गुल्ज़ार

पूरे का पूरा आकाश घुमा कर बाज़ी देखी मैंने

काले घर में सूरज रख के

तुम ने शायद सोचा था

मेरे सब मोहरे पिट जायेंगे

मैंने एक चिराग जला कर अपना रास्ता खोल लिया

तुम ने एक समंदर हाथ में ले कर मुझ पर ढेल दिया

मैंने नूह की कश्ती उस के ऊपर रख दी

काल चला तुम ने और मेरी जानिब देखा

मैंने काल को तोड़ कर लम्हा लम्हा जीना सीख लिया

मेरी खुदी को तुम ने चंद चमत्कारों से मारना चाहा

मेरे एक प्यादे ने तेरा चाँद का मोहरा मार लिया

मौत की शह दे कर तुम ने समझा था अब तो मात हुई

मैंने जिस्म का खोल उतार कर सौंप दिया

और रूह बचा ली

पूरे का पूरा आकाश घुमा कर अब तुम देखो बाज़ी

Will you notice?

i will hold on hope

and i won't let you choke

Heartbroken. Broken. A broken mind.

One impulse. One fleeting minute. One weak moment.

Kudos to drunken nights?

i will not hear what you have to say

One look at the past.

At the simplicity and joy. At the harmony.

Tumultuous times have to end. Or kill.

Looking for defense mechanisms on your playlist. Sure sign of marbles already lost.

And depressed dusting, heavy eyelids galore.

It's an alien world. It's an alien writing this. Voices lost. Tears too inexpensive.

Screaming to be heard. With holes in your heart. And lost hope.

i know the shame in your defeat

Going back to the start? Going back to the truth. And me.

Wishful thinking.

cause i need freedom now

and i need to know how

to live my life as it's meant to be

redoing it

pigeons followed him

as he walked on

little bread crumbs

that he threw out

gobbled greedily

then one day

he stopped

having faith

in himself

his pigeons

and he said:

"fly"

see you soon

I've heard so many anecdotes, so many stories. So many words about you.

It's as if the process of giving up saw completion that Friday night.

I'm guessing you made it all happen. You made it all come true. That Friday night.

Some hours later, you were gone. And gone for good.

Leaving behind a million thoughts. Some happy shiny memories. From a childhood so far away. And some regrets.

And. A void.

A hundred blessings rise up, stretching their arms, trying to reach you. Hearts here hoping that wherever you are, you're in a better place. Breathing. Happy.

It's as if time has come to a stand still. Where everybody is quiet, all around, absorbing you and your words. Revering. Remembering. Some happy shiny memories, and some regrets.

Most of all, I see people in inertia, loved. By you. So so loved.

Your face smiles upon all of us. Simple.

Your words are read out for people to hear. Most of us are half-listening, half lost in thoughts. From a summer years ago. Or the last conversation they could have.

Larger than life, they say. Surreal, I say.

An ocean on fire, a mountain standing tall, ripe mustard in a vast field, and a calm river but ever-joyous.

No matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to put into words what you are. To me. To us.

Thank you for being my father.

I hope I've been a good daughter. Because for me, it's enough to be able to call myself your daughter.

Return

Am I packing?

Packing to leave?

Cause once the stuff is securely in bags and cartons which claim to be fragile, it's not gonna be easy to unpack. There isn't a second time.

I've always thought there is a certain romance to my journey. Especially for those who will never be able to trace me to, well, wherever I am at the moment.

A goodbye note shouldn't be written with aching nearly-broken knuckles. It should be happy - reminiscent of the times under grey skies while you always knew you belonged elsewhere. Where that is, who knows. Or cares.

A goodbye note.

Goodbye. For good.

There's hardly anything pinning me here anymore. And as I change track, spaces shall see a shift too. I'll carry all that's mine, you take all that's yours.

And we'll be back in the winter of 2009, when books written for girls were read by me. Memories envied. Photos longed for.

All that said and done, been there, done that.

Attraversiamo.

life size

words

that I only hear

but I'm sure

they talk of love

a love

separated by distance

and circumstances

a love

separated by geography

and constraints

a love

separated by human nature

and a habit

to continue habits

suffocation

sudden and tearing

glass doors open

to the sky

where two

young

and battered

each more than

the other

come together

even if only in spirit

what.

is.

not.

if at all.

questions

dozens of them

and an ever-growing pile

of work

and worries

in the usual humdrum

lost

with the usual humdrum.

Amusing Mr Keets

I read Neruda.

And Yeats.

Random piece of information, but it was a few years ago that I found Yeats was really Yates. Not Yeets. Nothing close to Mr 'Keets'.

Anyway. Not important. The point being - I read both Neruda and Yeats on the same night. Or a little before dawn, really.

I have Facebook and Gmail open on the same browser. What am I looking for?

Tonight. I was looking for tonight. A night. Any night.

The only highlight was watching Dumbledore die. And even that was depressing.

The word would be.. Anyway. Again.

Love is such a beautiful thing to read about. Or write about. Or imagine. As long as you don't have to deal with it, it's beautiful. Cause once you do, it just doesn't feel worth it.

I really wanted to write poetry. Cause this space is NOT a journal. But for tonight, which is really just another night, reading Neruda and Yeats and gasping at their ability to bring out the best in words will be it.