?

a question comes out of the ocean
with the storm blackened sky rains down as dogs and cats
a sharp spear is what it looks like
scary, powerful and eternal

the surprised audience forget to witness
the birth of the thousand answers along with the parting sea
these thousand answer lie there in the world
in mountains, in caves, in ocean and in plain sight likewise

some see the answer two and other see the answer three-seventyfour
and they have found the answer to the question as it were
the story doesn’t end there, it just only began
the battles of the ‘one-true’ answer is just about to begin

the bombs explode and the bullets are on the eye
the smell is pungent, that’s all they said
its weird how bones still hold when the flesh has gone
but it all is just ruthless orgy of the foolish crowd

they all die the war of ‘the-one’
on the ground they lay in pools of blood indifferent from that of pigs or cows
the world is lost and death is all it reeks of
the one thing that still stands is the question, motherfucker’s tall.

have you ever seen a building fall?

have you ever seen a building fall?
down from the top in no time?
but then the time is relative
and what seems no maybe is all

the start of it is sudden
and the next moment entire certainty is gone
the one you had for your life
the one you had for death
the present, the future, the time itself is changed

from for what seemed like ‘an eternity later, you realize your existence
and you still remember the missing certainty, thinking forever.
you have no vision, no mind and no heart
dead confused or just dead?
that is when you are getting sucked in a void of nothingness

last comes the end, the shock reverberates, thud.
but at that moment passed are the hopes from the void of your body
and your soul with the memories and its paranoia
the part of you that believed life now understands it
in a void forever made to suffer along with the ghosts of the cracks.

As I turn 18.

As I turn 18 being away from home, what it feels like is quite strenuous to put in words. After all, emptiness and enactment are never to be mixed.

As I turn 18 being away from home, the responsibility of saving the chips and desire to be an occasional spendthrift collides. And colliding bodies have equal momentum after the act, don’t they?

As I turn 18 being away from home, the childlike expectancy of gifts and knowledge of their material futility fights with each other. Ever tasted salt and sugar together?

As I turn 18 being away from home, the love for my folks multiplies manifolds while love for that one girl pulls me towards her more and more. Standing in the swash zone of the beach, making you feel like slipping as the waves wash away the sand beneath, not much different than that chore it is. 

As I turn 18 being away from home, I start learning to make an house, a home. The walls are the same, even colors as well, what adds up, is the policy of conditionality.

As I turn 18 being away from home, whenever I see people without the barter policy, I express my love for them, not within me but right up to them, pulling them out of conditions of the give and take. 

And as I turn 18 being away from home, I feel and realise the major missing; home. And I realise it’s elucidation. 

It’s her.

via Beneath her skin

I don’t miss you.

The sand feels like snow. The sound of the waves feels more like the sound of the swiftly flowing winds in the mountains. The walk along the shore feeling like hiking. Silence feels like theories of society being discussed. And I feel like being with you once again. Trust me I don’t miss you.

Travelling alone never happens eventhough ticket is always single. Songs that play in the plugins sounds more like the one which I don’t have in playlist of my phone but perhaps in the playlist of my mind. Or heart. Trust me I don’t miss you.

Sleeping under the ceiling with fan running at it’s full, I don’t feel the air but the chill of the snow mountains. Having the best cappuccino in the town sitting in the cafe of great ambience, it feels like the extra strong masala chai instead, served in the steel cup with you by my side. But trust me I don’t miss you.

Running has always been a daily chore. The steps are the same. Yet the motion brings the memory of sighting the peak and running towards it. With you. Getting back to the time present, seeing you not there, there’s always a choking knot in the throat. But trust me, I don’t miss you.

That one song in the offline playlist never fails to bring back that night. The night when much was left unsaid. The night when everything was expressed. When the tongue failed but eyes didn’t. Listening to the same, there’s a hint of moisture in my eyes. But trust me, I don’t miss you. 

To miss you was never an option. For we miss those who is not there. But you never left. Call me fool, call me a foolish optimist or a kid. I still see the flash of all the days spent at the instant I hear your name. But trust me I don’t miss you.