put the shreds together
a creative patch work
hid the stains
a lovely tie-n-dye
no hearts as sleeves
no chips for shoulders
.... parallel universe ....
me a softhead
i know you are messed up
i feel at home
moon lullaby - in your arms
sunrise - under your curled lashes
thrumming under my palm
we held hands ... all but once
the shudders run still
your steady breath... those 30 seconds
and purple thunder in my heart
hunger and quiet rising suffused
me - a darkness magnet
... supreme sensual sentient
haven't seen the dreamland, ever since
... the eyes closed, at last
enter the gates... at last.
pics courtesy: http://www.smashingmagazine.com
half a promise
more than the half... sometimes
this festivity has a grip
grip on the un-shed tears
too many staring matches lost to the mirror ...
lost everything to the evanescence
I’m not sure why I feel compelled to write about the messy sharp-edged rawness. Some days when we can’t help it. Our words intersect but never meet. Our conversations sound like a scene from "the Tracy Fragments", each scene unfinished, bifurcated like the V’s of geese cutting through the air; my intentions going one way, his another. It’s not about anything, or it could just as well be. I’m disappointed. When because of his moods he turns stormy and turbulent, everything I’m saying an easy target for something. Sometimes (many times) I’m wrong. It’s hard for me to say so. Harder to apologize, to reword, to back down. But generally I do. Still, there are times when I’m not. When I’m genuinely blindsided with the intensity of his reaction, when he’s out of line. The injustice of misunderstanding feels so huge, so insurmountable, especially within the small parameters of my own take on things.
It’s so damn hard to give every ounce of what you have when you’re feeling like beaten and covered with gravel, each shard touching all the exposed wounds. The thing is, sometimes being grown up just sucks, and it still hits us hard. When theres an ache for things, anything and our days are crowded and off kilter, it’s easy to turn each other into a target. Humans always seem to want a scapegoat. Someone else to blame for their own feeble attempts and failures in the scope of a jam-packed day where it’s impossible to measure up. And sometimes this lashing out is as unavoidable as the frost that will come to kill the sunflowers.
So I write about the days when things are tense and the friction is not just a physics theory.
Eventually truce! And really, there’s nothing either of us can do about these times, except agree to stop, to give in, to say I’m sorry. To take a breath, or several. Because sometimes it’s neither of our faults, really. It’s just life, handed to us full and brimming. Without a glossy manual. You cannot just always stand up and say "I quit"
Maybe by circling back to these moments I create a different illusion—that relationships are hard, fraught with conflict, which is hardly the case, if you look in totality. There always is sweetness, so many moments jam-packed with goodness. So many hours, days, weeks even, when things are smooth and effortless. And, this is true for each of the relationships... some are a bit easier than others. A blessing! Some have their own share of "adventure"... another sort of blessing! If its the beach we covet, we cannot choose between the sand grains, sunburn or the clear blue-green water and its frolicking tides. Its a package deal. ALWAYS!
And, so I attempt to record the other times too, because they are hard. Because growth never comes from the moments of easy pleasure. Growth comes when the ache is greatest, when wanderlust and terror swell equally in my chest and I choose instead to stay. To accept the sorry come easily and not make it tough for the other one. And to let go of the hurt; and not carry the trash can of negatives around. Am fragile, i cant carry much... and since am a darkness magnet - its easier to carry the muck around. But what is being human, if not to make the effort of working out the seemingly unworkable!
And, in the middle of the night when you hear him breathing next to you, his jaw slack. Vulerable and tender. There are No words left.
“Your post-its are killing me”; he says and all I can manage is … a chuckle over cyberspace.Ouch! That hurt!
Most of the time its fragments, I exist in. Fragments of facts, mosaic of memories, pieces of happiness, dots of grief, burst of anger and handful of laughter. Mix it well! There… you have the recipe of how I live. Even with words… short phrases…disjointed analogies… dissected thoughts barely fitting into pull-over of grammar. Maybe that’s why … I can never see myself writing one whole book… I have some zillion stories, theories, screenplays, poems, ideas… inside me. Like every body else … I am a barely put-together puzzle of carbon base. And, unlike some of us… and salute to all those who can, so glowingly seduce the language to make such exquisite and sizzling stories; I am limited by my run-on sentences. Am limited by my own parentheses and maybe all I need to do is remove them to make the equation simpler? Or does it complicate matters…
Sometimes I can’t say things all the way, the way they are. Instead, the feeling is simply there, welling up. Like smoke in the air, or the boiling kettle.
And, right now, and I wish I could be more voluble about it…I am missing him. The presence, the mischief …
Ha!! It's a fad to say that Bobby Deol doesnt act... and Nopes, i am not a big fan. But, this one definitely is a feather in his not-so-plummeted cap! And Kudos to the director... Kabeer Kaushik!
I liked it and give it a 4 Star! And, people before you give me shit for this.......in case you plan to... remember the Shawshank Redemption and its innings on Box Office!
thank you! i rest my case!
Update: And, no Chamku is NOT the Shawshank Redemption!!! :)