Abrupt finalities.

I wrote bits and pieces of ‘kaynaat’ a year back.10 chapters of pain – typed- in Times New Roman. A two-month long stint that ended abruptly. I cannot talk about Kaynaat. But, I can tell you about abruptness. I thrive on abruptness. Abrupt friendships,abrupt love,abrupt kisses and abrupt breakups. I don’t give any breathing space for recovery. I don’t believe in time. Fast or quick. Distractions at one millionth of a second. But, right there- my control ends. That is when my idea of ‘quick recovery ‘ fails. I mind-fuck myself so much that Aafreen thinks and believes that I am a masochist. Maybe, I am.

 

The guitar has stopped playing. That is the news of the day. Actually No. I messaged Aafreen and Ishya. I am walking away. Abrupt, it is. The message. The guitar hasn’t stopped stopped playing. It was passed onto a new pair of hands. A new exotic tune.

 

I feel an abrupt ripple. An abrupt sting. Stab.

I just can’t cry abruptly.

 

Fragmented.

Some circles we forge,

  in between these thick stories

       where you begin on an end that I made

           like I end on one start that you have managed

                  like those white threads that constantly break and get tied

                                while our brows are shaped.

                                            ***********************

I can smell the cotton on you.

     I can, like I understand the neck-piece on your neck

            while you wait for footsteps,

               and untangle that big knot on orange-green curtains.

                                    ******************

It is like you know what I think

   like I know the 

instincts I have on my finger tips

         and sometimes, I feel I know the lines on your palms

                like you know  the inches you lost.

                               *************************

I want to go to the grape vine with you,

        the place where they exchanged their love,

                steal your images of kittens and broken glass

                        and weave them back into midnight giggles.

                                                  ************************

 I have cut-copy-pasted

    a bright smile on a misshapen get-well-soon card

                so that it will take its rightful place

                     instead of this dwindling length of smile you have,

                                                            **************************

                                                  I  have summoned a magic lamp

                                                        a wand and beads.

                                              They rest under your pillow,

                                              Sleep, while colorless

                                                    troubles vanish like bubbles.

                                                     **********

Make an ill-fitting shoe poem for us,

   where you can tie your slender feet

      against mine in a three-legged race.

                                                  ******************

                                                                              Write a letter to me,

                                                                   in broken malayalam, press a lock of hair

                                                                       that is at its curliest best,

                                                                           seal it with a ‘god bless you.’

                                             **************************

                                                                                                        Bring a bit of you,

                                                                                                a bit of her while I make this brew.

                                                                                        Hold the mug close,

                                                                                                    and sit closer to the seat,

                                                                                                         that struggles under our joint  

weight of warmth.                                       

 

 

   

              

               

                                                                   

                                                             

                                                      

                                             

                        

 

                        

                      

      

 

    

                 

This post is not about Vishu. I do not want to embrace this new year. I don’t want it to rain yellow. I hate being clicked. I hate writing this post because of the lumps-yet-to-come-in-my-throat.

Yesterday, my heart constricted a million times while I sat at Daily Bread.

There are moments in life that is very filmy. Laughing and catching your friend’s eye. Posing in your full glory for a friend. Letting a tear fall when you see your close friend in pain. Staring  at blank space because of the unfair battles your friend has to fight. Grin foolishly thinking of a private joke between your friends. Watch your roommate sleep and getting inspired to do the same. Getting an unexpected kiss from your friend while you really really need it. Gettingt pampered with food and coffee when you are really low.Fight a hopeless egoistic battle with  a friend and end up calling that person at 4. Stop talking to someone for two months just for the heck of it and then miss that person.

I have felt all this and more. There are names. Probably a number of ten people who have played all the chords inside me. I can never take you back. I wish I could. In parts. Or maybe tie each part with a dupatta. Not possible, though.

It is hopeless. The finality of what is yet-to-come. None of us can fight it. I have been in denial but at times, I wake up to some odd fear that leaves me in a state of panic. I hope you all don’t feel that. Let us live in denial and be coldly calm. Take an early ticket and leave.

Leave before we start crying.

Candid.

I wish it was easy to write. Write a word about yourself,

A phrase on your work, a pause for your over-hyped love life.

A sentence to your pain,

but an embedded circular sentence when you and she talk about moving on.

                                        ***********************

I wish I could learn to dance,

step around her toes,

tiptoe a little to the right, fall to the left

and presto!

-exchange long strips of smiles

while we contemplate about the time getting roasted in our ovens.

                                               ****************************

I wish I could be a critic and never be like that spectacled insect,

who ripped that poem we liked,

and rightfully strangle that woman(Was she?)

who refused to talk about wetness between two pairs of legs

in this ideal world.

                                 *******************

I wish I could be an eraser

and stop wishing.

 

What if.

In these boxed walls/

I want those shreds of cloth/

that got branded/

while I bit into the tenderness you gave.

A bit inside/

And my eyes start tearing up/

clutching at loose strands of seconds that tick by/

I bang against these walls/

while we writhe in and out /

of these muttered words,/

,illegitimate promises and (surprisingly)

they leave me unscathed.

But what if,

I want their echoes to let us out

of these boxes?/

P.S.: These  are random thoughts n I don’t like it..

 

 

 

 

 

In your presence.

In your presence, this bitch has wrecked us.No suffocating structures.
There is this frizziness that I try to secure in a clip
while I staple words in your presence.

In your presence, I am at a sluggish pace. The exhaustion of the long run. Now that I have pressed my anger and tears hard, they are carefully dumped at the back. Without wrinkles but forgotten.

I make invisible lines, sip colourless thoughts
and let rings of smoky fantasies allure me.

In your presence,
I have mastered this absence.

In between dull strings of the guitar,
I hide like a thief
holding onto the pot of guilt
you shoved into my hands.

GOODBYES. I hate them. Hate being on either sides. Why would you want to be left alone while someone you care leaves? Why would you want to shake hands and hug to get into a waiting auto?
There is something very final and terse about it. It is like a firm ‘NO’ that you cannot bend. A broken relationship that can never be patched. A shell where some people withdraw into and never come up. And then, they shake you. Shake you after you accept. Or maybe you haven’t. They shake you out of your equilibrium and that impact, is so hard. So hard that you can never recover. And you have to take deep gulps of air and wonder. Wonder why. Why this late? Wonder why not? It feels good, doesn’t it? The sweetness of the surprise. Yes, you are obsessed now but then again, weren’t you? Always? Obsessed about that one nod? One smile? One look? One letter?
And these are times when I want to pick up my invisible camera and click. Focus and click. Click and flash.
Frame the picture.
And then, burn it when you get hurt. All over.
Cycle it is.