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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“Longing”

NaPoWriMo 2017. 1/04/2017

day one.

 

It’s not about how your hair bounces as
beads of sweat trickle down
your forehead while you dance,
or the way your rhythmic footwork seems like you’ve been tap dancing
on my heart the entire time,
crushing it with your heel,
then gently tip toeing, testing the waters,
suddenly bending down to rip it apart.

It’s not about how you’re always around
casually conversing as you sip coffee,
or the perfect smile that shows up,
lighting up your face, making
your eyes sparkle with delight.

It’s not about how your presence is
felt, in those you love, in their
chatter and mannerisms,
even in your absence.

It’s not about the happiness
felt at seeing you,
or hearing your voice
after a long, hard day;
and the slightly faster beating
of my heart at seeing
that sparkly, perfect smile.

Those feelings are just stuffed
to the bottom drawer of my heart,
desperately wanting to be ignored,
forgotten.

It’s about longing to be with you,
and knowing that’s its not
happening anytime soon.

It’s about promises to
clean out the bottom drawer,
a bit by bit,
just not now.

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?

Cry

When, and if I cry
and I open up to you,
let me.

When, and if I cry,
and I’m very drunk that night,
pull the bottle away from my hands,
and tell me you’ve got a better option.

When I cry,
hold me close,
and whisper words of comfort in my ears,
or I may slip away and leave.

When I cry,
Tell me fairytales,
and narrate them as if they were real.
They are fantastical,
But make me believe they aren’t,
and that magic truly exists.

When I cry,
and I tell you not to take me home,
take me someplace safe,
wrap me up in a blanket,
and then you may go.

When I cry,
Don’t stay, because
my drunk self appreciates you,
I won’t.