Thursday, 31 March 2011

Serious separation anxiety-and I can't bear this city anymore. I'll go mad if I stay here. May will come soon and then I get to know. I don't know what, I just want to go away, and begin a new life. The novel lies unfinished as always. There's nothing novel about writing a novel, but I cannot write it here.

I will miss 2008 all my life.

The year I found love, and turned twenty and the year little Plato was born.
We walked hand in hand, eating chine badam and I pretended I was a good girl and did not smoke.
He broke his alcohol virginity.
I tried to dress up and stopped wearing over-sized clothes.
There must have been many other things, but certain things I remember more than others-and I also realize that these moments made me distracted and deviate from the path I should have taken, but now the moment of reckoning has come. I have messed up a little bit, but a great many things remain. I am still only 22 going on 23, life has just begun.

Somehow, I have realized that nobody can suppress my mind for long. So goodnight and goodluck, my detractors. The mind has just witnessed a glorious morning.

Only, I will always miss 2008.

Sunday, 20 March 2011

My life wasn't supposed to be like this. Really.

I don't know what went wrong. I think it's me. But?

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Will someone please talk to me before it is too late?

Friday, 4 March 2011

a strange dream

It was an exquisite March evening,
tropical and sad. I think I was mad.
Mad with longing.
I thought of belonging.
I stood outside the harsh gates
of some garden sublime.
I wanted some time.
I wanted to enter
to marvel at colour
and to marvel at range
I wanted that beauty.
I wanted some change.

But the gatekeeper was old
He was an angry old man
saying, "I don't think you can."
And I said, "Please intervene.
I want to go in
It's not really a sin.
Why can't I want beauty?"
He said,
"You're not good enough,
Can you write a poem?
Can you paint a picture?
Can you sing a song?
Just run along."

I begged and I pleaded.
An angel appeared.
He said, "You can go in,
but leave all your memories
You cannot rewind.
Once you're inside
You'll have nothing to hide."
My memories of mother,
of father, and brother.
Of dog, and of school.
Grandmother, village fool.
left behind.

It was a terrible choice.
I made it.
I said, "I shall compromise
I will leave before sunset."
And the angel said,
"Perhaps that is wise.
When the sun is orange
The sands will run dry
You know you must fly."

So I entered,
and I was free.
I was not me.
I saw a long stretch of sand
Where castles were built by hand
And once one was complete
a wave came and washed it down.
And that was the end of it.

I moved on,
and I saw little children
cry tears of blood
and they were in terrible pain
and I asked why
They cried "We weep in vain."
And I cried, but my eyes were dry
My punishment; I could not cry.

Where was the garden?
The sun was about to set
I had not found it yet.
But slowly I moved to it.
But the brilliant flowers
had completed their hours
and were wilting.
The roses were turning black from red
The lilies were already dead.
The sky was turning a brilliant pink.
And I who had no memories
Could not think.

The sun was turning into an orange ball
It was time to leave
And I who had given up all memories
I could not grieve.
I had no direction
I could not find my way
Out of that garden
I must perish there today.

And I stood there.
with dead

Then I awoke from this dream.
I could not understand.
I lay there on my bed.
And I think it was my hand
which shook
when it traced
the silhouette
of an orange ball
on an empty page.
I thought I'd call
it- "Rage."
I would have,
but then,
for three immobile hours
No word
no memory
no emotion
entered my head.
I think I was dead.

Thursday, 3 March 2011


And the memory of me will be like madness
Schizophrenic sadness
Intrinsic badness.
And yet, perhaps
that is the fantasy of the dying.
you will
remember me
At all.