|(photo by: cYabari Shrestha)|
Monday, December 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
To be eaten and to let myself be eaten are not the same thing. A difference so huge should have hit your head, it's Invasion versus Invitation.
Haven't I always given all of me? Hasn't it always been an open invitation?
And yet, you have ways to make me feel like being invaded. But even if you go nice and slow from violent and voracious now, I doubt that will account to anything.
I never intended to be an exemplar of sacrifice.
I ever intended to experiment on the science of selfishness.(Thankyou for confirming my doubts.)
P.S. Did it never occur to you that it could have been an invitation for needle and suture instead?
Sometimes, realizing that you're not a piece of junk, that life is not just dust and insects and spiderwebs, that you can do better than accepting the stagnancy, it's okay to run your engines on your own and in those sometimes, you will see, not listening to their rules also comes naturally.
It's really okay to walk away sometimes.
That's the only way you realize what (who) you have within you.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Thank you for your sympathy, if that’s all you can give.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
It all started with a weensy seed of assumption that I mattered. That I should contribute.
The truth as it is now:
I am but, a trespasser.
My forest is but, a cursed illegitimacy.
Deforest me when I am asleep. And remember, the fruits of hope should not know they could have had a chance. You owe me that, at the very least.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
“I’d want to believe I’m not under any spell, but...”
“So what is this paralysis about? Why can’t I make things different? Better?”
“Nobody can undo things.”
“But they can have things done. They’re resilient and they can switch to a new form, like they’re evolving.”
“Resilience does not always mean moving on. It could imply running away.”
“At least they can bear the weight of their heads. What’s with them, it’s like they’ve no memories of what happened and no afterthoughts?”
“And you call that evolving?”
“Comparing never helps, you know. You see what they don’t, nothing’s wrong with that.”
“What about the burden that comes with it? What about the differences that pull me away?”
“That’s entirely up to you, you can tell yourself it does not exist and be one of them. Or, you can unfold the pages; find some clarity for your head. Whatever floats your boat.”
“You’re really showing me ways to see it; the light.”
“And you can always count on me.”
“Of course, and you are…?”
“I am you.”
“You just didn’t realize you have me in you.”
You can count the stars in my constellation, but you can never tell if they are just pieces, because all you think is I’m in one-piece.
You can show me the line, but you can never tell where exactly I’m standing, because all you see is me moving.
You can send me letters, but you can never ask the right question and comfort the right corner, because all you know is you’re supposed to send them.
You can prove your commitment, but you can never convince my heart when it’s no more surrounded, because all your proofs are in the pages of somebody else’s book.
I tried not to put a label on the missing connection in-between. I tried to respect differences. I tried to avoid judgments.
And you tried to make sure I give up.
I’m yet to see the light.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Here again, weak again.
We have different vocabulary, you and I. I’d want you to be a good listener, you’d want the same. As we keep clashing our swords, it’s the language that’s confused.
We have different eyes, you and I. Why can’t you see the signs of the universe? How can you look at the crowd and lamely follow what’s been said about living? As we keep forcing each other into different dimensions, the roses rot, doubtful about their existence, let alone beauty.
We have different regrets, you and I. Consumed by assumptions; you can only diagnose scars while my actual hole keeps draining life out of me. Consumed by assumptions, I can only fetch you bandages. As we keep locking up different memories, it’s past that’s confused.
We have different skies, you and I. Alone against the clouds, I miss my strength; so do you. As we keep demanding light, it’s the sun that’s confused.
We ARE different, you and I. And I can’t dictate my words to incompatible ears.
So I’m writing, again.