Dive

Steering through neon lights,
looking for love and a place to hide,
chased by a creature with fiery eyes
clawing, screaming, reaching;
nearer and nearer and nearer.

Wasted dreams and broken promises,
discarded into a daydream wasteland.
I want you to know what I think,
I want you to tear me apart; limb by limb
and stitch me back up;
as I am, as you want me to be.
Look into my eyes
and tell me “Who I am”

“Who am I?”

Cry for me.
Drop a tear into my glass,
and watch me drink a part of you.
I am a wreck,
an ugly façade.
But you are not,
You remind me of broken glasses,
lying on the street, reflecting sunrise,
“beauty amidst chaos”.

Why don’t you dive into my heart?
I will take you downstream,
reeling into an endless fall
together; for better or worse;
the whole thing is tumbling down

it's tumbling down.


What did you find? 
In the burial of my mind?
In the emptiness of time?
And the incoherence of your words?
This dream; like any other dream;
shall always be a dream within a dream;
a mirage of your existence; 
and a fall of my sanity. 

I am in a reverie of your memory;
or the lack of it. 
In my mind, I shall die. 
In your mind, I shall be resurrected.

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Seers

I woke up with a weird taste in my mouth,
A cross between stale pizza and old bourbon. 
I brushed the taste off, flossed and got dressed,
I wore the shirt which you always insisted me to press. 
Got into my messy car and drove to the bar where we first met, 
And remembered how we felt like such a perfect match. 
How you told me about your dreams and peeves, 
Your love of poems and Wodehouse’s Jeeves. 
I remember smiling and saying “me too”. 
That was before you caught the flu. 
But I still think about you in the present, 
So I will try not to go on a rant. 
That is when someone played a song, 
From your favorite band. 
And everything came flooding back, damn! 

It was 2 A.M., when my phone rang; 
You whispered those words in a new slang, 
“I am sick” is all I could pick,
from your trembling lips. 
And I swear I never felt so weak. 

We drove to Chicago in your father’s truck,
with your hair glistening in the morning sun,
and plans we thought would be fun.
In Seer’s tower, you looked into my eye, 
And told me how you have always wanted to fly. 
All I could say was “I love you”, 
And you responded with a wry smile. 
I don’t know what changed your mind in the night,
As you crooned, “My Funny Valentine”. 
But it felt so right. 

You held a strand of your hair,
In the palm of your hand, 
And told me, “it’s happening”. 
With flooded eyes, you squeezed my shoulder,
Prompting me to utter my first lie, 
“Everything will be fine”.

And soon you just left. 

“The usual?”, the bartender asked,
I nodded and opened the letter, with your smell, masked. 
“I love you too”, it said.

Montage

After the tyranny of time takes its toll;

And there are no more lands: unchartered;

I will take you to a place;

All mine;

On every corner of its mystical garden;

I will show you my name etched on a tree;

Below yours.

A little coastal town;

Where only small boats go;

Where children toil about;

With merriment and a reckless predilection for their dreams;

A place designed by you and me;

In our heads; currently taking a beating;

By the prejudices of the coming hour.

I will show you my spot; over a cliff;

Overlooking a lake;

Where a small duck wags its tail;

Fondly followed by her ducklings;

Reflecting unevenly in the ripples they cause; Wrapped in pleasure;

Pleasure of being undisturbed and unthreatened.

Every day with the sun; we shall rise;

Fall in love; all over again;

And with the sun; we will set in  bed;

Waiting to rise again.

I shall write stories of our adventures;

Here and before;

And read them to you;

Like an old bedtime story of the past;

The ones where only happy endings exist;

Like the ones your grandmothers read to you;

On cold winter days; to fill you up with warmth;

We shall pass our time watching the rain drops race;

On the window pane;

Against the backdrop of a wet dawn;

And grey sky.

We will sail away into the horizon;

On a small raft;

Passing through the memories of our old lives;

And thank each other for this place;

We live in;

A place of our own.

Red

Two goldfishes circling in a fishbowl besides the red drape

Which mother bought despite my displeasure; 

"Red is a violent colour; 

There should be no room for violence in a happy home", i argued 

On our way back to home. 

"But red is the colour of love", she insisted trying to keep her eyes on the road; 

"Love is always violent", i thought; 

But i dint say that; 

Good rebuttals always come in the silence of nights; 

Good rebuttals always come when you are conversing with yourself; 

Good rebuttals are traitors. 

 

 

The drape's reflection painted the water red;

The gold fishes dint seem golden anymore; 

After a week of starvation and confusion;

Their valour gave up; 

They rose on the surface of the water; 

With their eyes open; 

The water was still red. 

Love is violent.