My New Blog

Felt like it's time I moved out, so, here's my new blog:
http://lostmelodym.blogspot.com/

Impressions

And then dreams
Long and persistent
Take me off to you beloved you
Not unlike when all in me turns cold
I should find life vigorous and strong
Ringing the bells
Of my soul’s dingy door
Asking permission
To let me be again


And in the day the sun comes shining
So tender in me you melt
Leaving only
An impression of warmth

The Irony of Love

here

He advances towards her with heavy steps that evoke no motion in the sand beneath his bare feet. The urge to burst out and evaporate into the air now abandons him; it’s hurt so much it doesn’t hurt any more.

   She sits two footsteps away from where the waves hit the shore. Her eyes flash to the sky. An eternity ago, she could tell time by the position of moon; now, though, everything stands transfixed.

   As their two haggard entities intertwine, they feel it digging its way through the holes between them and a dream-like past, it crashes them and yet binds them together; and as they hear its sinister silence lurking beneath their tears, it becomes impossible to elude…they have inhaled all the glow love had, and now, it is time to be burnt by the fire.

To you who is no longer there

here

I will fight all that's tempting me to be poetic, and I"ll catch words as they come.

  I try to imagine how things would be like if caught by a camera. I shut my eyes and paint everything in sepia. And when the world fades to black and white, I wish for colors resurrecting it. But at times, when soul breathes into life, I find myself crashing within the tempests it evokes.

  And I envy the characters in movies; free from existence, but in their folds, you can see all the tiny complexities of how it is to be alive. It's then when I weave myself into one.

  I just need to tell you..there is nothing intricate to me; draw a line between a million drop of rain with a black pen and I will be the image glittering behind your eyelids.

Scene Zero

Behind a screen

Of red green blue

She is entrapped

And breaks

As luster abandons

Her eyes once so luminous

And before him

She stands

In a white paper

Suffused with her

Painted in

Colors quite different

Between never and forever

Both dance

And tear off the heavy

Garments of now

But the curtain has

To eventually fall

And instead of the end

It’s written  

That to love

There is no moral lesson

                                     

In The Nonexistence

Breathe

In-out

In-out

In the morning

Sometimes it’s just

Too hard to breathe

 

Your porcelain skin

Hovers

Not two inches away

And I can’t reach out to

Touch it

Touch you

In the nonexistence

 
I run

But I can't elude

That everything you mean to me

Is always  meant to be

Everything

An Old Friend

It’s an eerie sensation prickling in my ribs. But now, I can’t stop to think or to define; whatever feeling wants to invade me I’ll give silently in to it. I can’t feel my feet as his own advance towards me. Within seconds, I am submerged with memories…

 Alfred’s arms wrap around me, and within his arms I cry. My tears are not feverish, but they are wrung out of my very soul. And when they fall, they are carrying but a tiny weight of my grieve. “Don’t marry him,” he whispers. I evade his glance, always capable of discerning the deepest of my insecurities, and say, “ I Love him.” I hear a heavy sigh out of his nostrils. ‘Are you sure?” he retorts. I squeeze my eyes and out of my thoughts, dispel all the doubts. It takes some time from me to reply, but at last, I do, with yes as my answer.

---------------------

   “You know, we gotta buy carrots,” James says as we walk towards our home.

  “Why?” I ask, surprised.

  “I’ve read today in the newspaper that carrots induce the chemical responsible for the feeling of love in the brain.”

  “Those scientists, they really get on my wicks.”

  “I know,” he smiles crookedly.

  “So you read that carrots are romantic and love is the outcome of chemicals, and I read that the brain stops secreting those chemicals after a number of years, some say three and others say seven. So perhaps, one day, while walking down the street, you’ll find ‘the love chemicals’ bottled up and gruff voices calling, ‘Love for Sale’. But you know what, the ‘chemical love’ does exist; it’s when your heart beats fast and all the other crap. If that’s the love they mean, then no wonder it’s bound to disappear. And in what way do you think we love each other?”

  “Our heartbeats may not synchronize, but our thoughts do.”

  “So, is that to last forever?”

  “Only time can tell.”

-------------------

“You are cheating on me.”

  The question or perhaps the statement resonates through the room exiling all to silence. I hold my breath as a heavy ‘Yes’ falls unto my ears.

------------------

Me and him, we are so far away, I think, as I contemplate his face, few paces away from me, and yet, so far away. From his expression, I sometimes try to fathom him, to decipher what flows within his heart; but forever and always, it’s a poker face. And I know, that under his stillness, more than I can imagine is simmering.

  I once thought that we think alike, and he too thought the same; but as I look at him from across the room, I know his thoughts don’t interest me as I know it’s the same for him.

 I walk towards him with steady steps. He takes notice of me and lifts his gaze. “I’m pregnant,” I say.

-----------------

  So many years I’ve wondered if what I felt for Alfred was the doing of chemicals in the brain. And the very fact that I thought of him still would rewind me to the saying of the forbidden being desired. Out of all that, I had to extract love; I had to pour all in my heart in a filter and observe: what fall right through the cracks are the other things, and the dense thing persisting, is love. But I was never able to do so, and all the question marks were succeeded by no answers.

   I smile at myself as my heartbeats start racing. Just like before

  “Mommy!” I tilt my head, taken aback.

  “What’s it Tommy? You startled me!”

  “Tommy….that’s a cute name.” I turn back to see Alfred standing behind me.

  “Oh thanks,” I slur, with my hair standing at one end. “So how is life with you?”

  “Well I travelled…a lot, worked a lot and been with many people and felt myself with none. What about you?”

  “As you can see…”

   And we keep on talking for hours. As the time of departure comes, I look back at him and smile.

   “Mommy, who was that?” Tommy asks on our way home.

   “An old friend,” I reply.  

Which is Which

They say,

“To hold your faith,

You should keep it blind”

Afraid

You’d open your eyes

 And see

It’s just the darkness

And the screeching voices

Pull you back and forth

Torn between

A hundred falsenesses

All having the title:

“Truth”

Beyond it all

There lies a challenge

In a time less

Than your years on this Earth

Can you pick one difference

Between two pictures

Called “Facts” and “Lies”

And tell

Which is which?

The Deceit of Words

I carried two heavy weights with my hands stretched before me to test my endurance for pain. I tried to resist myself and found-even when I succeeded- that "self-resistance" is the trickiest of all terms; I could go there, let my hands down and say, "I have resisted and succeeded," and it'd be nevertheless true; for is not the "good voice" part of the self too?!

Through Me

Egypt is such a loose term; who or what am I referring to when I utter that name? It seems to be like those things you know through and through, and yet, it lies beyond your ability to mould into words..to delineate.


Places are queer-countries are places too-we give them hands to hold memories and we let soul wander in them as they define our decisions, as though they are people, or more: saints, angels. And in seconds, we can undress them of all reverence and leave them naked on the ground to tread whatever remains with a thousand dissing tongue. We fight for places and we die for places. We breathe for places . And places, they don't feel a thing. So, are we only bonding with the shadows of us intertwining on the walls? Are we merely attached to an enormous other self? Can all the emotion overflowing in our hearts be the facade of only one: possession? In their inconsideration, objects and places are the same; objects, though, I can touch; places, they lie between the abstract and the concrete..and in that too lies all the mystery.

I'll let Egypt pass through me like it's the minor and I'm the great. Call me a narcissist, or a megalomaniac, but I won't let myself be a part of Egypt, Egypt will be a part of me. If I want objective facts, history books will be full of that. I am here to be biased, to let all that is me overpower. I'll be the sieve through which the sunrays pass.

I cared to hear and converse, to argue to reach a truth. I felt afraid and recoiled to bed with my limbs shivering. For the most part though, I wanted to recede to myself, where none of it took place, where nothing at all takes place. It’s painful to be me and it’s more painful that I never want to break free.