I feel incapable of this world.
I feel so incapable of this world that
everytime I step out from the metro and walk towards my class, the distance × time = double my heartbeat.
My anxiety clings on to me, and I cling on to hope, carry it in arms.
“Don’t lose it, okay? Don’t lose it.”
Don’t you know what’s it like to be betrayed,by every good feeling in this world?
Why am I in chains?
What is discipline if not a captor, of my freedom to feel, so where do I hide?
You think this poem is cliche and depressing? And what If tell you, this is my ventilator, this is how I survive.
ICU is not a happy place, but it saves many lives.
I sit in the lobby, on a chair made of maplewood.Place my canvas on the wooden table tiled with marble.
Do you think humans, slaughter trees , cause of their incapability to survive without them?
And do you think humans, hurt other humans , cause of their incapability to survive without them?
Do you think, I’ve hurt you so much because I didn’t love you enough? But,do you know, I loved you so much to hurt myself enough?
“Its okay” is a lie,
A lie, spun into delusional hope and a legit proof how we’ve fallen apart.
“It’s okay”s kill me.
Grasp me by my throat, and chants in my ear, that you’re gone, you’re gone.
“It’s okay” ensures promised healing and screams at me at the same time about how effortlessly you broke every promise, and my heart.
“It’s okay”means that tommorow the absence of your scent will linger on my skin, and I will spent days with your T-shirt on that you purposely left in my closet.
“It’s okay” means I have to let you go, and that you left me
And it’s not okay.
I am not okay
Society has a disease called “dharam”
to which my mother is insanely hooked.
She walks the aisle
In the temple of God
With her injured insides
And I watch her
Take a bow, with every aching bone inside her
She cross her legs
And bends down to sit
On cold matted floor
despite of a hundred warnings.
I think to myself
My teeth clench
I tighten my jaw
“I can’t watch her like this”
Her pain inflicts on me
And she’ll never know
that I care.
She diligently manages to sit down
What is a minor sacrifice,
A minor slaughter of flesh and bones for him who owns the world.
Why do you do this to yourself maa?
And why do you do this to us?
Though I don’t pray
But I hope
You find your God
And I hope
that he’s worth it.
You are nothing, but a poem .
A poem composed with cries of broken heart ,
You are a portrait of every betrayer, and cursed by every broken soul.
When I write about you, you’re the immortal face of what unfaithful love is.
You are that poem, your daughter will read after having her heart broken by the boy you tried to save her from.
After having me ignored for years, you’ll find me in your daughter’s tears.
And when she’ll ask you, “Papa how did you know that he was wrong?”
Your voice will crack down, you’ll choose to remain silent, because you’ll know you’re the answer.
These days, I have more conversations with old buildings, stained walls, rusted railings and trees, than people around me. And about trees, I carry intense empathy inside my heart, as I walk around to and fro, staring at them. Trees, amidst of city , somewhere at the end of road or standing alone in a suffocated society , society adorned with human’s luxurious necessities. A loner, survivor, the last one of his clan summons me and tells, “humanity is dead”.
But, you don’t deserve to be happy,
For every time,
I’ve been preyed upon by 3 am thoughts, always ended up digging my own grave,
looking for you in every place you left me,
I find you somewhere back inside my head,
You, in the arms of your lover, happy as ever
And I look in the mirror at myself,
what have I become?
As if death, purposely bestows upon me to save me from the darkness I withstand .