Damaged Lemons

I’m still figuring myself out. What does it mean to be me? 

 What have I become? What will I be? 

I’m on this rollercoaster ride. Gradually and with anticipation, I grow closer to answering all these questions only to realise how farther I am, and then plummet back to the solid rock bottom. 

One night, I’m fusion desperately keeping gravity at bay.  On other, I’m gravity collapsing matter with maddening tenacity. I feel misplaced. 

I’m jealous of people who know what they want from life. I don’t know if they really know or it seems just like it. 

Maybe everyone is fighting their own battles. Mayne someone out there thinks I’ve my life sorted. Maybe we all are as clueless as the person next to us. 

Then, what seperates us? Why am I a lachrymose king, a beggar down in the mouth while subjects are content? 

This is conundrum, a labyrinth I cannot escape.

I’m lost all over again. 

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Questions to Myself

~ what can I do?

but dream of dreams

where poppy seeds rain 

and purge the stench of manipulation

in exchange for crimson ignorance

and augmented realities. 
~ where can I go? 

but run and run and run and run

away, 

towards the depths of the sea

to cover a tear stricken face.

I never did let you see me cry

or risk shattering the illusion of fortitude.
~ who can I turn to? 

 someone other than your silhouette

holding a face of sharp derision

whose finger wags at every progression.

You made it your personal mission

to send me the throes of  ample psychological dismay.
~ why am I running? 

 when there is no place left

and all is buried in the rubble

of this metaphysical catastrophe

we created. assume we are too far gone. 

lost to the world, is the tenderness

we never truly shared. all that is left, 

is the bitter taste of apathy. 
 mouths prefer to be sewn shut 

when truth precedes emotion

I am my own Demon

My headspace is inhabited with creatures of the lowest creed. These demons have been resisted in my mind since 18 years. Sure it sounds dramatic, but trust me when I say I can’t remember. a day I didn’t feel their presence. How could I evict them from their home? It would be cruel to do so. But this cohabitation is no longer symbiotically mutualistic. Maybe at some point I thought it was. I thought they served a purpose to push me over the edge. I’ve looked over this cliff, sized up the spikes distended from the sea floor and still I jumped because they told me to, because they convinced me it was the only way they could be safe inside of me. you don’t want to endanger us, you’re lucky we haven’t killed you yet. That’s what they’d tell me. It was never mutualistic, always parasitic. Taking everything I needed to survive. They never let me open the curtains in the AM, they were afraid of the sun. Once in a while I open them anyway and I remember what warmth feels like. Then I think, maybe they’ve come of age too and they are ready to leave the nest. Maybe my presence has become the overbearing mother, suffocating their freedom. Still I’m the one who feels suffocated. It is then they shriek at me like sirens above water. If I don’t go under again, I know I’ll go deaf. So I shut out the light and suddenly their voices are clear again, soft, melodic, hypnotic. 

in the end, the demons were just me all along. 

I’m sorry

Sorry is a very small word for the feeling you want to express. It doesn’t tell a person how much bad you feel about yourself. I mean, are you just saying sorry because you want to get done with whatever wrong you did? Or are you in a state of guilt for letting someone down and angry on yourself for being the mess that you are and you want to genuinely make them feel that you’re torn between self doubt, angst and a guilt trip? We need a new word to apologise to people we have hurt very badly. Sorry could be used when you bump into someone, step on someone by mistake, sneeze rudely in front of people, miss out on hearing a sentence or give condolences at a funeral. But what do you tell someone who’s heart you’ve broken? I’m sorry? What do you tell someone who’s breath you’ve taken away? I’m sorry? What do you tell someone when you’ve ruined every expectations of theirs and killed their hope? I’m sorry? We need a new word people, because I’m sorry, “I’m sorry” just doesn’t work. 

Old soulsĀ 

I don’t belong here, this era is too foreign for me. My life is a daily struggle to keep up with world’s pointless trends. The likes, the shares, the hashtags are not enough to measure me. I am much more than what I portray on social mediums. I don’t want to add a friend, I want to make one. I don’t want to keep texting you, I want to hear your voice. I can’t read on screen, the touch of books soothe my soul. I collect typewriters, records, CDs, I listen to heavy metal like they’re some endangered species. I don’t want to swipe right to fall in love, I want to find the one in person, talk to them endlessly under starry nights and fall for their souls. This is not my time, I am, what they call, an old soul. We aren’t many, we are like the rare diamonds and the only way we go back in our time is when we meet one of our own kind. 

There is no home.

There is no home. No home for our generation. We are the vagabonds of our time. Travelling far and wide in search of a place called home. We are seeking for a home which doesn’t exist or might never exist ever at all. There is no word for it in the entire English language. The Welsh word for it is hiraeth. We have been blessed with the smallest attention capacity. We are seeking for a home in our memories which are hazed by the alcohol and smoke. We are seeking for a home in strange bodies which are forgotten after a night. We are seeking for a home in religion, just to make pure mockery of God. We are seeking for a home in a lover’s eyes, just to feel loved for once. We are seeking for a home in the ruins of other people’s dreams. We are seeking for a home by fighting against each other. We are seeking for a home in death. But there is no home, just an incomplete feeling, hiraeth. 

The Burden of the Unsaid

I wake up everyday, carrying a burden inside my head.. it’s a burden of the unsaid. I dream to cast out myself away from the world of deprived, to escape from the world where my wings are held tight. They leave me with the thought that I can’t fly I can’t see with the world’s blindfolded eyes. 

The continuous urge to fight or to give up fidget me all the time, it’s not a good place neither to hide nor to find! Everyday I try, I try harder to understand that this pain will go away with a temporal withstand, I pray everyday with my raised hands thinking my presence to be someday, grand! 

How should I endure and caress this mess for now and for the rest?

The days are passing into months and years.. the daylight is changing into terrible fear. I feel something is scratching my tattered soul.. I feel something is sucking my rest of the whole.

And I don’t know how to deal with it. All I can assume that I will see to it, I hope someday the wounds will heal and then there would be no boundation, no seal. 

I wish the pulsation to become firm and the view to be cozy and warm. 

I wish to see the tattered soul fly, reaching up far beyond the horizons od the glistening blue sky!