you're my monster who fits god in her palm.

-

you forgive how god forgives.

-

-

let's hold hands
and lie on the beach
until the sea ebbs away with us

let's lie back
and float on the tides
like two message bottles
clattering in the midst of nowhere

let's get whirled and battered
and not let go
of each other
and wait
until we kiss the sky together
when it storms

let's just float,
float, and float
until we forget where we came from
and row us
to the horizon
and become the horizon ~

-

Sometimes I think that as humans, we don't acknowledge the darkness inside us enough. Imagine seeing beauty in front of you and immersing yourself in it without thinking twice. It isn't simple as one makes it out to be. We often end up worshipping something that just begged our eyes to stay back. Like a poet so moved by his muse that he writes poems for her even after her death, or a lover so lost in the tides of his woman's beauty that he ends up gifting her a severed ear.

As I see the white froth from the seawaves melt at my feet, I wonder if I'm drifting towards the same madness. I wonder if I'm being too morose about this beautiful world.

I hear the waves speaking to me.

It tells me tales of people who sat at the shore, drinking in the breathtaking moment when the sinking sun bathed in the orange water and walked into the same sea when it turned dark.

Perhaps, they found the sea so fascinating that they thought it'd be beautiful to die by drowning.

So, I too, walk forward. I too, walk inside.

-

“Memory is a funny thing.”~


Norwegian Wood is a song of love lost in the ashes of a wooden house. It is a song of sweet late night talks ending in bitterness of morning. Sometimes I feel it's funny, sometimes I feel it's kind of dark, and finally I end up accepting that I won't be able to grasp the song fully anytime soon.

You'll never know when Norwegian Wood hits you. You may be travelling to Kolkata watching the winter sun dipping its head behind the lush green bushes or you may be watching the hills and yellow fields of Odisha running past your car window while it's scorching hot outside. You may remember the song out of the blue.

I started my rant quoting that memory is a funny business. While listening to the song, some of you may try to picturize how Reiko would've looked, sitting with a guitar and singing to Naoko and Toru. Some of you may remember your best friend and cry a little about how you never confessed your love to them before they died. Some of you may miss that online friend who understood you more than anyone else but the messages stopped coming all of a sudden.

After all, at the end of the journey, some sweet pain doesn't hurt.

-

• if our grave was watered by the rain, would roses bloom? •



~ i breathe eulogies everyday. your eulogies addressed to life ~

/ in caption /

-

-

-

The distance between me and my poems.

-