We talk about grass
the way one talks about earth.
You can argue that
it’s the same thing
but honey, it’s not.
Earth is the one who nurtures,
lets the life grow
out of it
and have enough strength
to support life.
Earth is a mother’s womb,
heart of a father,
The eyes of the couple won’t/can’t be convinced.
Grass is life.
It can’t grow on its own,
It can’t see
how green it is
or how beautiful
the world think
a vast, lively field is.
She smelt like the old stories
The Ones my mother sang,
her huge house was a shell
a garden,
lacking only a spring.
She told us tales
of people who left her behind,
I was in awe of all that she had
And what she didn’t.
Her daughter was of my age
A pretty face and fragile hands,
A girl, surrounded by people
A girl, no one could understand.
I fell in love with her boy
The walking beauty
of our gloomy beach,
His heart was a sacred place
a glittering thing, I couldn’t reach.
He’d walk on words
and swim in love
But we failed to keep in touch.
My memory seems forgotten
like the book you don’t miss much.
Hey! Hi! And Hello!
I am still counting days? Well, I think I’m good at it. How I missed being here and how I missed my 3rd year anniversary here! Anyways I’m trying to be back and feels good.
It’s been long and I’m kind of looking forward to it, this time (again). I have read all the mails and I have noticed many of you coming back here and reading previous posts. I’m truly grateful for this affection and trust.
Let me know how you all have been. And I know many of us don’t like to say that loud in comments, so you’re welcome to share this via email.
Be well. I’m yet to catch up with a lot of people. I’ll be writing here shortly, 1 post/week for the time being .
~🧜♀️
How do you manage to keep going
without the urge to throw yourself
away?
How does it feel like hearing everything
but your own heart?
Does it really get better with time?
Do layers of skin mange to cover it all?
Tell me how you escaped the pit
of rusty flowers decorating
humnae need of art,
Is there a way to escape your shadow?
Have you made peace with it all?
Deep down, in your heart
does it shine bright like the day?
Or is it pretty like the sky?
If you smiled bright
and visited be places
Would it matter?
Tell me,
Does it get better?
Tell me,
Is there any way out?
Another day while I was trying
to escape from the dark,
I saw this boy
in middle of the park.
Everyone was sitting in shade
but he sat in open,
The smile on his face
was near to broken.
Instead of sky
I started staring him,
when our eyes met
his went dim.
He got up and started walking
towards my way,
shaking hair, a mixture of black and grey.
Abruptly, he gave me a smile
the one, hard to exist,
Before leaving, he gave me a star
on my wrist.
It’s almost dawn and like any other day;
I am looking for something to hold on to.
A popular and supposingly brilliant quote “you find happiness when you look for it” is here again but I feel like I’m done.
How can I look for happiness when all I feel and see is my failing attempts to understand it? How do I define something I have never experienced?
The weather is as confused as I am. Sun is yet to set but it’s too cold for April. Trees are leaf-less yet flowers are ready to bloom. They said spring is early this time,
but what is spring?
How do we know what rain is, when it’s raining? How is downpour so precise?
Where do all these seasons come from? Are wants seasons?
Most foolish act is to break down a minute. Time seems to be the most visible truth, unbiased and irrational or it’s engulfed by the past yearning for tomorrow?
For half a second, I’ll let the grief leave and try to look for good, for they say, you find happiness when you look for it. It can be true. We all want good. When we find it, we embrace the shadows and hold on to them, tight.
But grief? It’s not that hard to find it, You see. It’s always in the air as there’s no place for sadness in the bones. We hurt ourselves to merely fool ourselves, by building this wall of ‘soul’s pain’. We pretend not be bothered by whatever is outside.
But, what’s the point of killing pain with pain? Point of killing 30 of 60 seconds over what will always linger after another 30 of 60 (seconds/minutes)?
Every second I feel myself engulfed by the second that passed and the one yet to come, I’m stuck in time.
Is this what we call living!?
What if we were built this way? All of us? Can desire justify it or do I have to look for the synonyms of ‘escape’?
Desire is like air, it’s always there.
Most of the times we are unaware. We’re all stuck here, who said life is fair?
a.mermaid'spen_ 