The lion cub

I’m blotting out several sounds at once. I want to disbelieve what I’m seeing, what you’re showing to me, but its taking effort. I keep getting distracted, but…this is how it goes down. Yes.

Things dictate themselves, over and over again, like lab rodents, hamsters in their wheel, guinea pigs who need ulterior motives. And you ask me to do what?

You give me memories that haunt me for hours and hours and days later. Memories that I sometimes find difficult to escape from. I want release, but do I really? I wish they did not exist, but now I will accept them, embrace them...but make them my own?

I am in a state of mental anguish. Anguish. Chaos. Pain.
Sound. Noise. Heat.
Feeling.

Warmth radiates out from our little circle, our alcove of peace and security. You may try to penetrate it, but you'll probably come up with nothing. It is empty now, polluted by, nothing in particular, and yet very much.

So God help me.

Picking flowers

Sometimes I cannot figure out where the beginning is and where the end. Endless words and feelings pop up in my head and images flicker back and forth like entire film reels. Emotions.

I’m just a silly little girl who thinks she knows a lot but actually knows nothing about anything.

I make mistakes everyday, and now it seems I have started a chain of mistakes that are linked to each other and keep going on and on, a chain reaction I cannot stop, a trail of problems that will not end, a withered daisy-chain that my fingers will not, cannot, stop building.

So help me, God.

It is difficult to point my finger at a single point and say that this is where it all started – my daisy-chain is deceiving…it looks the same wherever I look at it from. Every flower is innocently alike. How cute.

Pathetic is one way to describe me. Foolish is another. Feel free to pick more.

While i wait i might as well discourse

I do not know what I am doing. I did not know I had such little self-control. I want to stop..then I want to start...then I want to stop again - and it goes on and on. Is it wrong? Is it right? Can I explain my actions to someone else? If I cannot, does it mean that it is wrong? Or does it just mean that this is something that other people will not understand?

Of course it is wrong. Of course. Too much happiness is outlawed. It is illegal. It is unfair. One person cannot have so much. I'm trying to stick with it, but soon nature will snatch it back from me. That's how nature goes, that's how it's supposed to work.

Adios love.

Strength from you to me

I need strength. I need it now. I want it to flow from you to me. You forge a connection; hold hands. Warmth flows. Strengthens. Me. You.

Tears dry. Throats unchoke. Laughter returns. But the feel of your hand on mine remains forever.

Early morning poetry

It started with a single verse of Pink Floyd. And he wrote. And i wrote.
It is... I


Pink Floyd: Tongue-tied and twisted just an earthbound misfit.. I


D: Left-alone mystery just an unimportant history.. I


R: Blue black and bruised just a solitary muse.. I


D: Pink purple cliche'd just an only climax delayed.. I


R: Wrap-around and hopeful just an introverted local.. I


D: Much taunted insanity mixed glum-haunted sanity.. I


R: Whipped-up dreaming with cotton candy scheming.. I


D: Stuffed up confusions but unstoppable intrusions.. I


R: Darned holy intentions and yet screwed up redemptions.. I

This shall be my escape

Those three little words...reverberating in my head...again and again and again. They had been whispered for someone else, but i knew they belonged to me too.

Whispers.

Echoes.


They pounded against my skull like the drumbeat from some mystic lore, some myth that had resurfaced. I tried to whisk it away, flapping my hands around my ears; tried to blot it out by sheer will, and by holding my breath, and by closing my eyes, and by surrendering to.. begging for..bad dreams. But i couldnt escape it.

Films flashed before my eyes - entire reels with big block letters that did more than just taunt. Much more.


Take away the little security i had did you?

quaint

"mein ne rkhay thay kahin dil mein chupa kar kuch log
ab mujhe yad nhi kon kidhar rakha tha"

Faisal Ajmi

june 24th

I have carved your name in ebonywood,
Solid black with spidery rifts.
Stick figures dancing across the length and breadth;
Essence
Of scented sandalwood.
You will run your fingers across these scars
Until
The numbness gets imprinted.

a week..or more..

Thoughts swirl in and around my head all day – thoughts that shift and jump and morph from one form to another; half-formed barely-virgin ideas, salted, unsalted; bittersweet poignance moulding into rough, crabby chunks of unreasonable reckoning; stringy and bold fancies warp into petite, contrite thought-substance – and yet…faced with an empty page, I cannot remember what it is I wanted to discourse on.
I had dozens of ideas to expound upon…and now I am empty – more so than the page.

Even then. Let us begin.

I have found it rather pleasing to put into words this phenomenon that I have been noticing recently. You form an idea, or opinion about something, and then you revise it. Again and again and again. New thoughts come about and change your thinking, and you voice a slightly changed opinion…and this goes on.
The only problem is…who to voice it to.
I’m being overwhelmed with emotion.
I must stop.


-

i am bitter...aaho!

-

I was goth today. It felt strangely liberating. It meant I could be however I wanted to be and not have to face any of the ugly, stubby fingers people like to point at me. Yessir...that is my definition of it!

I've gotten back in that race, when time begins to matter. Your pulse races along with every tick of the clock, every second, and a single misstep threatens to throw you off balance and turn your world upside-down.

I want to write in flowing ink, watching the black fluid spread across the page in chinese runes, every dash of the brush elegant and smooth.
I want.
But I am bitter.

No wants with bitter.

End bitter
first

Hard.
Very hard.

*sigh*
-

I am a back and I hurt.

-
Scheduled outage at 2 a.m :D

It's not that late yet, me thinks. But my back is giving way.

Let it drag!

-
There is nothing more strange than thinking about something passively and then suddenly seeing it erupt into existence right before your eyes.
*smile*

I believe in slow, passive thoughts at the moment. Thoughts that are slowly swished around the mind; watching them sparkle in the light, grow, and change shape with each turning movement; thoughts that leave this satisfying warmth as you watch them mould into new ones, leaving that stardust impression in their wake on your subconscious.

I need more flexibility, and more freedom. I haven't yet let down those walls around me, and the stiffness is painfully visible. I wish to flaunt, but am held back. I don't know if it will just take time, or the right kind of atmosphere. Or maybe both.

I can wait.

-

me likes.. *smile*

-
"Patience is power.
With time and patience the mulberry leaf becomes silk."
Chinese Proverb

-

I am a day flower

-
I have seen better days,
Under azure skies and purple clouds;
I have felt before,
This light, and darkness,
And the cold wind stinging my face --
Not cool, not refreshing.
I have seen the autumn leaves strewn across your path
And crunched my way
Toward oblivion and peace;
Rockets spewing hazy smoky somethings,
Out and over your head.
I have felt before this modest beginning,
This search for truth,
This display of innocence,
This image shattered by thorny lives
And hopeless endings.
I have seen before the walkways of your life
White sand beaches and gray sky mornings,
No deep-fried throbbing, only bitter pain,
Waiting to be spit out.
I have watched, and waited,
And then watched some more
(Waiting needs to become a habit)
I trod carefully over your scattered bones,
Lest I made another misstep
Again.
I tended the plants in your garden,
Then watched them
Wither.
I choked the vines with my bare hands,
Then watered the
ground, with my tears.
(Exceptions).

I have felt.

That is enough,
For now.
News when I do, not when I don't.
Exemplifying mindless mannequins
Twisting marionettes - hollow sawdust
And bones.
Watch foreheads wrinkle,
Temples throb,
Eyelids twitch
Forever.
I have seen before this sunset
Crimson-red, gold, lavender, gray
Swirling rocky mountain, and blueberry streams;
I have tasted your candyfloss dreams
Let them fade and dissolve and swirl away
Until anomalies appear;
And crush them.

(I am a day flower, I bloom in the day).
-

From the past...

-
The past few days I've been posting old stuff...old prose-ish things I wrote a long time ago. I found an old journal recently and decided to put up the stuff I liked alot. My style is kind of different now, so they sound weird to me, but they represent a part of me - an age that I went through.
-

And you thought you knew it

-
There is a fire crackling in the grate. It cannot be said to be crackling merrily, because merry it is not. There is too much anger in those flames, too much hate. They flicker back and forth, moving forward as if to grasp something other than the air, then leaping back, its prize tight in its hold, which it transfers to the center of its being where it is silently devoured by others waiting. It has no visible eye, yet it is watching, always watching. It shifts itself to see things more clearly. Even then, there seems to be a certain vengeance in its eyes; it cannot be seen, only felt. At times, it will seem to pause, and the ends of its flames appear to hover in mid-air for a split-second; it is at such moments that a distinct form becomes visible in this fire, its features too hideous to want to remember. Before one can blink or turn away, it is gone, and the flames fall with a certain shiver, subtle yet noticeable, indicating the yearning it had when it was stretched out to its limit of movement, and the self-control it seems to display as if doing one of us a favor. It is not hot, nor does it radiate heat, no, it is ice-cold, giving an outward appearance of warmth, and yet chilling one right to the bones, cold that soaks through until it scarcely touches the boundary of the soul, and yet that is enough for one to despair. Its thirst for revenge is insatiable. It longs to be one with all things, to bind itself to them, when in actuality, it is consuming them of its own free will. It can sometimes pretend to be tame, but that is just a form of pretense it puts on for the gullible and the naive. It gives a quality of light to itself, beguiling the observer that it is providing light when it is actually feeding on it. The longer the fire burns, the darker its surroundings become. It sets up a pattern in its dancing flames, a dance-routine that has an enchanting quality to it, a lulling touch that will first cause one's attention to be caught by it, and then to hold that gaze until it becomes an unblinking stare. The person having any minor thoughts of withdrawing his gaze will find such thoughts suddenly and strangely subdued; the fire cannot afford to let those eyes, now caught, wander. This transfixed gaze allows the person's mind to become entranced, and the flames cause him to become dazed, as he will exist, for many long moments, only as himself and then as the flames, shifting from one state to another, sometimes flame, sometimes human. It is one of the attempts of the fire to have someone become one with it, to exist as a single being instead of two pulsating beings of life. It rests on its bed of ashes is if it were a throne, a seat of honor entrusted only to itself, though it is willing to share it with any followers. It knows no reluctance, it knows no hesitation, it is fiery, impulsive, demanding. And yet, it is not perfect. It dreads many things, things that threaten its existence and nothing more. Even such a fearful entity is capable of experiencing fear itself, such is how Nature goes.
-

-

I am at peace. I feel better. Happy almost. Yes, I'm still lazy...but well, that comes with the package.
I need change though..constant change. I can't stand stagnation. I like it when my life is in flickering motion and everything around me is a blur, and then I can pinpoint that one non-moving object and make a decision.

Of a day long past...but yet to come

-

They stood together, breathing in the cool, still air, as of yet untainted by the promised warmth.
He turned to see her facing the eastern hills, and squinted in that general direction. The sky that had been a soft shade of indigo, as fading slowly to a pale violet, giving shape to the clouds that permeated the emptiness till the edge of the horizon.

She smiled at the spectacle, and then glanced at him. He was gazing at the imminent event with skepticism in his eyes. He had never seen a sunrise before. He was not impressed.

Slight tinges of pink shot through the blue, replacing it with the first touches of color.

He looked on.

Golden warmth diffused throughout the sky, outlining the cotton-candy clouds as if they were gilded.

He watched, as the first sunbeams penetrated through the mist, spreading over the land, giving the air a feeling of new hope, oozing with the mystery and freshness of the break of a new day.
His nose felt cold. He tweaked it irritably, though not taking his eyes off Nature's splendorous display.

Her eyes shone with moist brightness. Her lips were parted in an everlasting sigh; the balls of her cheeks were pink with pleasure, and wonder. She yearned to hug herself at the beauty of it all. How could someone not marvel at such a sight!

His gaze roamed across the sky, taking in the transition from pink and gold to azure. He could not see why people, especially her, made such a fuss over something so not-quite-so-extraordinary. What was in a sunrise? How different was it from a sunset? He ruffled his hair and stood grumpily with his hands in his pockets. He glanced furtively at her. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but somewhere inside he suspected that he could not let the guard off of his ego. He would not admit to her what he really felt.

The crisp air was set into motion, and a soft breeze began to play across their faces. She loved to come here every once in a while and witness the glory of Nature, the pride of its handiwork. It always put a smile to her face, and glowed in her like a happy memory for the rest of the day. Sunsets, however, were a different matter. She did not like them as much, because they symbolized the end of a day, a transition from light to darkness, and a fading out of hope, like the evening faded into twilight. Or was it the other way around?

There was a sharp call, and an eagle glided across their line of vision, dipping gracefully as if bowing to the wind, and then just as gracefully turning in a slow, wide arc, its wings completely motionless. They watched the flight of the eagle for some time, until it drifted out of sight.

He sighed and turned to walk back. His mind was already on the work he had to do that day, the meetings to attend, the deadlines to meet.

She walked back with one last long look, and traipsed with a spring in her step, the color in her cheeks not yet diminished, her spirits still soaring with that solitary eagle. She was arrogant enough to pity him, and others, for the joy they were unable to experience out of pure obstinacy.

-

Come ruin..

-

I was sad. There was a thin mist swirling around me, not against my very person, for it left a space around me; I was not in direct contact with it, however I moved. Below me flowed a smooth stream, that went ahead and was smoothly changed into a low waterfall, with sparkling water and dark green vegetation that reminded me of spinach. I was facing the waterfall; though I call it one, it was but a miniature image of it, nevertheless, a waterfall it was and will be named.
I gazed sadly into the clear waters, hoping to see more than the shallow bottom. Was there hope anywhere? I could not see it. But I could suddenly feel it. I turned.

There he was - alive, whole, complete.

I looked up at him unsurprised,
"I thought you would never return".

He smiled a slow, sad smile, "Has it really been that bad?"

"Worse than you can imagine. Her kingdom is headed for ruin, the walls that once stood only by the strength of hope are now crumbling to pieces, each heart holds nothing but despair, and fear. The Wise, it seems, almost all of them, appear to have left the City. There are rumors abound, but no clear trace. The light is slowly leaving the towers, there is an absence of morals, and reason. Her throne will not be emptied, but the entire kingdom is threatening to become abandoned, yet the people will be there, yet it will become empty. A dead place it will become, with everything free, and yet caged. Too many have given up hope. Too many times have they been suppressed so as not to let the taint of fear spread to others, but it is becoming difficult to contain. And they are all afraid of an external interference, the greatest fear of all."

He cocked his head to one side; there was a question in his eyes, twinkling the way a bird's might when it is watching you, and he said,
"And yet...you are her?"

"Yes. And so are you."

--

Harder to breathe

-

I can feel it...at all times. This dead weight pressing down on me...suffocating me...holding me down. Grasping me by the arms and pulling me along with it down this long dark tunnel where no light can penetrate and the air is hot and unbearably still...making it harder to breathe.
My breathing is dry and shallow, and I try to draw quick breaths to feel the pain as little as possible, to ignore the air rubbing against my raw lungs at every movement, in and out.
I sit on the prayer mat, hugging my knees drawn up to my chest, trying to hold together myself before I fall apart into pieces...to ignore the gaping hole inside me, clutching at the seams before I lose control; my hands gripping my hair in two tight fists; my eyes closed and my face screwed up, withholding the emotion, and frustration, that is building up.
There really is no excuse. No statements that I can make; no words of comfort or solace that I can speak, or hear. There is raw feeling...nothing more, nothing less. There is emptiness; there is that constant tumor, eating away inside me...there is pain...a consistent dull aching pain, that won't go away, no matter how much I wish it to.
There is a loss of peace of mind..of laughter...of life.
I'm hanging by a slight thread...just the slightest bit of hope keeping me alive.

Oh...and I'm jealous. Hopelessly, infinitely so. Sue me.

Recycled stuff...

-

It was a black cotton cloth. Light shining on it from one side leaked through, magnifying its infinite pores. It was strangely nauseating.
On every side there were panes of glass. Mirrors. But they were not just reflections of the person standing in between them. No, they were more than that. They were reflections of him, yes, but of aspects of him, of parts and angles that he was not at all pleased to see before him. Some mirrors were crowded with hideous black shapes and shadows, dripping hate from numerous fangs and claws. Others were images of rooms, empty soulless rooms, painted different shades of gray and decorated with poison ivy.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he whirled around. He moved closer to this mirror. He could see a white room, bare, unfurnished. There was a figure standing there, appearing so close as if it were just standing right behind a sheet of glass. The figure had no face; it was white, blank, featureless. He noticed that its breath misted the glass. How could it breathe if it had no visible nose or mouth?

A gap on its face opened suddenly, revealing a black interior that seemed to stretch on forever. He felt himself falling into it, feet first, and streaming down a dark chute, wind buffeting against him.

On the floor was an empty packet of popcorn.

-

distress signals...

-
I'm sending out distress signals. Smoke signals. Calls for help.
I ask for help...and then I shun what I get. But I think that's only because I never get the sort of help I crave. Never that right kind of reassurance and comfort. No.

At the moment I'd like nothing more than for someone to release the grip my hands have on my head, and to cradle it in their lap instead...and to whisper words of comfort and assurance that may mean nothing...but feel good anyway.

I'm waiting.

-

random

-
sometimes...just sometimes...your mind is swirling with thoughts so that its hard to hold on to one single thought for long...and your mind is struggling to grasp some tangible solid fact...and then you happen to look out the window of the speeding bus and you notice two men sitting on the side of the road...old men with dark wrinkled skin and abundant white hair..and you think that perhaps its the sun and life that has prematurely aged them...and you watch them twirl their cigarettes between their fingers and talk with small gestures, oblivious to the haze and the noise that vehicles are leaving in their wake..and you might think of the world that these two men occupy on their faded charpai...and maybe...just maybe...you will see the entire universe in that scene...you will see the aura around them... and you will understand the universe that every man is.
-

to breathe..

-
--
---
Elation.
To believe.
To gather strength.
So may it be.
So may I live.
---
--
-

I feel rejuvenated. Alive. After a long time, I feel alive. =)
I feel lucky and grateful...because I have much to be grateful for! I want to hug somebody or something as tight as I can for as long as I can...and then some more!

*gasp* ... *choke*

-


Oxygen-deprived, and selfishly coveting that life-giving source.

I think I'm ok now.


-

it could have been worse

I am miserable...and yet I am not. I shouldn’t be…it’s not like I’m lacking much in life.
I’m sad and I worry too much about someone…as I should.

I feel like I’m caught in a whirlpool; I’m going around in endless spirals and sinking deeper, fast. And that is something entirely different from the panicky feeling that rises up inside me sometimes, threatening to engulf me, suffocate me – and my head spins while my fingers scrabble at my throat uselessly, trying to save me from the cord that is choking me.

I’ve spent all morning and all afternoon shivering. The cold has been affecting me worse today. I had actually been keeping it at bay in recent days. It is seeping into me and clutches hold of my backbone, and then it spreads up from that low point in one sudden smooth, fluid motion up my spine, and the jolt pulls me up straight and sets my muscles all a-quiver.

It is not pleasant.

It has been long since I felt the need to unwind – and I mean that in both ways – my muscles have been taut with tension for too long; I needed to let my mind unfold from its twisted position, needed it to relax out of its tight fist.
I needed to be able to feel again.
I know I can get away with much because it’s so simple to become numb. It’s become as easy as breathing now – it goes on just fine until you notice that you are breathing and then it becomes more difficult to do. It’s like second nature.
But I want to do away with this shield. I want to tear off this covering as violently as possible and expose the raw me underneath. I want the cold and the heat to sink in fully and to set me ablaze with cold fire. I want to burn.
It isn’t fair that they may feel so passionately and I cannot. I want to feel as they do. I want to be embraced by that turmoil of passion that will tangle itself in my hair and hold me tight against the storm. I want that storm. I want it as my own. I want to possess it, and it to possess me, embrace me and clutch me with its cold stone fingers. I want it to scourge the numbness away. I want to feel.