Tag: letters



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,

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.



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.



This, kid, is what you call dismantling. Breaking it down, piece by piece, until you have little shreds, little pieces waiting to fly about in the cold, desolate, empty room, as the chilled air of the conditioner blows, ever so steadily, vanishing away the beads of sweat formed on your back, seeping onto your undershirt, showing a bit on your costly Armani. You feel it, but you put it at the back of your head.

You have bigger concerns at hand.

You wonder, wonder about ‘if?’ If not for one small decision on your part, one impulsive action, and this domino effect could have been stalled. But it was to happen sooner or later, wasn’t it?  

You feel the tight tug of your trousers at your Hermeś belt, as you are crouched down onto your knees, kneeling, praying that somehow you could go back into time to fix your mistake, to prevent your loss. But, no. The universe will not have it. You did your deed. Now it was the time to reap of your sown actions.

You are still, so much that there is no sound except of the air conditioner humming softly, having no idea of the disaster, of the avalanche that has been destroying you and everything you have.

But then you rise to your feet, decided, and determined. You fix up your pants, you slip on your suit hanging at the head of your chair, you fix up your look. You look around for a glass of water, nowhere to be found, except tiny shards of glass haphazardly strewn on the floor carpet. It is stained, and you rack your brain to recollect when you sweeped your desk with one stroke of your hand. The intercom wire is hanging, just like it deserved to. Why? It had done the job of delivering you your fate.

But then, there you see something snapping. You wonder what it is. You try to see clearly, you cannot. Why? Nobody knows.

But then you rise up again and vow to strike back with such a force it would shatter everything and everyone who tried to bring you down and laugh at you. You become the master of the universe, and you feel the energy rippling through you, in your blood, coursing through your body. And with the loudest cry, you wake up and look down at yourself.

Are you dead? Are you alive? Maybe both. You don’t know. You feel reborn. You feel like you died some time ago only to take birth again. Stronger, this time.

You are reborn, and you have to live better. You aren’t planning on wasting this one, like you did previously by hanging yourself with your mother’s sari. You will not commit suicide for a girl. For infatuation. You will rise and shine and be the best the world has ever seen, and you will make your crying father wipe his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

You will live.