Suffer and then recite it like a prose?
~A confession~

-

I was an abandoned cottage,
you lit candles in,
when storms chased you.
While I believed,
I was your home,
you remembered returning to.

You rested.
I stayed ruined.
You left.
I stayed haunted.

/Captioned/

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Observation is directly proportional to Hatred.



....They say your pupils dilate when you look at someone you love. Mine were converging as I was getting closer, which is a pretty good build-up to say I have been disliking myself lately.

-

... just means I’m at my edge.
‎And no, I won’t be shaking hands with death.
That’s for cowards.
‎But just because I don’t write things like -
“If one murder was legal, I might slit a throat, maybe more”, doesn’t mean I will hesitate.

-

Not in this life, not in this breath,
‎But perhaps beneath another sky,
‎Where time forgets to chase us,
‎Where courage doesn't taste like fire,
‎Where love isn't worn like a wound,
‎Where hearts are brave and endless,
‎There, the wind will whisper our names,
‎And I'll trace the carvings that says-
‎'You are mine and I am yours'.
‎

-

in this valley of madness and craze,
‎dark eyes lock up in a hollow gaze,
‎at the lone one standing, unfazed,
‎he who is actually sane,
‎labelled as the insane.
‎

-

इस जहाँ में कोने कई, फिर भी भटकू मैं शाम से सहर,
छुपने की आस में कहीं, फिर भी ढूंढू मैं अपना एक शहर।
एक घर ऐसा,
ना जज्बातों का राग हो, ना तन्हाई का दाग हो,
ना खामोशियों पे सवाल हो,
ना खुशियों का कमाल हो, ना हया, ना अरमान हो,
ना जान हो, ना बेजान हो।
केवल मैं और मेरी तीन आवाजें,
मिलकर लगाए सवालों की कतारें,
एक सच बोले बिना किसी लिहाज के,
दूसरी झूठ सजोए थोड़े ठंडे मिजाज़ से,
तीसरी बीच में बोलने से कतराए,
और यू ही दिन बीत जाए।

शहर का एक कोना ऐसा जहां एक परछाई न मंडराए,
सूरज उगे हमारे साथ, और शाम हमसे ही ढल जाए।
की अगर खो भी गए तो कोई डर नहीं,
खुद को पाने के लिए,
जाने अनजाने में एक दो जानें छूट भी गई,
तो कोई ग़म नहीं।

-

Tangled in the charade of spit and swallow,
I wander in two lanes where voices follow-— % &Muted ones just let their eyes sink deep in pain,
For who's their God? Where do they complain?
— % &(I switch pens when can't think ahead.
But this one, it wrote itself.)
— % &

-

Two minds in chaos talk in metaphors,

Two souls in love talk in hyperbole,

Two hearts in miseries talk in elegies.

-

Crying feels outdated. So instead, I sit still, hold my throat tight, inhale deep, and when it burns, I exhale slowly—
a cry masquerading as a sigh without the aftermath of swollen eyes.
I clench my jaw, force the saliva down, hoping to choke on it,
so that in the cough that follows, I can sneakily release the cry trapped in my chest.

Some music isn’t just a sweet melody. It’s a sharp blade—
splitting your ribs, pulling out your heart, and whispering,
"Look: see the heartbeat stumbling, the rhythm racing,
arteries glowing with the light of a thousand shards.
I’ve poured my soul into you to teach you how to cry in silence.

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