Recurring

Clouds behind my eyes 
Everything’s muddled 
In scraps
And puzzle pieces 
I’m being sucked
Into this black hole
Uncorked by events 
And nuances untraceable
A slight pulsating of beats
In my center 
A core I no longer 
Identify with 
How clichéd to claim 
I have lost my ways 
How clichéd to try
To find 
What cannot be retrieved 
Swirls of thoughts 
Disconcerting and disconnected
Waves of winds with me
In the eye 
So clouded my vision
How futile these tries
The faint beating 
And the anger quietening
Both reducing 
To faint hums 
To wake up 
In another time 
In another winter 
A year or years later 
For the same different reasons 
For the same different people 
Like patterns 
Are shadows to my shadow self
Fleeting and recurring
Oh the sad tales
These recurrences bring
Lessons of trust 
Lessons I must 
Not forget 
But I do in the flow
Tides of emotions promise 
And I in all my mistrust 
Of grand words
Like fancy ships 
That can only sink
And I don’t want to drown 
Not again 
Not again and again 
I wish 
The haziness over my vision 
Could close shut these whisperings
Nonsensical and broken 
Everything once again 
Is in scraps and puzzle pieces
I sway to the wind’s 
Wayward motions
Wayward wayward 
Wayward motions 
This is just another recurrence
Of a state that repeats itself 
Every now and then 
Unpredictable of how and when
Everything feels broken 
And incomple–

Echoes

Do you ever write something so wretchedly personal 
So intimately directed by your subconscious 
That you sit back struggling to quieten
The persistent beating beneath your inked collarbone 
Verses you thought had meanings you’d assigned 
But when in reality they went much deeper 
Tugging at memories that belong in dusty attics
In shoeboxes of photographs and postcards 
Decorative sequins having lost their sheen
You breathe in the scents lurking in the echoes
Textual reminders yearning to hide in your shadows 
These words that initially were meant for an audience 
Will now be held too close to the chest, barred and secured 
Aching with hollowness and mirrored echoes
Put to sleep in their tragic beauty between sheets

2nd anniversary, and getting emotional.

IMG_20150225_221057

Wow. 25th February. My blog turned two years old today! :D

Um. I’m not very good at writing normal blog post type of blog posts, where I have to express myself in a non-poetic way. But I’ll say this:

This blog, has been a journey, or should I say, it has been chronicling a journey of sorts. I have grown, as a person, as a writer, poet, and it is only through the pieces arranged so chronologically here, that I can determine the depth of these changes, these transitions. 
I can see, where I faltered and why. The times I posted so much poetry and the months I completely disappeared. 
A kind of journal, a memory of memories with words that induce these emotions and vaguely paint replicas of experiences, in our head. As opposed to our memories that mostly contain images, sounds, and smells. 
And I want to thank the people, all of you, who stop by, and read these pieces. Those few seconds and minutes you take off your time, I can’t return them, but I can only hope, that they’re worth it.
So thank you. 
Some of you I’ve known from the beginning, and I still see you guys around. And it feels great. Thanks for sticking by. 

Speaking

I’m trying and trying 
To get used to speaking out loud 
But how can I get used to it
When people won’t even
Hear me out

I feel invisible 
In conversations I feel unheard 
My attempts go unnoticed 
As if my words 
I never uttered 

Alone
In my solitude 
I read aloud and speak
With freeness 
And hesitation 
Fluency and creaks 

My voice sounds alien 
To ears of my own
My sentences 
Trailing off
Like vehicles 
In search of home

To speak through writing
I’ve gotten used to it so much 
It has been my guide 
To expression
It has been my crutch

This is still new to me
To actually voice my thoughts 
Without commas and quote marks
To phrase a phrase verbally 
To pause and end without dots

As I grow familiar 
To the sound of how I think
Maybe someday 
My voice will travel far
And my words will not sink

Between

A love that existed
Between parentheses

That breathed between 
The pauses of commas

That didn’t end with a period 

Whose continuance wasn’t dependant 
On the urgings of hyphens

A love that wasn’t summarized 
By the beginnings and endings
Suggested by paragraphs 
Too grand to be colloquial

A love cancelled
By discontinued penmanship

A love lost 
To pages misplaced
Letters half written
And misportrayed

A love 
That existed
Between the journey 
Where a page ended
And the next 
Began

Enwombed

Encased within 
A womb of understanding 
Still exploring and discovering 
Questioning motives 
Intentions 
And longevity 
Of the protective walls 
To break or not to break 
And what would it mean 
To hatch
To undertake a new adventure
With new struggles to plough through
Rake up answers 
To find truths
And let seasons be waterfalls 
Of transition
But we’re here
Suspended 
In the fluidity of trust
Pulled by the gravity 
Of believing 
Drifting apart 
Drifting closer 
And we’re here
Veins of thoughts 
Queueing up
To be vocalized
And we’re here 
Our insides 
Frozen with memories 
But we’re here 
Enwombed
By togetherness 
Sustaining off its comfort
And we’re here
Warmed
By each other’s
Distant 
Intangible 
Presence

Boredom

Boredom is a muse
She comes undisguised
As art
As a moment
Within a moment
With such epidemic grace
Her entrance
Is a lull
In the vortex
Of an hour
She’s a minute
Of respite
And resistance
To routine
She will not
Be boxed
Into the mundane
Demands
Of daily life
She is the desire
Suppressed
And asleep
In dreams
Discarded
And sacrificed
Unaffordable
By material
Achievable by
The overlooked
For whom
She is their
Unforeseen
The lull
In their chaos
A bridge
To their dreams

Self-revelry

Me
I revel in my me-ness
And bathe in my flaws
I
Dance to my songs 
And love what I draw

Every time 
I lost track
Of myself, I had to go
On a new adventure to retrieve
My selves and help them 
Unhold, and grow 

I cut, I sew
And my love for scissors
Is well known
It is both metaphoric
And a habit 
Into which I’ve slowly grown 

I see a mirror 
You see my image
But not how I see it cracked
I revel in my abstraction
And let my art
Leave it ransacked 

I have been encaved
And drawn on walls
Of my mindly captivity
I have surrendered
To hopelessness and risen against
Its treacherous gravity

I have shied from
Ignored and shunned
My reflections bad
I have beaten myself up
For not being more accepting 
Of what I had

I have screamed 
Myself empty 
And lost my external voice 
I have written and sung
Ballads incomplete
I have gallantly lyricized noise

I have burnt wings and lungs
Too deep I’ve swum 
And too close I dared to glide
I’m a master puppeteer 
Of skeletons in my graveyard 
None of which I bother to hide

I have two sides
Black and white 
And they can only coexist
I am my black
And I am my white
I am my broken and my fixed

Because I have been the swamp
I have been the ocean 
And I celebrate every bit of me
I bathe in my flaws 
I dance to my songs 
I revel in my self-revelry

Incapacitated

And I have once again 
Been abandoned 
By Inspiration 
For I was far too
Taken by
The workings of Motivation 
As I tried to decipher 
Patterns that initiate
And put into motion
Actions from ideas
Ideas from thoughts 
Thoughts from the array
Of awareness 
Transparent, translucent, opaque 
The alert, semi-alert, and asleep 
Major contributing factors 
Into the craftsmanship 
Of all that exists 
Through humanity 
And Inspiration
The midwife 
So instrumental
In the deliveries 
Of human spawned 
Existences
Lively and inanimate 
Escaped me
Again! 
She left me
After a brief reunion 
Of love making 
Of bleeding poetry 
She left me
For I was far too taken
By her brother’s masculinity 
Motivation 
Bearer of burdens 
Charioteer of creators
Effeminate seducer 
Lithe, subliminal articulater 
Shapeshifter like his sister 
Weight-lifter like me
And I could feel his gaze 
Graze over my collarbone 
From where my load grew
On to my back 
Bending 
My coward spine 
Weight-lifter 
I was hypnotized 
By his hypnotic charms
Ruminating over fantasies 
While Inspiration 
Slept in my arms 
Till she left me
For my unfazed unfaithfulness 
For fantasizing over her brother 
And he
He left me
For climbing into his arms
Empty of anything Inspiration 
Had filled me with 
He said I was a pitcher 
Useless 
Tasteless 
And empty
For I could hold neither 
And be full
And I said
I thought 
Long after they were gone
How foolish and mesmerized 
By them I had been
How disarmed by 
The ultimatum
But they left and I thought 
And I came to my overused 
Senses 
While I had the capacity 
To love one
I was to remain incapacitated 
By my lust
For both

Freeing

Whittling away my soul 
Into many pieces 
Of poetry 
Each 
A different life
A different self 
Like books through which 
You live a thousand lives
Each set of lines I assemble
Hundreds over years past 
Each I lived 
Each I loved 
Each I became 
As I wrote
And I wrote of darkness 
And I wrote of light 
Of thunders tamed 
And conquered fright 
Voids and ravines 
Truth’s molars and canines
I’ve held myself captive
And set myself free 
Words have been my imprisonment 
And words have made me
The freest I can be