Come with me

Baby, are you running away, slowly, surely, peeling off skin and more skin?

Dusting off gathered dust, wiping the grime off my brow?

Bare boned beauty, I didn’t want this. I didn’t see your storm, the potential, the immense danger.

Yesterday, I cried over lost love, cried over a faraway soul sister.

Special places slowly fade, special places glow in the dark,

Like a million fireflies clustered together, dying together.

I would like to be your little darling; I would like to be my own too.

I don’t need my head to spin faster than this.

What do you think of me now, destroyed?

Do you want to be a pretty boy in my pretty, picturesque life?

I needed to mourn, needed to alter slightly, but we started walking.

And wave after wave crashed on the shore.

I swung back, feeling tiny, elated, sad.

I embrace the new, the wonderful

My heart warms inside

But I can’t stop these images inside my head.

Blurry, technicolour,

Like three years zooming past in super quick motion

But I am okay, I have to untwist.

I want to fall more, let myself go slowly,

I want to know you, your stories,

I want to memorise you,

I want to walk with you, take trains with you, read with you,

Feed cats with you, talk for hours with you.

Baby, don’t run away.

Stumble

I don’t know what to make of you.

So new, so alien, yet beautiful

I was falling, swaying with the wind,

I was walking backwards, compelled

To rethink, rearrange, walk into a wall

I wasn’t prepared, in all honesty.

Naked to the bones,

I held my head and moulded it constantly.

I don’t know what happened when

We started running,

Like strange children on a rainy day,

Splashing on puddles, holding hands,

Lisping stories, making faces

I am glad. I am learning to read your face.

Learning something new, something delicious everyday

I pinch myself every morning.

Trace my footsteps back, looking in vain at empty corners

I don’t know what to do about that either.

So much love I float

So much love I laugh

So much love I wonder

How did we stumble upon each other? 

Gone sugar

I would write a hate song if I could, hiss like an angry teapot and weave a tale of decay.

But I really don’t know how to deal with this mess.

I don’t know how to handle this headache, this constant flitting between fury and despair.

You may think its okay, shrug nonchalantly, smile indulgently, or maybe you are an adolescent, a miserable one.

I don’t know. I am not used to heartbreaks.

I miss you, your familiarity, your smell, your stupidity. I miss talking to you, fighting with you.

I knew I could come back home to you, you were a constant in this turbulence.

Now, I swallow gum accidentally, worry about dying from it and I don’t know whom to share it with.

How did it all come apart?

All arguments in my head come undone piece by piece. There’s so much to think of, so many wounds to lick, I don’t know where to begin.

I am trying to run away, savouring the anger, strangers, incessant revelry, and conversations with heart sick sisters.

Once alone, there’s only an acid aftertaste, and an acute sense of abandonment.

I deleted the last post, because inevitably everything's pointless. I don't know if this too shall pass, and i don't know if I can ever be a ball of happiness radiating positive energy.
All I know is that something has broken. Something major has changed. Turned its back.
It's not that i am enjoying this. But I don't know what to do about it.
I wish to be patient, I wish to start liking myself and others around me.
I wish to talk, mystify, have a ball.
I wish to be brave. 

The inside loves drama, the outside detests.
I liked Gigantic for a bit, because of the difference.
Tomorrow is your birthday. I can only sing. As I grow older, your offer so much solace. As i tiptoe over my fears, as i wake up startled from a dream, as i fight existence:

তোমায়     নতুন করেই পাব বলে হারাই ক্ষণে ক্ষণ
ও মোর      ভালোবাসার ধন।
          দেখা দেবে বলে তুমি হও যে অদর্শন,
ও মোর      ভালোবাসার ধন॥
ওগো       তুমি আমার নও আড়ালের,  তুমি আমার চিরকালের--
          ক্ষণকালের লীলার স্রোতে হও যে নিমগন,
ও মোর      ভালোবাসার ধন॥
আমি        তোমায় যখন খুঁজে ফিরি ভয়ে কাঁপে মন--
          প্রেমে আমার ঢেউ লাগে তখন।
তোমার     শেষ নাহি, তাই শূন্য সেজে  শেষ করে দাও আপনাকে যে,
          ওই হাসিরে দেয় ধুয়ে মোর বিরহের রোদন,
ও মোর     ভালোবাসার ধন॥

I was staring at scars some day last week. The woman caught me staring and shot me a glare. I looked away, ashamed.
This new found oldness is comforting, it lulls me to sleep every night. Long before dawn, insects gather at my feet, shadows dance on walls, and unaware, they don't frighten me.
Sometimes, I break the routine, listen to a new song, keep my desk cluttered. Sometimes, I smell your hair differently.

here all the bombs fade away

Sitting around a candle, trying to form a complete sentence. Or, a headache at 5 in the morning, and we wonder aloud.

I really want to go a-travellin. Thinking how to go about it.
few weeks of bumming around, a routine is alluring right n-ow.

bad trip. bad trip. as the bathroom floor swirled around, and giant droplets hallucinated rainbows.

trying to be okay since then.

if you think i am dissociating, it's true.

When we arrive
Sons and daughters
We'll make our homes on the water
We'll build our walls aluminum
We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon now

Norwegian Wood gnawed on my insides. It was a beautiful gnawing, i must say.  It was worth the sweet wait.

Roaming the streets at hours beyond sleep, sun high in the sky. Hungry and feeling slightly askew. My summer fringe is shorter, i like it ahaa-n. Would you like a cup of tea, mister?

Today the lane seemed narrower than ever, and i tried talking to a beautiful grey cat, only to be stared at with great disdain. Floated across the asphalt, then, thinking of a heartbreak. 

full

Train rides are an essential aspect of travelling- staring into the vivid sky and across the green, always a blur of darker green.
Revelry often involves an adamant frog and music which throbs steadily into the tremble of the night. Outside, incessant insect-music and tree-conversations. A bohemian man drinks up the beer, staring at stoned young strangers across the thatched bamboo mat, and insists on talking eloquently. Before the fire crackles and shoots tiny star shaped sparkles into the darkness, something slithers behind the circle making my wretched city-heart shiver.
I smile as we stare into faces, half-known, cosy in our familiarity. Quaint wooden uncomfortable bunk beds filled with the scatter of the temporary, the busy. All our dreams mingle in the ritual mess.
Dusk, we sit on a tractor, filled with sand, jiggling chests, shrieks and thick, still, swirls of smoke from the chillum.
A slow trail of rickshaws, almost a caravan, snakes its way through crumbly red lanes into the heart of a closed market. Fireflies, like stars, pulsate everywhere, lighting up dark trees, and the violet sky dances nimbly, slowly, taking its time like a caress.
Bauls sing known songs, and we stare at the half-moon between two branches, startled as someone unknown, faceless lights a cigarette and his contours slowly become visible.
I sleep happily, in another room, and run through the jungle in the middle of the night. We meet a bunch of snarling langurs sitting close together, and a small one on a tree. I think of a languid hour spent in a circular red room, staring at kindred trees, head resting on my bag, and fold the image carefully away for keepsake.
:)