The reason I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept

Shadows in sun

It’s all going to be the same. The dark times, the low hours. Write a different story,make up different scenarios. Trust different people, love different shades. Hide, hope. Leave, stray. It’s all gonna be the same.

There’s that caution in the air. When to say what, where to what.What if she finds out,What if he found out. Don’t want him to know I’m happy, don’t want to tell her I am sad. Guard those emotions, write a hundred stories with the same basic idea and pain that the words start to seem fake and the emotions all monotonous and cliché.

Walk the same roads, eat the same food, make the same jokes, laugh the same laugh, walk the very walk and run the very track. Cry every birthday, anniversary, party, holiday. Make the same mistakes over and over again

Waiting for that tomorrow to make everything right.
Waiting for that Sun after the night
Tell me I talk vague
Hit me, I don’t see your face
Walk away in your cowardice, 
or stay in that mere shame.
You tell me I am not here
I live in a galaxy far away
I look around and see the world
And see your sigh hanging in the air
You tell me I am different and so strange
Look through my eyes, It’s all just the same
 
old man watching out the window
 
 
 

The Light The Dark

the dark and the light

When the light is dim, all weak and frail
It tells us the very outline, I hear
Whether it’s a man, a hound or a fly
Someone who knocks to enter my lair
But they say the brightness shows it all
The colour the shade the love and hate
The hound that stood, the man who crouched
The trick imitation that granted the pass
They fall at the hallway, some get a bit ahead
They walk they stumble, they run they fall
Nevertheless they never get too far
In the house of a Stygian relict
It makes me return to darkness and think
Their Light brought them here, light made them knock
My Darkness caught up and swallowed the damned lot
Halves of the same whole, white and black
Partners and lovers, divided to trick
 I sit and smile at the nature’s game
And as I lean back, laughing up so hard
Light bursts through the window and death does me part

 

In a Disused Graveyard

 
                                                           The living come with grassy tread
                                                           To read the gravestones on the hill;
                                                           The graveyard draws the living still,
                                                               But never anymore the dead.
                                                              The verses in it say and say:
                                                           “The ones who living come today
                                                          To read the stones and go away
                                                          Tomorrow dead will come to stay.
                                                        “So sure of death the marbles rhyme,
                                                         Yet can’t help marking all the time
                                                         How no one dead will seem to come.
                                                         What is it men are shrinking from?
                                                            It would be easy to be clever
                                                        And tell the stones: Men hate to die
                                                        And have stopped dying now forever.
                                                          I think they would believe the lie.
 

                                                                   -Robert Frost-

 

 

Butterfly

I was just going through my drawer and I came across the diary I had when we shifted to the city, I always start a diary with a poem or something, here’s how I started this one

Here’s and example,
From a Butterfly 
Who on a tough, hard rock,
Happy can lie
Friendless and all alone,
On this unsweetened stone
Now let my bed be hard,
No care take I –
I’ll make joy like this,
Small butterfly
Who’s happy heart has power,
To make a stone, a flower
 
 
 

P.s. I didn’t write it

30th November

A phone call, a sweet voice, my closing eyes, my cold hands My kid’s 18 Yes mom, She’s 18. My kid’s old now.. Oh yes mom.. your kid’s old Splashing my face with cold water, smearing my bun with jam Oh yes, a kid’s eighteen. Kicking my bruised feet ahead, walking to the bus in green, Joking with the mates, a group laughs They don’t know I’m 18 Blaring lectures, moving around As the cramps cripple my spine and the bus threaten to leave Her kid’s 18 In a hall of crying adults, a kid cheers them all She likes walking alone, she likes smiling on them all Happy to be one of them, happy to be apart She’s 18, 18 after all Reads her texts, replies them all. Steals college wifi, attends her calls Smooths her bed, books and plates Writes her journal. Bounces jumps and states They all like her, some might not But then she was a kid, now she’s not Oh Mom.. you’ll never know Your kid was old, old all along…

Robert Frost. Him again and always

I have mood swings; we all do… I saw winds whooshing past and the wind chilling my hands as I sat and a poem came again in my mind, came and went.. Just like the gust of warm winds that used to come in the sunny days.. Came and went. Came and went..

Now close the windows and hush all the fields
If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is,
Be it my loss.
 
It will be long ere the marshes resume,
I will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred
 

But yes.. I am not going to explain the meaning and the context and all we do in our papers with our pens.. Some feelings are best just felt.. unsaid and untainted.. Or maybe this is one big excuse for feelings we dare not confess. Or maybe we never have the actual words. So, clad in excuses or reasons, if you may, I can just give you one other poem

I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;
 
Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.
 
The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.
 
And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.
 
 

And I smile the most sad smile of them all….. =)

(Poem 1: Now close all the windows. Poem 2: A Minor Bird)

Numb

@ 2010 somewhere

My hands are heavy,
My arms are numb
 I can’t sit here
My brain is freezing,
Body going taut.
 I can’t just sit here
I see it all breaking,
My life, my world, my truth
all twisting, all shakening.
With this broken soul of mine
Jacob I still sit here….
 

One of my meagre try-outs

I Sijo

 
 
 
 
And I would light you a fire and I would show you the way
If you walk with me for a while, I will tell you stories and tales
And if you don’t heed my call, I shall take my path and let you stray…
 
I always have something to say,there always is some thought to try on
Through these cold streets and warm lights, walking when happy or alone
There always is a song to sing, I always have a memory to cry on..