Rya Ray   (The Broken Clock)
34.0k Followers · 17 Following

I write sentences.
Joined 28 August 2016


I write sentences.
Joined 28 August 2016
27 MAR AT 16:27

कस कर,
गले लगाओ मुझे,
बताओ मुझे,
कि है कहीं आराम बना,
मेरे लिए भी कभी।

पीठ पर,
हाथ फेरो मेरे,
दिखाओ मुझे,
कहाँ से निकलेंगे तीर,
मेरे अंदर से सभी ।

-


20 FEB AT 14:10

I turn to art with an expectation of release when I am dragged through the depths of the bottom of my heart and stomach and body.

I yearn for a visual, a frame, a sentence- to offer me a staircase to reach where I need to reach in order to feel what I resist to feel.

I look at a a boat in a river and I instantly focus on one of the people on these boats- with hands and feet different than mine, a life different than mine. Something inside me breaks (away?) and I feel like a balloon released to the wind- free to float and hence, also to sink some day.

I dip my toes into sadness with a little less fear, and a little more stillness and submission, as I tell myself:

“Yes. This is your life, Rya. Live it.”

-


8 JAN AT 0:44

Sometimes physical pain compels some writing about mental pain (mental is not just emotional. It is also cognitive). I have been incredibly scared to write anything at all- I tell myself I’ll not be lazy and I’ll let my feelings stew so one day then can come out a little less sharp edged- something someone could consider holding in their hands. But then physical pain does compel. As I lie in bed, nestling a hot water bag, hoping my feet would let the warmth stick, but for some reason they don’t.
“There is nothing broken about me.”, I tell myself, as I acknowledge that I have not sat with my grief enough, my grief of loss. It has been about moving on with life as swiftly as you can. What happens to the holes left behind by fingers prying open your existence? (In both good ways and bad).
Maybe you don’t need to plant flowers there. Maybe you leave it as is. Those markers are for me to remember what I grow from, the acts of everyday strength of not siding with the deceiving comfort of shrinking myself. Taste courage on your tongue, and speak your bones. Rattle and ask for love- for yourself from yourself. Take the love that comes your way and see that as more power to love yourself.

-


5 OCT 2023 AT 0:00

2. Breathe her in.
Tell her how beautiful she is,
And how she makes
all pictures worth taking.
Admire how lovely
her scent is.

3. Tell yourself
this flower doesn’t have
enough value add
and there are
going to be no consequences,
because men matter more
than flowers do.
*breathe*
*crush*

Step 1 if the flower has survived,
until her scent no longer lingers.

-


1 OCT 2023 AT 11:24

And then I forgot
the name of your city-
allowed myself to forget
where I
always wanted to be.

So I could finally
exist in the city
life gave me,
for it did not give me
a city
where ‘we’ exist.

Tell your cartographer
or God
they can erase these maps
I don’t need them any more.

-


20 AUG 2023 AT 14:45

What do climate change
and violence have in common?
Maybe denial-
Maybe patriarchy-
Maybe both?

We are taught to be scared
of focusing on accountability,
We are demanded to look away
While what we want to say is-
“This doesn’t feel good. This hurts.”

Rationalists can be patriarchs too,
and deep wound can make you blind
to suffering, and can teach you
to uphold the strength of those
who hurt you.

So that you can find a way
to pass this pain on,
to practice disempathy,
so you don’t feel the pain
of a broken heart,
a glistening slap on the wrist
or elsewhere.

So you can close your eyes
until you have no other option,
Other than to drown-
and then convince yourself
that this is comfort,
that this is peace.

-


12 AUG 2023 AT 0:09

Things I will not forget

1. Red is the color of the disconnect button.
2. I am an authority on myself.
3. You had a list but you didn’t have a plan.
4. You asked me to forget.

-


21 JUL 2023 AT 19:05

ग़म क्या है?
एक टीस ही तो है,
एक आह ही तो है?
जो उठती ही तो है-

आसमान तक
सिक्का उछालो,
या दिल,
दोनों गिरते ही तो हैं-
वापस आकर ज़मीन से
वो लड़ते ही तो हैं-

हाँ वो अलग बात है कि
कुछ चीज़ें नाज़ुक होती हैं-
कुछ आँखें थक कर रोतीं हैं,
कुछ रो कर थक जातीं हैं

मगर सब जान कर भी जिसने
तेरे नाज़ुक से इस दिल को,
तबियत से झकझोरा हो
तुझको तोड़ गिराया हो-
वो क्या बात कर लेंगे
तेरा रूठा मनाने को-
वो क्या नज़्म पढ़ लेंगे
तेरा दिल जोड़ जाने को।

-


11 JUN 2023 AT 18:05

When a heart breaks,
do the broken pieces arrange
like voronoi noise-
each competing
for more space?

I was once hurt
by a shard of glass.
It feels familiar now
in each part of my heart.

There is no rhythm to this writing I realize.
This is a broken poem.

-


21 MAY 2023 AT 21:27

Need for nostalgia

There has been a backstreet boys concert on Instagram, and also in some city. As much as I would like the opportunity to say something cynical about it and rest my case- I feel my brain just melted at the thought of backstreet boys. I liked their music because, given the music I was able to listen to at that time in my life- I liked it quite a bit. Incomplete.

I remember sitting on a sofa in dadu didun’s house. Whenever I would reach their house on the floor below ours, I would bellow “pouchegechi” (Reached). There is a shot of a beach in that video which I particularly liked (cue: watch the video). I used to find it exquisite if not sophisticated- and would let the romantique in me soar. Saying very vulnerable words. I guess that resonated with me because I was waiting to hear someone express their pain so I could join in.

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