Brevity, Quill

Sleep

PART 3

As I sleep today, the images of a happier and younger you flash in my dream and involuntarily, I smile in my sleep.
I wake up to your face staring me right in the eyes, the look I have always dreaded; firmly set on your luring face.
I look away and your burning gaze remains unchanged.
I walk upto where you have been sitting, your gaze still unmoved, I try to shake you alive, but the deadness in your flesh says exactly what my ears don’t want to hear.
I still have to figure out what gave up first, your body or your heart?
I still see your body as it was when you first climbed that chair to when you sat there at your end.
I still hear your weak voice telling me that one day you’ll achieve eternal sleep.

Brevity, Quill

Sleep

PART 2

When you tell me enthusiastically that sleep consumed you into it’s restful embrace, I believe you.
When you tell me of the giant clown that ran after you in your dream, I laugh with you.
When you tell me you woke up gasping for water, I assure you it was just a dream.
And when your smile starts to fade away like the memories of a baby as he grows older, I start to worry again.
What if your dreams are getting influenced by the exact same reality you want to run away from?
What’s if sleep is not longer your safe place?
How am I supposed to protect you from yourself then?
To elude myself of my failure yet again, I tell you to sleep. .

Brevity, Quill

Sleep

PART 1

When the growing pains of your melancholic heart ring as loud as the holy bells, I tell you to sleep.
When your psychologist contacts me about how you relapsed again, I tell you to sleep.
When your beautiful mind does nothing but disintegrate, I tell you to sleep.
When your bloodshot eyes are blinded by red, I tell you to lay down and close those eyes that once saw the world not as what it was but what it could be.
I tell you to rest your tired mouth that no longer sings of brave women.
I tell you to sleep because it’s the only way you’d drown your sorrows, it’s the only way you’d dream of unimaginable happiness again.

Poetry, Quill

Destructions That Fix

Part 3

Once in a while, you lose your vision and gain something far more important.

You gain the sight to see the galaxies that cover up your skin, that speak highly of how much you need to care about yourself, of how often you need to see yourself and remind yourself that you are enough.

The scent of the colours that damage your skin doesn’t define you, it guides you.

It guides you through a journey that is worth a billion years of darkness just to realize the importance of light.

The journey ends when you find your scent, when you don’t need to see galaxies in your body to know you are extraordinary.

It ends when you know you are extraordinary.

And just like that, you kiss your wounds and thank your crazed up mind for creating something so harmful that it cures because damage sure does bring happiness, doesn’t it?

Poetry, Quill

Destructions That Fix

Part-2

Every once in a while, your hands are not yours anymore.

They belong to the infinites of the sky that seem so close but are so far.

The colours; that speak of crimes; seem to pleasantly spread across your hands.

And voluntary actions change into involuntary sensations.

The colours on your hands caress the colours of the vibrant sun.

The soft touches of its rays burn into your timid hands and you feel alive.

It is a mystery worth a million years of experiencing burns on every inch of your colourful and soft skin, isn’t it?

How can damage bring happiness?

Poetry, Quill

Destructions That Fix

Part 1

Every once in a while, your skin doesn’t feel the same anymore,

When you feel the cracks of your unending skin widening and the colors that fill you up exploding

And you bathe in the dripping insanity of those colours that violate the innocence of your skin.

These colours hurt the skin that hurt your soul.

These colours make you feel safe even if the sense of calm and peace is a far-fetched idea.

It is a mystery worth drowning a billion years in the suffocating thick shallows of these colours that make you up, isn’t it?

How can damage bring happiness?

                                 
Quill

Skin

My skin weathers away into dust;

Scarlet with the blood of thirsty nomads

Quill

“Within and without”

Worshipped the tyrants: all too many, all at once,
Kissed the inferno, and got their faces burnt,
Besmirching humanity,
The posterity was in death’s eternal cold,
Thorny lips, dripping honey.

Brevity, Write Ups

Piano

Every now and then, I brush off the dust that tenderly settles on the keys of the piano. Impressions of your fingers tips are still printed on them. It seems as if the dust particles have been caressing them much longer than I have.  I am standing in front of our piano right now, its weak legs are almost on the verge of giving up but not just yet. Its teak frame reminds me of your collarbones that were deliciously highlighted every time you wore your red satin dress. The creaking sounds of the chair you sat on for hours reminds me of the first time you decided against what was wise and held my hand firmly, like you were never not gonna hold it in the warmth of your hands. I lay down on the floor, feeling the surface of the hard marble floor underneath the table. I press my face flat on the floor where your feet continuously tapped on as you played rhythms of your heart. My hands roam in circles around the shiny floor just like they wandered around your chubby body discovering the  insecurities that stained your smile everyday. I sit upright and rest my face on the foamy cushion of your piano chair. The way I’m sitting hurts me to the limit where numb becomes a trait that is used to describe my body.I believe that a little more would help me succeed in silencing my aching heart. I do selfishly hope though, that the tunes of ‘Claire de Lune’, that you played the last summer night we were together hits my ears, one last time.