The penultimate moment of indecision
Timeless moorings
Procrastination redefined
Desires recombined
To stay, and then to stay some more
Before the void is left
For always and ever
Stay some more until you stay no more.
Can fulfillment ever be defined?
Waiting for a moment almost desperately and seeing it finally not achieve any sense of fruition is one of the biggest possible disappointments. It is probably the best place to locate the painful cavity between desire and fulfillment.
Whatever lessons might be learnt in the process are only a salve to the unconscious state of the insomniac being, forcing yet another series of desperate attempts to feel positive and gay.
Sometimes it is good not to feel positive.
Sometimes it is good not to feel.
At all.
The collection of fables
Discussions
Deliberations
Disappointments
The cherishing of dreams
Recollections
Sarcasms
To the liveliness of hearts
The instinctive connect
Engaged
For life.💙
Too many faces
Too many hearts
Concerted affections
Wired encircled
Looped and relooped
and yet
The sheer cavitisation
The vacuum of sorts
The insulation of emotions
because
Home is home.
Habitual of beginning all her write-ups with a conditional clause, almost obsessively every time, Sia sat holding her laptop in her lap (no pun implied),wrote ‘Only if it were a happy world..’ ,almost blank, desperately looking at the ceiling, the occasional glances aimed at the much needed inspiration.
The pattern had become almost a month old now. Why could she not pen down those feelings as effortlessly and instinctively as earlier?
Writer’s block, she wondered.
But wait! Was she even a writer? All those rantings were cries and sighs of a disillusioned and fractured state of mind, conceived almost in a furious typing of words by quivering fingers. She does not even remember them.
And then it dawned on her. She does not remember her own works. Has she abandoned them?
No. The works had abandoned her rather. She cannot abandon them because they never belonged to her in the first place. They belonged to their unique individual moments.
She turned off the laptop, amazed at her absolute inability to write combined with the unique nature of this new crazy thought. Should she pen it down?
She smiled at herself.
Writing would die surely,
Only if it were a happy world.
Holding the pen at two in the morning
Thoughts convolute at the fag end of the mind
Dots refuse to join
Fingers quiver in weary exhaustion
Eyes wander in desperate amazement
Blank sheets
Redundant poetry
And the same realization
Given it all
Too early
Already.
Pent up emotions
A whirlwind of expectations
The vacuum of anticipation
Surrogate designation
Embryonic something
Lost the desire to be born
Looking for peace,
Round and around.
The end of another year
Faces to be replaced
(Stay detached, they say,
They are not to stay)
Lessons learnt,
and yet
No lessons learnt
The hope of future and the future of hope
Entwined with the cavitised memories
The same window
The same smile..
The intuitive bonding
The telepathic murmurings
Fights disappointments realisations
Silent shrieks
Loud silence
And yet
The looking for the voice
The warmth
The touch
The story tied safe in folds
The new and the old.
Dear Eyes
It has been a very long time since I talked with you directly. Life became convoluted with every passing moment and I somehow forgot that my life is connected with yours. In fact, I became so immersed in the conundrums of my own existentialist delusional self that I forgot your blinks are directly proportional to my beats; that even when I chose to sink as and when I felt like and hid in my shell for an indefinite time period, you continued to face the world with all your might, even in the welled up state.
Today I feel I acted weak. While I bled and bled, you never spilled over and bore the internal conjunctivital pain with all the strength. I forgot that you do not lead an independent life of your own. You are but a reflection of my inner self. While I had forgotten to live up to my own spirit, you showed it to the world that I was stronger than my weaknesses; but not as stronger as you are. Thank you for reflecting the truth, yet obfuscating it for me.
Because you are superbly capable of both.
Yours silently
Heart.
Goodbye!
Never say goodbye, they say.
But say it!
Probably it will ooze out the nothingness like blood gushing from the wound.
Probably it will cavitise the void further
And vacuumise the hollowness more.
More would it make strong than stronger
And more would it lead to the road ahead.
So goodbye to the sinking heart
And goodbye to the weakling knees.
Goodbye to the past moment
and to the promise and its gap.