Rya Ray







I'm trying to write 2017 a decent send-off and am failing miserably. I think this year has been a very significant one of my life. I've realized that my poetry has been quite mediocre, and maybe it's a good idea to stop till I find something that absolutely moves me to write my next poem. I've also realized that "no one has been crueler to me than I have been to myself." So far I'd neglected my mental health needs so much so that I'd stifled all the voices in my heart, till the time they made their way to my head and I couldn't stop them anymore. This year has been the year of missed calls, unanswered messages and friends who're unhappy about the first two things. This year, I've done more crying, more origami, more cooking, more sleeping than any year before. This year, I've worked hard and enjoyed college. Also, lost some weight and gained more of it back and tagged friends in memes rampnatly, and seriously think that it should be considered a means of communication. (promt:clean phone memory). This year, I've found love. I no longer need to look for science, art and miracle in different places. They're all in the same place.

(Look at me talk like an all-knowing piece of shit.)

This has to be the year when I've said 'Biswa' and 'Woah! They got married!' the most number of times.

31 DEC 2017 AT 23:47

I was telling her about how magical you were with your beady brown eyes. You'd said you'd know I'd written about you if I mention the beady brown eyes part. We sang Rabbi Shergil's Tere Bin by the Juhu beach. When that part about 'Kise hor, naiyo chomna' (There's no one else I shall kiss) came on, I looked away from you, and you didn't. It was excruciatingly beautiful. See now, how could we have a bond when there were no strings attached? How could the sea be, and it's waves not break at the shore? How could I not love? You'd made it clear that you're an extremely busy man. A traveler and not only of places. I'd ask you casually 'What's up?' you'd then ask me out for a movie, or a trip someplace, like nothing happened. We'd text about Harry Potter and my heart would wince like you'd said a Crucio when we'd kissed . I lost the will to have Sulaimani at Prithvi. We hugged each other, but only I held you. I realize I haven't looked up since I began talking about you. She says, this man, whoever he is, has left you with so much disquiet inside, that your lips are silent and your heart is raging. I agree. I shall remember to forget you and hopefully forget to remember you.

#oxymoron Subtle, maybe not so subtle after all.

4 DEC 2017 AT 21:41

Write what you can't fight.

Defense mechanism.

29 NOV 2017 AT 20:20

We will find each other. 

The Universe exists
because of patterns
and what are we
if not color forces
of the same atom
in the finger-folds
of the God who
put us to life?


29 OCT 2017 AT 15:27

Maybe death is,
and was meant
to be our
last shot at peace.
Maybe death is,
and was meant
to be our
last orgasm.

All's well that ends well.

29 SEP 2017 AT 14:47

With complete
body and heart.
That's the only way
two living beings
should hug
each other.

"Mujhe hug kar sakte ho, Jordan?"

27 SEP 2017 AT 21:59

I know how

Absolutely harrowing it is
Making peace with the fact I

Vented everything in instead of
Everything out.
Really, I tried to believe
You shall be happier this way.

So clearly, I fucked up.
Once and for all.
Really, I did.
Really, I know.
You. Shall. Rise.

You. Shall. Rise.

26 SEP 2017 AT 15:45

A few close ones tell us that we'll get better. We'll wake up one day and not feel like our skin is sewn to our beds, and our lips glued to each other. One day we'll wake up and not feel like our backs are bleeding sorrow from all the tearing away from the comfort of our sleep. One day we'll sing and not want to stay silent for the rest of the day. One day we'll not feel tired even after a long nap. One day we'll listen to an entire song and not want to shut off every noise there is around us. One day we'll make it through our day without a red and white pill and we'll not oscillate between dead and anxious and alive three times a day. One day we'll breath like it doesn't hurt. One day we'll make ourselves some breakfast and remember the times we couldn't and that day we'll be thankful that they were right when they said, 'This too shall pass'.

This too shall pass.

16 SEP 2017 AT 0:04

like you
have felt
to watch
as they go
But imagine
waking up
to sunsets
each morning,
feeling like a bird
trapped in
an eternal eclipse.


13 SEP 2017 AT 19:13

I wonder for how long dead skin cells can stay hidden in beds, mangled with the carcass of tiny insects and morsels of food that slipped into folds of the mattress you seldom bothered to clean? Can they somehow last for years before rainwater from a window left open washes them off or before the angry ceiling fan, tired of the summer, blows them off for good? I know the odds aren't in my favor, but there are the odds of the fact that while today I sleep on this bed, in some way, I get to fall asleep with you. The odds aren't much. They aren't even enough. But we were alive at the same time. We met and we loved each other. We spent days looking at each other's faces and touching each other's arms whenever we could. We said the same things at the same time, so many times. So today when they tell me, that the odds aren't enough, I'll tell them I like to believe in miracles.

What are the odds?

8 SEP 2017 AT 15:58