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.

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.

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.

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.

 

>title goes here<

You look at the pictures

on the wall, stuck using tape

and smiles on those faces.

Radiating happiness as you remember

the mirth and your carefree selves.

Broken teeth and hands around

each others shoulders,

as if relying on each other.

Those hands slowly slipped away,

Leaving you leaning.

You feel the weight loss, slowly

not all at once, as distance grows.

You yearn for those hands to be there

again, to have them back in your arms.

Crying whilst accusing yourself for your loss.

You’re in pain, but there’s no one

to support you.

And maybe you feel

that you’re losing

everything that you love.

Everything that you ever relied on.

Everyone that ever supported your weight.

And you cry to sleep every night.

But don’t forget this my friend,

You lose what you once loved

only because

You cared enough to feel the loss.

Forgetful Musings.

I find it really sad 
That people commit 
Sins 
Only for the fact that their
Victim is forgiving. 
How many times 
Have you heard it?
“She’ll get over it.”
Yes, so does that mean 
That you play with our 
Hearts and break them into
Tiny shreds of muscle
Strewn like paper?
No. Your victim is strong
But someday it’ll all break away 
And you’ll not be forgiven
Ever. 
Because you got too many chances 
And you wasted them all away. 
Small sins, big mistakes, all alike.