noNexistent nothiNg: eternaldarknessofsunshineheart

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Whispers of Resurrection

Alchemizing

my hunger into holiness

my sanity into sinfulness

What if the answer

isn’t in endings,

but in the quiet bloom of beginnings?

Not in tearing apart,

but weaving together—

a tapestry

where all the gods meet,

their love spilling

into the soil of our souls,

birthing myths

we’ve yet to imagine

Do you feel the stars

holding their breath,

as we dare to wish upon them?

Do they wait,

trembling in their brilliance,

to see if we’ll rise

to meet our own dreams?

Do you think the universe

leans closer,

its vastness folding

into our fragile hearts?

Cinnamon Memories

We drift into memories,

even as we weave them,

threads of stardust …

Listen to this, and this one here ,

I love them, and I know you would too

And this one is a definite must

Playlists hum on shuffle,

songs spilling like secrets,

vibes whispered in texts,

melodies floating like petals

caught in the amber sunset

Stars blink awake,

their laughter

Soft as snowflake

filling up the night

And the world feels

just right

It Shuffles again

With a mind without a rein

Run on algorithm,

the LED pulses blue

like a heartbeat in the dark

Every note, a sepia tinted hue

Riding the constellation in an ark

The air grows heavy, with unsung dream,

Laughter spilling like a summer stream,

Squeals of wonder, of silly delight,

Caught in the halo of magic headlight

We fall back on memories, without a break,

Of our fingers tracing constellations

maps, we never meant to make

Hand in hand,

we traipse through unnamed skies

Days of conversations

Only with our eyes

Lifetimes wrapped

in sparkling moments,

Tiny treasures in my palm,

Fireflies

glowing in the midnight’s calm

Talking to the Moon

In the quiet hours when the moon's a sliver,

I sit with tea, my thoughts begin to quiver.

Confetti like emails and the deadline awaits,

Whilst my mind flirts with celestial fates

A half-remembered dream from last night’s show, did I dance with shadows, moving slow?

Talking to the moon, again…

I ponder its rise and fall,

Echoes caught in a crystal ball

Passionate flames now flicker dim,

The amber fades on a whim

But oh! The beauty in this gentle decline,

Hanging low caught in a twine

And as it pulls tides and hearts alike,

I’ll raise my cup to the waning night.

No method to this madness

Tomorrow this might change,

Tomorrow you might become someone I once knew… barely even or

Tomorrow might just be…

Yet today …

In my head your voice is like treacle

in my head your eyes find mine across the room

Again and again

In my head all your words feel like caress

In my head all your fingers find mine across oceans again and Again

In my head we watch movies, go on hikes, to the museum - agree to disagree,

quickly forget that and argue finer points

In my head you resolve the said arguments

with a kiss -

gentle and then not so …

In my head the hunger is always

lurking beneath the surface of logic

In my head lifetimes and seconds collide

In my head the tentative steps become pirouette

In my head the fear becomes fuel

In my head stranger ness doesn’t feel weird

In my head, the desire wakes up

from the hibernation of ages

In my head the sunshine and meteor showers and spring morning and winter full moon nights

and beach camps and aurora borealis

make a montage

all because,

the way your words flow

and the way you sound

and the things you say

and the questions you ask

and answers you present

In my head this is a tiny swirling supernova -

In my head all of me,

arches up to meet all of you ..

AGAIN and again

it’s just in my head…

most times i hate you, which means most times i hate myself and i hate that i do that... because this hate of mine, it really has to fight the overwhelming heart, that's me. i wasn't made to hate, dad

remember you said, i had to toughen up? remember you said, i was the best and then remember when you said i would never amount to much because i wasn't following your orders of structure and family pride? and remember when we laughed together on silly things? and remember all the zillion discussions of philosophy? and remember how you would give the shirt off your back to a stranger in need? and beat up your own child black and blue? and remember when you stayed up all night when we fell sick? and also carry me for my Grade 10 exams? and remember when i stayed up all night - night after night on the hospital floors, leaving my child to men who were trying to get to me by playing the child's father? and i hated that i knew that and had no options in that moment? (HATE! that word again!) because i was desperately, helplessly trying to delay the inevitable? and remember when i implored you to let go and not hold on anymore because the body you were in was beyond repair? and remember when somu and i held your hand and began coming apart in slow motion time lapse film, even as you were struggling to breathe? and remember how i was haunted by all consuming presence of your absence? the smell of death that hung in the rooms and clung to me, on my clothes, in my hair, on my skin? and i don't think i have been able to wash it all out yet, and remember when we went to cremate your body? because that wasn't you - i could hear you whispering inside my head and i knew this was never letting me go? and remember how i never did more than perfunctory rituals and crying, because none of that was for you.... you were not there.... and yet here you are. in all consuming claustrophobia if i let my mind even breathe in the direction...

7 years! practically a toddler, this unboxed grief of mine - am not sure, if this qualifies as grief, even. are the labels and qualifications necessary?

there are days i still feel you. there i am, going about my day - doing the adulting , the mommying, the politics fielding (and failing) at work and i find you in my periphery or inside my head - in all your narcissist and gregarious glory.

in the spectrum of grey - am still looking for the colour that can hold you.

quantum physics says you very much exist; do you think, unwittingly, i found a portal to traverse the dimensions?

don't worry though... am sorted, as much as one can be with the glorious mess of being truly fucked up and yet hopeful.

and don't fret though... it's a detached observation, as much as one can be detached whilst being part of the control system.

the observer creates the reality, remember?

When Sleep Fails

There’s always a story, outside my window

different ones though, from the bedroom and the living room

Same water, same sky ... Different story

I bet the sky doesn’t know

It’s my couch and my plants

Or the sleepless nights

in the audience

nor does the water

Yet the narratives change

The rhetoric mutates …

Both the fairy lights lit boat and the commuter ferry

switch characters, on cue with ease

The stories abound.. multitudes, textured, iridescent, flirtatious

Once Upon A Time...

there's a moment before the colours set on the canvas,

before you press "Send"

before he leans in for the kiss

before the alarm chimes you out of sleep

before she steps off the cliff

The letter might still be left on the desk, unsent

The hand held back by the elbow,

the word kept between the larynx pulse

Yet something slips through

looks around,

sets course for the new horizons,

for unexplored lands

Not fateful, neither momentous

Simply changed

there's perhaps a flight in that dive

or love of your life in that breadth

perhaps the best email you sent

or the masterpiece you create

Never land

In the pale crook of trees, swallows threading their song through the fluttering green of newly unfurled leaves makes my heart tremble.

Things are up in the air, and I’m holding my breath waiting for unrecognized brilliance. It’s like I’m occupying the thin space between air and water in a drinking glass, where the whole world is reflected in a line.

I spend whole days skimming, flitting, careening. In my journal I write, half finished sentences, copied quotes, words from lyrics or poetry, finger bones gripping in quiet concert, the lead becoming a rush of loopy js and ys, answering the same questions each morning: what do I feel? What do I want?

The thing about routine is that it tricks you into the slow, sedate delusion that you actually know what you are doing. For granted are two words that come into play here, with their accompanying ache and grayness, each syllable painted the color of the rain heavy sky.

And the thing is, for quite some time you can slip into a groove. Things set in and walls gets built around you like a Lego fortress, and you’re there inside it, contentedly going about the brightly colored bits of your day.

My dreams are surreal and technicolored and sensual. It’s a weird state to have suddenly slipped into. I sit and watch clouds get tangled at the horizon; or the light playing tricks on buildings and over water and the wind flirting with tiny sails on the sea. I have work to do and things to untangle in my mind and all I do is watch the clouds.

Even amidst the teeming life full of gratitude, I catch myself missing things that never happened; surging nostalgia for the could haves …

Still Morning

The still of the morning

Expansive grey

Fenced off by glass

An illusion of protection

Or is it just detachement

Words seem to have left me finally

I let them go

Without an adieu

They were nagging

Write, write, write

Went the syncopated tormenting

I buried them

Shut and sealed

Under the mountain of mundane

And bills-paying, house-playing choreography

They were persistent yet

Afflictive, stubborn …

I look up from my coffee

Sun, now flitting on the near still

Grey water

Look closely, it’s not still… like me, it’s keeping up appearances

The wind, the sun, the errant pebble and the bird wings

That tiny boat and the ferry

Flirt mercilessly with it’s quiet

Laws of thermodynamics

Third to be exact

Coil around with lyrics

And my unused, buried, dusty words

Struggle…

Barely audible vampire hiss…

“Don’t wake us up, you can’t just waltz in and wake us up…!

Just because you “feel” poetic… you threw us away like an unloved rag doll

We refuse! You are on your own… go back to your mountain

And your language less musings…

You buried us. The coffin was pretty wood…

We remember.

We remember because, you buried us alive….”

The still of the mourning is ghostlike grey…

Here's all my hopes and dreams... Tread Softly, Dear Universe

https://www.pinterest.com/fionnatam/_saved/

The weekend was terrifying.

I have been given my fair share of scary, life altering adrenaline pumping, imploding paranoia and sometimes absolute-cliffhanger-claw-back-to-survive situations so i say this with as much grace and humility as one average person is capable of - this was TERRIFYING!

On-loop 120 beats per minute resting heartbeats are not fun. It was a psychedelic, claustrophobic, worst case scenarios rolled into one and neatly tied with a bow of imploding panic attacks.

That's how my mind protects myself - i think, knowingly, self-aware(ly) repress and implode, find the equilibrium, just about ... and break apart again. And if you were a stranger talking to me just then... you wouldn't know, unless you believed in vibes and saw auras. My 11 year old does and I very nearly broke him...

My mind and body constantly on a collision course with the reality and sometimes running in parallel and then colliding again. Sometimes my entire quiet existence feels like a primordial chaos.

And IT IS a quiet existence. Am a (high) functioning introvert. I can host parties with tons of people so that I don't have to sit and make small talk. I would like to make small talk and I try and I get anxious and shut up. Am better in text, very curt or transactional on voice and a listener in one on one with enough inputs to make believe the small talk. I value kindness over everything else and yet can't seem to find my way out of derisive self-talk.

I have friends, in spite of myself.... AND IT was these friends i reached out to .... to help me off the ledge... survival instincts or plain rational being, call it what you will, even though some of them didn't know they were doing that, some of them did... and they did talk me off that ledge.

The nights were the worst. I collect the 'broken-yet-high functioning' attributes as if they were going out of fashion; overcompensating the amount of dark my mind seems to be capable of; i think... so, as a high functioning insomnia pulled the curtain call... the nights became the absolute worst, threatening to take over and stifle me with slow deliberation.

I could hear the cicadas song interspersing the quiet, save for the occasional cars and decided to finally have a heart to heart with the ballooning full moon..... praying....

Come Monday, I had trudged myself into a space between confusion and coherence...

Now am moving with measured intention through whirling chaos towards the unknown... armed only with, faith and vision (of much deserved happiness) and with knowledge that somewhere even with all the million heartbreaks of different variety, I never let go of my tenet of kindness....

Hitherto, I have been blessed in some really subtle ways.

Now, is the time I am blessed out loud!

noNexistent nothiNg

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