The Other Day

Can we have a few more 
Of the other day?

Lovers for a few hours
Lost in each other

When you were not sure
If you should go or stay

You heard, 'Go',
But you stayed

How did you hear
What was unsaid?

Looking beyond what was
While I was trapped inside me

We seized oneness
Then ceased to be

Now years later
Here we are again

Nothing is new
Then I have to
See if you are still you

History. Mirror

Why does history have to be such an unrelenting sod? It always comes back - in the form of events or people. Usually both. Things that happen, words that are uttered. It's like weed. Ugly and unwanted. Or a creeper that keeps growing. I thought I had uprooted it for good but then I see it raising its ugly head yet again. What's worse, I shouldn't have let it reappear. But I did. I should have got rid of it at the very first hint. But I didn't. What stopped me? Nothing. That's the worst part.

The creeper still grows. It has reached my ankles already. Soon it will creep its way up. First it will weaken my knees till I can't stand straight. Then it will make me sick to my stomach. My heart will be eaten, right up to my throat. Knowing me, I will let it grow till I am consumed by it completely, till I gag and cannot breathe and don't hear or see anything. I might make a few lame attempts to cut it off. But maybe I won't be sincere. I'll feel bad for the weed that needs to feed. Like I have been fed off before. Several times. I need to break this pattern. I don't want any reflections from the past. I don't want to be the mirror. Again. 

A constantly working mind

Remember Shasha once saying that for once I need to do something for myself. Right now I'm the last person I'm thinking of doing anything for. I want to curl up in a corner and stare into darkness and at the wall. I know I won't see a thing but it's just the thought of having my eyes open wide and the concrete feeling of the wall hitting them back that's appealing. That will be my moment with myself, however strange. But here I am, writing for H and then for K (which will be indirectly for me) and stressing about getting up at 7 AM again to go with S for his work! All the while thinking what mum will have to say when she wakes up to find me still awake. Where am I doing anything for myself or thinking about what I want to do? I really do want to curl up in the corner and sleep.

Got to be hard when you cannot say no. 

Why?

Where is my willpower? I used to pride myself for my determination at one point. I used to be so sure of myself - even in the mistakes I'd make. But now everything seems like such a big deal. My cool and unaffected self is long gone. Everything feels like it's within an inch of my face. I snap, I cry, I give up.

Why?

Untouched

There are a few things that deserve to or need to remain untouched. Friendship from younger days is one of them. I have friendship that is unaffected by all the ugliness. My college friends. Here's to many more years together! Cheers!!

That smell

Strange post to restart blogging with. But, times are strange. People are stranger. Anyway, got to flush out thoughts, too.

Went to a funeral today. I realise that of late it's the same thing that keeps playing on my mind. The smell. It harrows me to the point that I just want to run away. It's the smell of the sheet covering the body mixed with incense sticks.

The presence of that smell hasn't left me. Ever since Papa passed away. Partly because a few days after his funeral, I woke up from sleep gasping. I had been dreaming of his funeral pyre; and the smoke had entered my nostrils. It had felt much too real. As I woke up I kept repeating, 'The wood is still burning'. But I could only whisper that and my sisters sleeping next to me didn't even stir.

Now at any funeral I can look at the deceased person's body, even touch it, but it's that smell!

Would you?

If I were a bard

Would you be my poetry?

If my life were History

Would you be my unsung glory?

If I were a ship

Would you be the lighthouse

If I were a monastery

Would you be the holy vows?

If I were Alice

Would you be the rabbit hole?

Would you be Arctic

If I were the North pole?

If I were a song

Would you be my tune?

If I were the desert vast

Would you be my sand dune?

If I were a canvas blank

Would you be the paint?

If I were a sacred chant

Would you chant me like a saint?

Would you be Aesop

If I were a fable?

Would you always be with me

If I want us to be inseparable?