The world around me is too aggressive and spins a little too quickly to laugh in the face of absurdity of me forgetting you. I have captured you as a tapered thought and a habit I have grown out of. You are nothing but the sudden jolts of memory keeping me awake, a flash of your gaping smile, the depression between your nose and mouth, that hushed joy in your voice. And the quietness of these flashes keeps growing fonder and fonder, until it decides to break down in a thousand broken pieces and I am left alone to draw them back. I play around with these thoughts a little while longer, betting on them to arrive the next day, their form so brittle to the bones but reluctant to go away. Much like us. Much like Kafka and Milena. Much like any other person in the world whose heart has been stooped by the weight of love.
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I'd love to have
long conversations
about the art
of falling for you,
how you appreciate
the simple acts of love,
the mere probability
of being alive in
each other's arms,
the fragility that lies
within us,
binding us together.
better than ever.-
To Martha,
Hope this letter finds you in the best of your spirits. The starting itself is so bad but it couldn't get any worse. But I hope that's alright with you? Considering the fact that I've punched you with my idiocy all day long for these two weeks.
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Cheers to the laughs and lame jokes we shared. A very happy birthday to you Hemalatha.
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Being together makes us uncertain.
But being us is certainly what brings us together.-
We are
two poems
chasing quietly
each other's stories,
our words unspoken
as rhythm
sinks herein,
but dreams
mellow, unmindful
like the stray leaves
of the fall.-
To the 9 year old Ahana,
It has been a while since we last corresponded . Hope your days are still sunny and jovial. I am here all shattered with the mislaid fragments of innocence. Will you come back?
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My dearest best friend,
2016. The year when our paths got aligned and our fate congealed with one single chord. A chord that compelled me to elapse the fragments of the universe just to reach the doorway of a star, i. e. you.
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there is a sense of languidness hanging in the air from all the words we haven't spoken but which are better left unheard. soon your parched voice breaks out the stillness of the room, you ask me if I can do what it takes. I mumble a yes, with dread. I look back at the grave of promises made and broken. I clasp them too tight and fasten my heart around to run away from it (or you?). How long I have been running? Where I am running to? call me cruel or cowardly, we know I would stay here, better with the situation not confronted. the grief has been shoved away on a wheel for a year, it hurries away only to come back stronger. and the promises you make stick around my teeth like warm glue, the heat almost tangible from the fear I have brewed inside for a while. With all the fear I have now, can I do what it takes?
-