Every little devastation matters, every tear means something.
In the larger scheme of the universe, somewhere far away,
Its all adding up to a giant mountain of grief,
And all you can do is -- try to run away from it.

'You are someone to be loved', they say to you.
But they don't finish the sentence... it ends with
'...Just like everyone else'
You are not special,
No one is,
You are not extraordinary,
Why, you're not the first person on this planet.

Angry words make poetry!
Maybe they do, maybe they don't,
They're just words,
They shouldn't be taken so seriously.

He looks magnetic,
Like the first ray of the sun - its called 'Arush' in Hindi, someone by that name has told me.
Back to him - he is the most beautiful colour of skin,
The colour you cannot help but love,
He is the most beautiful thing you can ever imagine,
He is the saviour,
He will heal,
And, if he doesn't,
Then there will be no saving you or this 'meshugah' soul of yours!

There's darkness in him,
there's darkness all around him,
that attracts you, draws you in.
You don't want to take care of him,
you've had enough of that in your life.
If that's the case then why are you drawn to his darkness,
it will only destroy you - slowly but surely,
it will creep into your heart and make your blood run cold...
Until you stop breathing.

She paints,
she's angelic,
she is an old soul - a wise soul,
but she doesn't draw you in.
You just want to watch her from a distance.
Why don't you want to be a part of her?
Why don't you want her to be a part of you?

He is a snake.
You were at peace without him,
but the mountain of grief wouldn't have it.
So, it sent him your way.
He now lives in your heart,
and he talks about himself all the time.
He thinks you need him and
he needs you,
when the truth is--you don't need each other.
Why can't you just leave.

Its like molten lava inside this body,
It flows through your veins,
and its trigger is a fickle whore.
She opens her legs for just about anyone,
and there you are - caught unawares.
If only you could find a way to expend this lava,
it would set you free.
All these diseases that you have,
from not being able to express yourself creatively,
they would all be gone--once the lava is expended...
whilst the lava is being expended.

You say whilst when you're talking,
when you're typing in your "right mind" --
you say while when you're typing with your
"unright mind"



You are my Faith

Today I saw ‘My Sister’s Keeper’
I remember it was just last year that I was travelling in that plane, having spent my summer with you—I was headed away from you. You thought I’d made this big sacrifice and not travelled too far away from you for too long. I wish that were true. I hadn’t done it for various other reasons, which makes me think less of myself. Will I ever correct you on that and remind you of the real reasons why I didn’t move? Perhaps not!
I did however, fly away for a little while—me with my uncomplicated queer eye, I flew away from you and the rest of my life; perhaps it was justified. I can’t tell now. Back then it felt like I did need the break. From what, I don’t know. I hadn’t done anything. I’d just spent time with you.
Anyway, as I sat in that plane I looked at the list of films that were playing on the small foggy TV screen in front of me. On that list was this film. I had no idea what the film was about. I had no idea until tonight. I find that strange. I usually know such things. How did I not know this? And yet, I was attracted towards the film. I’ve wanted to see it since the time it was released… and, I never bothered to find out what the film was about. It’s unbelievable. Maybe I am over-thinking it.
I ate my hideous airplane pre-dawn meal, and washed it down with a couple of mini bottles of red wine. I was warm and all set to watch the film(s). I’d never really slept through journeys before. That night I slept through the whole thing and woke up in the morning, in time to hop on to the next plane.
Tonight I go back and forth that night in the plane. What would have happened if I’d seen the film? I might sound overtly dramatic here, but things might have turned out differently.
I think of all those lovely emails you sent me; the beautiful messages, the tear-filled conversations. You poured. I swept them under the rug. You tried to purge. I concealed. I’d like to purge but you know that’s not me. It’s not ok to cry in front of people.
I wish I could’ve done more. I see all this and I wish I could bring you more smiles. I wish this were the one thing in my life wherein I strived harder… somehow. Its in the past now though, and everything is all right.
I guess at moments like these, I understand faith—yours, then and now; mine—then. For now, I don’t need faith—I have you. My faith is in my phone that still rings at 11:30 in the night, and you’re calling.