- both exhausting and beautiful, I sit back on my bed pulling the warm blanket on when it gets cold at night, Or sometimes I walk around, staring at the lonely roads with street lights lighting them up and shadows of the trees on the ground making the silence look pleasing, yet uneasy.

I toss and turn in my bed, eyes failing to catch hold of sleep. I reach out to get hold of something I love. I sit back, all curled up, my fingers running through, trying to find the mark I last stopped at. Its yellowness lights up my eyes, frees me from the easiness and take me to some other world made from fascinating characters and background. I dive into that world and come out of it when I reach the last page. Some stories surely leave a part of themselves with you. Some books really touch you the way no one can.

“Some folks don’t— like the way I live.
Now I could say the hell with ‘em, I don’t care if they don’t like it.
I do say I don’t care if they don’t like it, right enough— but I don’t say the hell with ’em, see?”
“I try to give ‘em a reason, you see. It helps folks if they can latch onto a reason.”
—To Kill a Mockingbird

I am inhaling this air along this dead lake, smelling of sand and still water and it is making me nostalgically sad, making me helplessly remember the fragrance of your neck. As I crawl upon the stone over which I sit, trying not to weep, remembering you, I find these ecstatic nights, deliberately coming to me like a shuffle of cards and it occurs to me that I can’t choose one over the other. The nights when I dug my tongue behind your earlobe and moved it along the delicious curved neck, looking deeper into your half shut eyes screaming at me to make you a little more seduced, a little more loved. A little more mine.

The epitome of perfection and breeding ground of the beautiful celestial collisions, it came to me lately that her neck has no belongings to here. There is anything but melancholy in this sad city yet her neck screams out lullabies of happiness and beauty. It belongs somewhere far away, where sadness doesn’t enter. Where flowers sing the songs of the weary Sun and birds chirp in the language of drunken poetry. There are times when she holds the furious demons and cages them onto her nape and then, there are those when she sets them free and the brown of her hair reflects the dark beauty of her enigma, difficult to grasp yet inevitably beautiful and, absolutely poetic to me.

.

Muse: