Clocks

NaPoWriMo 2017.

2/04/2017 day two.

“Clocks”

There’s something about clocks
tick-tock-ing,
steadily, as if nothing could ever
be out of sync.

There’s something about the way
the digits align themselves,
spaced so equally, as if nothing could
ever be out of place.

There’s something about the way
the wheels churning in the distance,
soothingly, musical even.

There’s a lot about how they align
in the illusion that is time,
as everything seems to fall into place,
and it all just seems so right,
rhythmic tick-tock-ing
calming the tides.

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online diary- day 1

21|03|2017

Today is the sixth day of my vacation after 12th grade boards. And honestly, it is nothing like I had expected it would be. I’m bored out of my mind.

Plus, I’ve been losing my knack of reading books at the speed I used to read. I can not read beyond a hundred pages without my mind wandering off to somewhere else, to conversations that may never take place, with people that I may never meet again, at places I may never visit.

It ain’t all good in the hood, fam.

I have also been reading up on articles that I relate to on another level altogether, about people that I have already or wish to come across someday. If that counts as reading, I’ve done a lot of it in the past six days.

Oh and YouTube, my savior. I may have spent a hundred hours of my free time watching random videos, learning new stuff on crash course, cool DIY videos that I wish I could have the motivation to create someday.

And on a new note, the summers of Bombay are the worst! And its still March, I can only imagine what the temperatures would be in April and May. Ugh!

I guess that’s enough of ranting for 11 am on a Tuesday, haha.
I’m still bored.

Wonderment

I read a little something today,
the writing stretched to about
three pages, and I wished I could
pen something down, just enough to
fill the gaping pages of the notebook
I made by stacking pages together,
they somehow fit, not one page meant to
be there, but just being perfect together,
in that exact mismatched order.

I thought about the little something
that I’d read today,
and it let me to my own
jumbled thoughts, and unwritten
philosophies, a bit of humour.

It led me down the rabbit hole in my head,
and at the end of it there
was a huge mess;
unfinished pieces written
on papers strewn about
a littered floor, with an
‘Enter at your Own Risk’ board
hanging at the door,
and a ‘Step With Caution’ placard
placed in the middle of the cluttered space.

A little later, I wondered why
I couldn’t finish what I’d started,
or maybe why couldn’t I be proud of my own work.
And that gave way to the realization
that I hadn’t let it affect my soul,
or let it be shaken to the core. No,
it was superfluous, like my thoughts,
entering and exiting,
leaving a trace
like footprints on the beach,
marking only till the next wave washed it down,
leaving not a hint of it being there just moments ago,
deep imprints laid forgotten.

Awake

Dear brain, it’s 3 am.
“Please shut up!” I yelled.
“But it’s Revenge time,”
You merrily said.
Rewinding my worst memories,
you didn’t let me sleep.
Blaming the insomia,
I cursed under my breath.

Still my thoughts wandered,
without any barrier.
I’m not awake ’cause I’m in love.
Or worse, heartbroken.

I just let my introvert play with me,
I wait for stars to shine in my room.
Just so that I can have a deep talk with moon.

When your life seems so tangible,
Moon is only understandable.
I’m not depressed. I just like
the sweet sadness engulfing me.

I cuddle with my pillow,
letting the tears flow.
It’s amazing to be sad for a while,
because then you’re hoping everything to be fine.

It’s 4 am, and I’m finally drifting off to sleep.
But just as I close my eyes to fall into a deep slumber,
you pop one more thought in my head.
I sigh, as I set up our date for 3 am the next day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Collaboration with Saloni (@saloniquietlybrilliant) again haha. Damn, ily.

 

 

 

Home

Coarse black hair, and a
lopsided smile, or maybe a smirk,
Your eyes like a globe, I could see
myself in them, reflected, displayed.
I want to travel the world,
and seeing it in your eyes is not enough.
But now that I miss it all,
I want to come back.
Tell me when to come home,
and I’ll wait. I’ll wait at the door
and I’ll camp on the stairs, never
too far from hearing your call.
Because home is where you are,
and the way you engulf me,
like the flames of a candle to the wicker,
you are wanted, not to protect me,
but to stay and keep me company, keep me warm.
Don’t get extinguished, you are my only
source of comfort, my only place to call
home even if I sit
atop the mountain of wax, it will bring me
down one day.
Be that red sweater that fits me snugly,
and it isn’t always cold here, so I don’t wear it often,
But be there on the last shelf, never out if reach.
Because home is where you are.

Skip

If you ever happen to glance at me,
and feel a beat of your heart missed,
and skipped repeatedly,
don’t expect it to be love.
And if you still argue to the contrary
look into my eyes and tell me
my insecurities are loud,
and my (in)confidence louder still.
Try to tell me that
you love the way I laugh, loud and erupting,
deep cracking, and, so…
what do they call it? Unladylike, yes.
Tell me you like the way I bun up my
messy hair, and smile at you from across the room.
Or maybe the way I text you at night to say goodnight,
just to know that you’re there.
Or that my blithe disregard to the canon doesn’t work you up.
accepting is so tough, and maybe I don’t
like the way I’m stared at when I double-up,
or when I sometimes don’t put enough thought in my clothes.
For love is kind, and forgiving, and accepting.
If I cannot, would not,
embrace myself, why would you endure?

Melt

I have never been one to relate to those moments, where your throat is dry and your mind is blank and there is nothing you can say or do about it because your brain is not functioning properly and your mind doesn’t form thoughts coherent enough for you to voice them out loud, and you are just standing there, dumbstruck, opening and closing your mouth like a goldfish.

No. I think I belong to the other category, with the lesser percentage of people, where hundreds of thoughts are whirring inside your head like hundred clocks ticking and you don’t know which one to pay attention to because, according to you, all are important and you have some extra one’s like, ‘hey! that could have been better if it went like this’ and I anticipate your and my reaction to the situation already contemplating how to act out my reaction because I’ve already guessed the outcome of it all.
Hell! I’d even thought of an escape plan for covering up in case I speak out loud a wrong thought out of the hundred ones buzzing through my head like electricity through a silver wire.

I don’t associate myself to the larger population, who’s mind, when kissed, stops completely and you feel weak enough to not be able to stand on your own to feet.
Two seconds into the kiss and I’m thinking of what it would feel like if you did not have that little stubble and if your lips were fuller. Another thought buzzes past and is already forgotten and then I’m staring at your closed eyes, marvelling at how your lashes brush against your cheek and all I want to do is to reach up and stroke your eyes  but then you’re already pushing your tongue on my lips seeking entrance into my mouth, and when I taste you, I wonder what you had eaten last and how your tongue tangles with mine and there is so much more going on inside my head when I’m gazing at the soft freckles on your nose and under your eyes and then I feel your hand sliding down my back and onto my butt, squeezing it, while I’m now thinking of what I taste like to you, and then I lose myself completely when you open those pretty eyes and gaze into mine, waiting for me to say something, whether you should continue or stop, whether I like this or not. But then I find myself standing there, completely dumbfounded, no words escaping my lips even if there are a thousand thoughts swirling inside my head.