#NaPoWriMo
Day 5
VOICEMAIL
I miss calls even when I carry my phone in hand. The silent mode is my answer to the Digital Era.
I miss a day in #napowrimo. It is my answer to the orange of creativity. For I believe it allows for all shades, even nudes.
But, I miss the times a new person I meet makes me a blank paper I can write on, before I become a voice too loud even in the voice-mail.-
are the people you play with
even with your wrinkles
and weak knees.
They don't call you
to ask about your day.
But they know when to call
and mean when they do.
They smell your heart
from miles away,
they can sing your silence
and untie your words.
They appear like silver linings
when you look for the darkest cloud
and then force you to draw a scenery
when all you want is a pillow and a napkin.
They laugh at you the loudest
and laugh with you the best.
Close friends are the most open
you can get with yourself.-
When I was younger
missing the crowd
felt like joy.
I am not sure if
I am the same person now.
I still run away from crowds.
But it is the crowd in a person
not persons in a crowd.-
Like a garbage van, we set out to clean their insides every morning. Only to fill our day with that stench. Only to keep our lips sealed about the dearth of soaps. Only to fear upsetting their forever 16 brains by delaying their grooming.
And when we pass by, the whole street covers their noses. We burn like the sun every day while they hunt the wolves with our borrowed shine every night.
A clean garbage van remains an oxymoron,
the society's best blind secret.
-
Probably, stories should end in the middle, right before you start rooting for a character. The dangerous thing called hope shouldn't kick in. The deadly things called familiarity and trust shouldn't form. Because once you pack all of those beautiful things and hit the road, there is no coming back once you see the end. Now you're left with a bag that doesn't feel comfortable, familiar, or even real. You can't throw it and you can't keep it. You just stare at it wishing for a time machine. You just sit there hoping to someday be pushed to get up and leave.
-
Blue ticks disabled on the chat.
Still the curtains raise
for Life is indeed a stage,
and some of us are actors that stage
and make an audience act,
just to see being seen
out of character
out of masks.-
How we return to poetry,
in spite of living in someone's story!
What is love but homecoming?-
Is there any right and wrong choice in love? You choose what you can live with. You can be kind and cruel at the same time. For loving yourself means you leave what comes in the way.
When you love, you love without regrets, there is synchronicity. But it is wise to admit that not everyone is capable of love or kindness. They have their own life experiences and their own reading and making of them. It is their story. You cannot co-write it.
You can read at best. So read you do, give them that honour and then go write your own book.-