the unbreakable, innermost russian doll

second born. a name that starts with the second letter of the alphabet. woman. second thoughts. second choice. it seems my life is a strange phenomenon of two. always the second, not the first. average. not great, just good enough.

i sit in an almost empty house (thank goodness for my cat), on a quiet saturday afternoon, with the fan whirring at full speed the only noise i hear. the whirring is familiar, sounds like the thoughts in my head. i am sadly reminded that this year, i will be thirty years old. thirty years of a life led in the second person. a second person that lives in my head and constantly reminds me of the depressing truth. thirty years of a life, with nothing to show for it except money owed to banks and friends and family, work that seems insignificant the next day, friends that no longer remember me, broken relationships that were broken, strangely, because i could not fathom that the second is more important than the first. 

jokes about me taking my pills on time, and being bipolar and depressive seem all too real with every passing day. i stare at a wall, asking myself, or rather asking it if i am depressed after all. i sit on an imaginary abyss, hoping and praying someone or something would pull me back. either ways, i remain true to the hopelessly, disillusioned second person i am. 

someone once asked me, what makes me happy. i could not think of a single thing. either i am happy in a way that needs no reassurance, or i am unhappy enough to not want happiness at all. no matter how many quotes i pin on my board, how many paintings i make with reds and yellows, no matter how many poems i write, i cannot seem to fill this space that slowly becomes darker than the darkness i know and cherish. 

when people would ask me what i wanted in life, my answer was - i want only two things: to be thin and to be rich. years and years of wanting something has now become something that can either drown me once and for all, or be my only saving grace. every day is a struggle between making those two dreams come true, and wanting to give up dreaming altogether. i have either reached a stage of complete nirvana, where i want for nothing and no one wants me; or i am at the cusp of achieving greatness. i do not know. i used to revel in my solitude, protecting it and watching over it as if it were an only child. now, i am begging for a crutch. something, someone, some kind of solace that will make me want again. 

the second person in my head is shouting today. screaming and crying and pleading to be released. but she is hidden inside the smallest of the russian dolls. and all the walls i have built around me has trapped me in a maze that i cannot find a way out of. stone-cold-hearted, lying to myself every single day, smiling when i want to scream, crying in secret, resigning myself to second-best. no glory, no love, no kingdoms to torch for the sake of another, no more poems to write. even this note to the unknown is a second draft... 

and as the quiet gets quieter, i recognise the hidden truth, slowly emerging from the darkness. i must leave. again. a second time. leave this place that dulls my senses, blacks out my sky and injects despair into my bones. i must leave now. i must step away from the abyss, and trod against the darkness, no matter how comforting it is. but how? thirty years of a life spent trying to be happy, with nothing to show for it except uncountable poems about the darkness, and a growing fear of looking at myself in the mirror. either i continue living a lie, or i leave now. i think i'll choose option two. 

happy hour story

once upon a time,
it rained upon the world
for thirty three years
without respite.

and when the son came out again,
he knew his world had changed
forever.

time seemed to stand still,
and yet moved faster than before.
trembling hands now felt like warm heaven,
his lips seem to smile, with rhyme, without reason.
laughter burnt his throat more than liquor,
every day was more orange than the last,
and mere words seemed like song.

he tried to put things back in order, as before.
but the magic had seeped into the earth,
bursting in every tear drop,
rising up from the ashes in the ground,
twisting in the wind like broken conversations.

he couldn't dispel the wonder of the rain,
it was always all around him.
no matter how bright he burned,
it had turned his world into a looking glass.
his own splendor reflected in every inch of the universe,
finally showing him how to love himself.  

it took thirty three years of rain
to make the sun smile.

and everyday after that fateful day, he wondered
if he should thank the rain,
for knowing when to cry
and knowing when to stop.

new and delicious

I always send out a message 

to someone, before I take a flight. 

because, call me crazy, 

but everytime I or someone I know takes a flight, 

I imagine 

that's the last time I'm going to see them. 

so I'm always sending love to you

in case I never see you again 

and while everyone was pleased 

that she woke up earlier these days,

it was all because he made sure 

the newspapers didn't get wet 

in the garden. 

Eighteen

I don't really miss you. 

as if the sky misses the sun!

it's just a little incomplete,

but, the best of us are.

Ping

I'm sitting here today 

with my heart in my hand,

wondering if I should 

put it back in its hiding place

in a box on the shelf. 

I hope you will let me know soon

because it's beating really fast,

and I'm running out of breath. 

don't kiss me

and when it's you and me,

it's late night. 

the stars have fallen asleep,

and the moon is dreaming,

while the sky is falling. 

and all we have to do is kiss

for the moon to disappear,

and for the sun to come roaring in.

he who laughs best

i knew i was in trouble,
when i recognized the voice
of your favourite singer
in a song,
without looking up the name.

i bet someone in the universe
looked down at me
and laughed out loud.

honesty

it would not matter if i drew a secret map

to find my way back to your heart.

i am hopelessly lost already. 

it would be of no consequence if i wrote

the most beautiful poems for you, or read every book

to quote a smart line or two, when you are tired. 

it would not matter if i practiced my smile in the mirror,

or brushed my hair out of my face, the way you like, 

or was kind to strangers like you are,

or lived my days with a passion equal to your own. 

it would probably not matter

if i slit my wrists again, so you would know the truth.

it is of no importance that i over-achieve my target

because i was aiming wrong all along.

it would not matter if i tattooed your breath on my skin,

just so i could feel you any time i want. 

it would not matter if i was perfect, because you don't want it.

and if i was your one wish come true, 

you would not know what to wish for next. 

it would not matter if i stopped time, just to kiss you again,

because i would just be left with another broken thing. 

all of my great life does not matter.

because it will never be shared with you.

this is the worst movie we have ever seen. 

and the end doesn't even matter anymore. 

being home

if you have taught me to feel love again, 

it has to be you

who shows me how to let you go. 

i would rather spend countless days 

in the parched desert,

dying in the cold sand of loneliness,

than stand in this rain of happiness

that washes over me every time i see you. 

teach me how to let you go.

i promise to learn the lesson. 

by heart. 

it's true

i'm like medusa.

don't look at me,
you'll be hypnotized
forever.

what not to do

I saw a shooting star last night,

it may have been a dream, but it didn't feel like it.

I closed my eyes and quickly made a wish. 

but when I looked up again,

I saw the star laughing at me as it flew by.

"only the gods make wishes come true", he said.

the stars just laze around,

their beauty reason enough for their existence. 

"try again tomorrow", he laughed again 

"after all, there is a sky full of stars!"

my wish didn't come true.

that's probably not very surprising,

considering I wished for you. 

practising restraint

"milte rahe jo aise hi dono, 
lag na jaaye ishq ki nazar" 

i want to taste every inch of you,
from the hollow of your neck
to the warmth beneath your heart,
before i decide to forget you.
i want to hug you with every inch of me,
our bodies melting into each other
before you decide to leave me.
i want to drink the last drop of wine,
and smoke the last cigarette into oblivion
just to make time last another minute.
i want to play every song in the world
so we get four minutes more.
i want to kiss you until you cry.
and make love to you until you laugh.
i want to make countless movies,
so we can have another saturday together.
i want to write until my fingers bleed
just so we can talk about dedications.
i want to show you the sky, because it is endless.
i want to love you, until you forget to remember her.
i want to set the world on fire
just so you don't feel the cold at night.

but i won't.

all I'm really asking for is you

now that you're gone,

every minute seems 

like an eleven hour flight. 

yet another reason to be thankful

that I cannot fly. 

i wish

"tujhe cheen loon ya chod doon, maang loon ya mod doon.
iss lamhe kya kar jaaon.
iss lamhe kya kar doon,
jo mujhe chain mile, aaraam mile."

nothing is worth the destruction
that a fateful moment wrecks on your world.

the sideward glance to check if you really leaned in too close,
the music wasn't so loud anyway.
the quiet hand of warning on a shoulder
not to pull you away from me,
but to hold you back from the storm.
her imperceptible smile as warning when you wave goodbye.

worlds apart, but i can still feel your touch.

nothing is worth the pain and anguish
of a broken heart, spilled like cheap wine on expensive furniture.

nothing can fix the end of this story.
and like a madman, frantically turning the last pages of the book
unwilling to believe the tale is done,
i sit here knowing,
not even time will heal my soul.