Of sunshine and laughter

Of sunshine and laughter, and beautiful lies,
You with your hidden fears and magnificent eyes
Crouching in the dark, driven there
Nobody’s watching, nothing to fear
You can cry alone, your salty tears.

Secret hopes and lovely dreams
Crushed inside you, you despair.
Rainy days and coffee all night
Speeding cars and brand new bikes
Laughter shared; your own giddy highs.

Driving fast in an uphill road
A vertical path as the engine sputters
Driving on, far away
Till all you hear is the wind
Whistle around you, ever moving fear.

Of sunshine and laughter, and newer lies,
Stuffed inside you, the basest of highs
You push it down, hoping for it to go
Away like it did, in that ride long ago
That ride long ago.

What do I really want ? Strange, I thought I would have a million answers to that. But I don't know. Not anymore.

Gnnnnngggggghhhhhhhh

This has gotten monotonous. I’m sick of exams. I want to go to CP and eat ice cream. And sit in Central Park with the gang. And go to Café Coffee Day with the other gang and drink four Devil’s Owns. And I want to paint my room with two of the most important people in my life. And then make Maggi with them and go skateboarding at two in the morning. I want it to rain really hard and then dry real fast. I want to run with a friend who I’ll now never see again. I want to tell him that he’s the nicest guy I know, and that I love him dearly, and he shouldn’t go away. I want to sit and listen to all the songs on my player again and again. I want to forget its Sunday night, and my course is far from over and the exam’s on Tuesday. I want to play Scrabble with Baba, and then pound on a set of drums until I’m hot and tired and want a nice long shower. I want to get drunk on chocolate mint vodkas and then dance crazily. I want to learn how to swim. I want to listen to silly jokes all afternoon and laugh hysterically. I want to fly to Chicago to kiss my 21-hour old nephew. I want to eat Slim Jims and watch A Walk to Remember. I want to cut my hair and have them grow back in a day. I want to pour water over some dirt and make a cave-maze. I want to hug someone really bad. And go to sleep, content.






Update : I've done 11/20 things I listed here. YAY !!!!!!!!!

Launch

I’m sorry.
It’s true,
I’m bitter,
I’m angry,
But I’m sorry too.

Sorry for not seeing
A few things I could have
Sorry for being shortsighted
And cryptically following a meter.

But I’m still sorry
That I didn’t see
What I had to see
See the real that I look at,
Now wondrously.

It’s a pity,
That you suffered that way,
And yet surrounded by what
You’ve always deemed necessary,
It prevented me from probing towards
What could’ve been home to me.

--------------------------------------------------

I’m working to better it,
In whatever ways possible,
But it’s not through you
That I’ll achieve that fable.

I have to stay away,
I’ve caused enough harm
Though you called it an anchor
It was just a further crippling arm.

I hope you would never see it,
Never see the final aid
Because if you do
The earlier endeavour shall fail.

It’s a horribly vicious circle,
And it never stops spinning
You have to step outside it
To fight the dizzy feeling.

And now that you’ve been forced out,
Though you’re unaware,
I pray for your feet to steady
You’ve tottered enough here.

--------------------------------------------------

Maybe you’d still argue
That the decisions were wrong
But there can be no more questions
Because the curtain’s been drawn.

Just... wrong.

It's true. People are selfish. In myriad ways. They inevitably always want something in return. And it doesn't surprise me anymore. I flinch, but it's momentary. Metal has it's benefits. Except dents weaken.

It surrounds, and sometimes it's not so crude. Sometimes it's so gentle that you never know until you've examined the damage. Or when it hits you brutally, one day. You've to ready, expectant. It's wrong somehow, this constant alert. It takes the pleasure out of things, or atleast lessens it. It makes me cautious, and I tread softly. Almost too softly, and one day I can't take it anymore and go back to striding. And then I recede in horror, inevitably. Sometimes I'm surprised, pleasantly, and it's almost a reassuring feeling. Almost. I hate being aware. Actually I don't. I just hate the ugly truths. They shouldn't be truths. They don't deserve to be. They should be done away with, and I'm not wistful of any sort of utopia. It's just that I know that things can change. Have I not lived that difference ? Am I not living it, in so many ways ?

Poisoned Rationality

Dusty, in the heat,
There’s dust in my face,
Dust in my gullet,
And dust in my clothes.

There’s dust around me,
Rising like a whirling cloud,
Ready to engulf me,
In its dusty clout.

And my legs weary,
Trudge through the dust,
Every step resolute,
In their ever moving thrust.

There’s dust in my shoe,
Dust in my pane,
Dust in my self,
To the very vein.

And then there’s the sound of the cloud,
That seems to rear like a horse,
And bring with it rain,
That washes my very soul.

The rain washes my eyes,
It washes my face,
It washes my lips,
It washes the pain.

But o dear rain,
You halt my steps,
You make it all the more difficult,
To walk the bit I’ve left.

Your force so strong,
And tender to boot,
It washes my fears,
But cripples me soon.

For the rain once gone,
Would leave me wet,
And the cunning dust
Would stick to me instead.

Urgent

Tired, dusty, silent, furor,
Sagging load carried forever,
Like rotting thoughts
That seem so clever.

Denial, logic, cracking voice,
Faltering air of assumed poise,
Accumulated mass of nothingness,
Trash, if not anything less.

Disconnected acts,
Stringed together,
Sordid facts,
I seem to gather,
Disconsolate yearnings,
The living proof,
There's something burning
Smoke's never aloof.

Flawed, blemished, inconsistent, unsound,
Something’s wrong, I’ve found,
Parched thoughts in the dusty clout,
Sometimes a drink of water’s the way out.

Disconsolate

Fidgeting, squirming, yearning, sighing,
Doubtful wanting, apprehensive reaching,
Hesitant doubling, denial, reasoning,
Weighing every side, to cancel with a pencil,
For I can’t decide; the same old stencil.

Sudden remonstrances,
Uttered in need
Elicit disbelief
Battered lies in a new canvas
Will this never end?
I wait, not in vain

Dialogue.

How differently people react to the same things. What you told me meant the world to me. It gave me a sense of empowerment. And the same made another cower so weakly. At one point of time it would have invoked contempt, or pity in me. Now I feel just a strange wonder. It’s like seeing different endings.

That’s true. It’s funny how even two people who are extremely close can react vastly differently in the exactly same position. Who’re you talking about, though?

S__. She says she wants to go back to school. How everyone knew her and understood her. Just because she doesn’t get her way like she used to, in school, where everyone indulged her because they had grown up together so they could make allowances for her. She says that she has always chosen to be the sufferer. Which is in no way true. Because she’s always been selfish and people have seen through it and not overlooked it because she has never earned it. Harsh, but true.

Lol. Yes, well, some people are weak. You can’t inspire, or motivate them because they wallow in self pity all the time, and are destined to lose.

These were very harsh truths which I wouldn’t care to explain to her. Because she wouldn’t acknowledge them nor have the insight to realize their weight.

Its like what A__ says. Survival of the fittest, eh, what ? Saale kutte =)
Oh fuck, you know. This too, shall pass :)
Don’t brood over a weakling. She’s not your type.


No, I don’t agree to THAT doctrine :)
Who decides who’s the fittest ? It sounds so… Wrong. I meant those who will NOT be helped, try as one might. They are just… Just masks. And the only reason I’ve stood by her for so long is because I think Darwin is wrong. Yeah she’s not my type :) You’re too cute :D

...

Words so hollow,
That they echo in their blankness,
Unsought by me,
Uttered in vain.

Brings a lethal dread,
Of other artlessly spoken lexis
That they make one tremble
At their venomous vein.

Clenched

Slowly, the moments slip,
Slowly, the potion drips,
Unhurriedly, bit by bit.
While I moodily sit

Restraining and waiting
To let go of restrain
Controlled refrain,
Or uncontrolled release.

Silence.

I’m mum, and so are you,
Where there were words,
There’s now silence.
We were friends once,
We grew together,
We discovered much.
Things we held dear.

But now there’s silence,
Where there were words,
Once.

I wonder?

Whenever you're having a conversation with others, there's usually one basic problem that keeps occuring. One we commonly term as a "misunderstanding" or a "communication gap". It usually stems from differing definitions. I say "mature", thinking of my definition for it. The other interprets it as "mature", using their definition for it. Unnecessarily confusing. But gloomily certain. It helps, i guess, if the definitions are clearly understood by all parties concerned, before any further discussion. But it isn't always possible. Which is why sometimes it is so essential to be around like-minded people. But that discourages growth, after a certain point. Oh well.

Hesitant.

Have you ever, when you're hurting, wanted to inflict all the pain you can, upon yourself? Wanted to undergo through it all, all over again? And all at once?? So that you can feel it all again? You feel like experiencing all those things that hurt you, anew, so that you can feel all that pain all at once; and get it over with? So that there's nothing left? So that you know that you have achieved going through the maximum. And still come out of it?? That you can? It’s not masochistic. It heals, somehow.

What is it that makes me doubt this particular way? It has worked, and it will. But is it somewhere like cyanide? Is it??

Tinted discontent.

I think in colours. And they console. Pat me on the back, promising me that they too, share what I feel. I cling on to the reassurance, blindly, desperately. But then there are moments when they too, desert me. Instances where they make me suffer, with their false hopes.

Yellow, green, blue, violet
All the colours of my rainbow;
Blue, black, silver, white
All the colours of my sky;
Maroon, pink, orange, red
All the colours of my heart;
But colourless my world.


This i wrote exactly a couple of years back. And its come back to haunt me. Is it this way, its supposed to be? Will everything, someday, disappoint, thus? What is this curse thats come upon me?

I submit to this; do I have a choice?

Tortuously reticent

The agony of knowing,
And the inability to show,
The agony, of loving,
And not explaining to you,
The agony, of wishing,
And it crippling, despairing,
The agony of feeling,
And not expressing,
What is due.


Slowly, it burns

Verità infelici

People, will, always be obsessed. And i cannot be an armchair critic. It's too convenient a position to take. But can I only just watch? Can I really not do anything about it? Not even make them see it? Am I really that helpless? Or am I a victim too? Is victim the word? I will deal with this.

Head hangs in shame.

Nanku : It's funny... What I think is "weird". Weird to me is when people, who appear to me to be a certain "type" DON'T fit into that mould that I create for them and behave different. Weird.
Mithu : Maybe because it just makes you realise that you were WRONG or that you CAN be wrong in any way which makes you feel uneasy or find it "weird".
Nanku : Yeah. But what is worse is that I can't accept them completely for what they are (or maybe what they are NOT) for it's so bizarre for me. It cripples me. I should try and alter this. Uff.
Mithu : Yeah, you can't bring yourself to do that maybe because if you do that, it'll be like ACCEPTING that you were wrong about something?
Nanku : A very yuck shortcoming. Uff uff.
Mithu : It's ok. Everyone has shortcomings. You'll have to work on it.
Nanku : But even though I want to change this, its just that usually others agree that those people I think are weird, are weird. And then it gives me a false reassurance and I don't bother.
Mithu : (laughs)
Nanku : It's not an ego issue.
Mithu : Maybe it is, somewhere.
Nanku : (thinks for a while) Yes, you're probably right. Somewhere, subconsciously, it might be one. Shit.

I will not.

I'm not being condescending. I was kind. Is it so hard to understand kindness? To appreciate it? Is cruelty the only language you understand? Stupid me, i actually cared. But was it? For you, i cannot change.