you and i will go away
like rocks by the sea,
like whispers in the wind,
like clouds in the sky,
like the sun shining high,
you and i will go away
because time will pass anyway.
my mind is coaxed awake from a particularly long train of thought, not yet asleep not fully awake, it seems as if sweet dreams were being brought on
because I woke up in a million years—my soul floating up to the stars—my lips forming contentment in all its lazy, luxuriant glory,
my hair soft—even after ages in the sun—healing in the shade of night—my eyes heavy with the weight of your dreams and my senses are filled to the brim
my eyes are closing—i’m floating back down into sleep’s folding embrace and my mind is full of your soft peach lips and your sun warmed skin and your raven hair thick and curling between my fingers,
and I’m back again in your deep blue room and wind blown white curtains, your tumbling pile of books your unmade bed where your lips touched mine for the first time, your stack of records and films strewn around without a care because—because I’m full of you, you with your well-worn shorts and laughter bouncing off the walls, the evening sunlight turning you golden and Edward Sharpe singing Home.
And I am, I am. I am truly, truly, home.
The end of a long summer day,
my weary body slumping on the
unpleasantly warm concrete
and the sun begins to set on the
distant noise of the roads,
blue, yellow, orange then a deep ink.
A small bubble of peace before the
chatter of people drowns it all—
and the heart brims with memories
like the sunlight split into a
million glittering drops of golden water.
Another tired sunset.
My city shakes herself slowly—
her dust settles down
under the weight of the violet
and the street lamps are surrounded by gray halos.
I have finally come to terms with it. I am depressed.
Been so for quite a while now.
My depression has prevented my self-exploration (in every sense), I had withdrawn into a bubble (like seen in most cases), I had sudden manic outbursts of tears, fury, other emotions which I excused as causal to my (very attentive) boyfriend’s changing behaviour and the strained relationship between my parents.
I passed Durga Pujo, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, New Year and Saraswati Pujo convincing myself: it’s just a phase, it’ll pass. I’ll only have to ride through it. Honestly? It didn’t help. I wasn’t dealing with my depression, you see. I was afraid of it. Depression, for me, was the proverbial elephant in the room, every corner of my mind bursting with the pain of trying very very hard to contain all of these turbulent emotions, repeatedly giving myself false hopes that IT’S OKAY. IT IS NORMAL. YOU ARE FINE. When all the while I was pushing away the very people I love and those who love me back and could help. Depression has a way you isolating you, you know. It’ll strip you of all feelings, make you go numb and have you wake up in the middle of the long wintry nights leaving you to deal with that sudden, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach whose origin you’ll never quite figure out.
I like to tell people I’m a melancholy person, that I study literature and criticize and can never see the joy in things because I’m busy deconstructing everything. That I’m the hero with the burden of an knowledgeable.
None of that stand true.
I’m human, I like human company, I’m compassionate when I need be, I like attention just like everyone else. It is nice to appreciate and be appreciated in return. And I also prefer my solitude. All of us do.
You see depression takes away the pleasure of both company and solitude. You want to be alone but you don’t want to be alone. You want to be saved because you feel like you’re being suffocated with this opaque blanket of self-loathing and doubt. You wish someone would cut through this darkness with a shining sword and sweep you off to Happyland.
It doesn’t happen.
Because, depression, you see, has a way of isolating you from your saviours.
Your wall of thorns has no rose and unless you shine that rusting pair of shears to cut through and just live, you’ll forever suffocate, alienated.
The first step towards defeating depression is admitting you have it. Then you apologize and reconnect with your loved ones. And: TAKE SOME FUCKING TIME OFF FOR YOURSELF. Don’t validate yourself through Facebook posts and WhatsApp statuses about how “heroic” you are in your depression. Fucking fight it. Get your ass off that couch. Get going. Go to that seafood restaurant you’ve been meaning to try out with you best friend. Walk around a park, Take some nice fresh oxygen, let out that poisonous carbon. Eat that double chocolate ice-cream,think about your waistline some time later. Cut out all that city noise, go on that mountain trek, jump into that blue lake, drink that suspiciously delicious soup. Give yourself a break.
Most importantly, love yourself. If you can’t love yourself, no one can love you in return.
Do you remember,
the last time their lonely eyes lit up
with mirth, the slow creeping smile?
Or that trek over the rickety bridge,
old with it’s years, coughing wooden dust?
Do you remember to hum to that tune
the now broken radio played.
That tune you said, reminded you of
sunsets and starry skies, of me?
Do you still revel in the smell the rain,
the pages from a new book,
freshly brewed coffee,
the winter air?
Do you recall the last time you
picked sea shells by your favourite alcove?
where the sun beat down on the sandcastles
and the seagulls sung over glistening waves?
Or perhaps all of it are a distant haze,
in an illusion of negative images, streaked with gray.
A lifetime of remembering and forgetting,
Leaving behind and being left behind,
Letting go and holding on.
A walk down the sepia lane
and idealistic nostalgia only age affords.
But I’m afraid they now have been long forgotten.
I am concealed in destitute
in whispers and in shadows
I am omnipresent
bringing forth hope
in innocence and in radiance
I am a specter that lurks in quiet
frayed at the edges, fading
thriving in the dark.
I am an opaque entity,
distinct and burning bright
reigning in open light.
Where I may never be found
behind an illusion of deceit
Where I may never be shunned
as free as wind upon grass
Safe and sound
till the disquiet of the light
Safe and sound
till the silence of the dark
The dark lightens
The light darkens
and there I am!
I am infinity,
living and dying – merging at the seams.
Both lost and found,
illuminated and darkened, I am.
Something and nothing
Somewhere and nowhere
Somebody and nobody
Sometime and never
You often wonder, why? the ‘why’ does not necessarily pertain to something specific, be what it may – a person, a situation, yourself. but there’s this soft, subtle, ‘why’ whispered in the all-consuming darkness, that only you are present to witness.
I hardly want to make a point here, more like rave and rant.
There have been a few things – some things that have left me at a loss, an existential crisis, I hardly complain as these things have let the brain in a constant state of furious overdrive. Then there is nothing(s), just like everything, a point in a vortex that keeps circling, on and on, never to really stop, is it then, is it just this? A circle, a slow, a fast, tumultuous whirlwind.
Sometimes you DO care, sometimes you only care, sometimes you do not care and sometimes you just DO NOT care. Perhaps it is because I try to read too much in between the lines but…I do see a difference between the four states.
Then there is nothing(s), and it’s only a product of overexertion or too much nonchalance, either way it does not really matter because there is nothing, and nothing matters.
But, if it matters, does it matter because you want it to matter so?
Does it not matter because you do not want it to matter? Is it an illusion? In that hypothetical context you’d argue that if everything IS an illusion, what is the point of it?like I mentioned before, I do not seek to make a point here, but to merely generalize.
Yep, I’m playing safe.
Hmm…I’d like to call it my Slytherin sense of ‘self-preservation
though I’m much more Gryffindor.
Once I had read an amazing piece:
There were four friends – Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody
Once a task was assigned to Everybody, Somebody, Anybody.
Everybody thought Anybody could do it.
Anybody assumed Somebody would surely do it and did not find it necessary to confirm.
Somebody, in turn, gauged that Everybody had to do it.
When the date of submission finally dawned the three of the four friends took to blaming one another
and out of the confusion a conclusion was then drawn that finally, Nobody had completed the task.
I read this quite some time back, years actually, but it stuck with me, you can probably see why.
Imagination is baffling, it scares me at times.
Picture this I, you, we are Somebody, you or I may be Anybody and we make Everybody.
Or just a Nobody, drifting along the fluctuating graph of time, that is clearly running out. But I’m not scared, I may have found a closure, a sense of an ending.
Anyway it’s all psychological .i.e it’s all in my head, whether it’s real? well well…what did Dumbledore say?
“Of course it’s happening in your head, but that does not mean it’s not real ” and Dumbledore is never wrong.
My muse is hiding
The alleyway was dark and dank, a centuries old cobbled path
that twisted and turned till it was swallowed by the profound dark
like an unwinding snake,the treacherous night shrouded the other end
from prying eyes.
The brick walls of the old architecture bared it’s broken bones and
the paint, peeling, like the skin from that of a leper
filth! filth everywhere.
cloaking the surround, emanating a wicked sense of foreboding,
like a deadly calm before a fierce storm.
the alleyway led on, innocent gestures concealing twisted desires and intentions
like a naught Emperor leading his lords to
When the lead is over, you turn,
as quiet as a black cat in the dead of this deceitful night.
There you’ll see, a place where:
wicked intentions, twisted desires and ends meet
A vision that confirms your greatest fear.
Well, ranting helps. Really. And, my muse is tempted to come out of hiding.