Search

Enchanted

"Intellect and love are made of different materials. Intellect ties people in knots and risks nothing, but love dissolves all tangles and risks everything. Intellect is always cautious and advises, 'Beware too much ecstasy', whereas love says, 'Oh, nevermind! Take the plunge!' Intellect does not easily break down, whereas love can effortlessly reduce itself to rubble. But treasures are hidden among ruins. A broken heart hides treasures." – The Forty Rules of Love

A List of Things To Make You Feel Nice

Feel the sun beams dance on your fingers,
the sunlight blinding your face,
forcing your eyes to squint,
completing a portrait of smiles around the edges of your eyes.

Cherish the sound of gravel grinding against your shoes,
with movements of your feet beating a rhythm against the ground
as you walk down different paths
with fresh morning air trailing behind you.

Breathe in the smell of rain,
the smell of ground and grass soaking in droplets –
droplets that beat onto tin roofs and porches
beating like drums to the sound of thunder and clouds.

Take in the smell of charcoal and fresh paint
when you walk around lanes of new houses
and old garages with the smell of new cars
with sounds of tools sharpening, tightening and scrapping parts.

Explore the smell of new books,
the sound of flipping fresh paper,
holding onto hardcover books,
as the aroma of coffee in a cup wafts into the air nearby.

And cosy up into a blanket near the fire,
hear it crackle in the fireplace,
with its sound lulling you to sleep,
as your droopy eyelids barely make out the sight
of half eaten biscuits and fresh candy lying next to a jar nearby.

 

Advertisements

A purposeless conversation with myself

“I cry less now. The only times I cry now is when I think about me getting hurt in the past and trying to hang on so desperately to hope – pushing harder every single time i was knocked down. I want to go back and hug that person and cry with them. I want to hug them and tell them that they’re beautiful and brave and they’ll get through things no matter how hurt they are. I want to protect that person from any more harm and just slap them into listening to me so that they don’t get hurt anymore. But I can’t do that. I wish I could – I wish so badly that I could comfort my past self and be there for her at those moments when she needed someone. But I can’t. And now all I have is a gaping wide hole in my heart which seems to have been covered with a thin sheet. It could break any moment and perhaps the only way to avoid that is to hide the sheet itself. Sometimes, that’s what it feels like I’m doing.

Lately my thoughts have been overlapping more than usual. I think to myself: I can’t let this happen to someone else but then… How do I do that? How do I protect someone else? Even right now, I see it all happening to someone else. And another person… and another. But I can’t seem to do anything. I feel helpless. I try but no matter what I do I feel helpless and perhaps, that is the worst; seeing it happen all over again to someone else.  Maybe if I tell people about it entirely that would help? but..will it really change anything? Haven’t you noticed yourself that nothing changes, no one does anything and you kinda have to sit there watching it all happen wondering how can this be okay? Not only that, but you end up fearing that even those closest to you will end up thinking you’re over reacting or just driven by emotion or even perhaps just crazy? If nothing changes how do I stop things? How do I not let it be okay? How do I protect someone else?

Some would say protect yourself first, heal yourself first and then look to others. But is that really something you can do…? If I really saw the other person as someone like me, how could I face them in the end saying I was trying to protect myself first? I would get hurt by letting them get hurt.

It’s so hard to feel things now. I find myself desperate to feel anything, even pain, so much so that I was on the verge of cutting my hand just so I could feel something inside. It’s like laughing but not feeling happiness, it’s like crying but not feeling sadness and it’s like being punched yet not even flinching when it comes right at you.”

 

An Attempt to Describe How I Sometimes Feel

Pacing your room – long, hurried strides,
with your heart pounding against your cage
in desperate attempts to escape thoughts
murderous, deathly and poisonous in nature
which would suck the Oxygen from your lungs
were you to falter in your steps.

Like demons in the shadows
they crouch and stare
ready to pounce at the smallest
of doubts, questions, insecurities,
maybe something someone said weeks ago,
or a memory fresh from just hours before
they do not care for time, place or date;
it is what they will feed on.

Rubbing your shoulders to soothe,
Reassuring yourself by the second,
attempts at a smile,
the gap between your strides growing – almost to lunges
caught up in the most terrifying momentum
you are, in the end, lost.
Because nothing, no one can save you,
from that sudden, cataclysmic collision of thoughts
that erupts from a reservation, suspicion, uncertainty
which you do not even realize until that moment
when it hits you
hard and unsparingly
like some despairing truth about to crush life out of your soul.

You will cry, scream perhaps break
into a million little pieces
shattered and scared,
afraid to put themselves back even.

You will feel your soul cry
as if someone has inflicted you
with an injury too deep to heal:
a wound that bleeds but remains unseen.

But the moment is over –
within minutes, perhaps hours
until the remnants of tears
feel like a refreshing breath of air
and then shaking hands now appear
as a sign of release.

There is no injury or pain,
no shattered pieces to put together,
no creatures in the dark waiting,
no sudden or anxious movements to control –
only a memory of death in a faint episode.
There is peace.

Rain

Dance –
In the sparkling rain,
Under the canopy of a shaded sky,
Serenaded by the song of dancing droplets,
With daisies peeking at your ankles,
caressing, cradling, cuddling,
the springy feet of an animated spirit.

You never see it coming…

I wish it wouldn’t hurt
But it’s so scary:
The slightest indication,
The slightest doubt,
A single word
And the heart
Jumps, leaps, crawls
Back into the deepest cozy corners of its shell
Trying to recover
Everything that fell
Into pieces
Shattered, broken & hurt.

You made me cry

I cried,
Because my heart is now filled
– endlessly, unconditionally, purely
with you.
I cried because I love you.

“Yes” – the word I held my breath for…

Hidden kisses, stolen glances, a tantalizing touch
– the memoirs of two hearts
connecting, beating, finding
each other,
in the soft glow of twilight
under a sky of peeking stars
awaiting
something sweet, something magical,something beautiful.

The warmth of a winter sunset
streamed through my body
yet I felt,
a thousand little sparks
dancing in my heart
excited,
the tips of my toes tickle
celebrating,
the grip of my fingers loosen
relieved,
because within the fireworks lighting
the uninterrupted gaze between us,
you had finally said yes to me.

 

 

 

 

 

Free?

There is something intriguing in the way a person realises they’ve lost everything.  You sit there on your bed, in your room maybe, or behind a desk in your office, or on the bus riding with hundreds of strangers or in a classroom sitting among your friends – in the end it is all the same for the person who undergoes the experience.

It takes a moment, a single split second for realization to dawn upon you, a minute for you to start recounting what you lost and then only a breath before you give up on that as well.

It is not sad or tearful – maybe in the start a little bit. But after a minute or two , it is numb. You are numb.

And you think what are you now? If you lost the things you used to think are what define you, what are you now? Who are you?

You are free.

Of emotion.

You are back in the wild wide world – not bound by any strings – drifting through the world’s sea.

You are free. At last to let go.

Mental Illness

Even she couldn’t understand or believe that she had managed to go through with it for the past three years. Every time, everyday that it happened it was unique in its own way. It was like the the taste of blood in your mouth- not something you liked but you had to deal with it and you only remembered what it was like when it happened to you. It is only during that passing moment that you’re able to connect the pieces from your past memory to your present condition and then realize how the words you’d used to describe it all hadn’t been right or correct or fit the whole thing. Yes. It was just like that : like the taste of blood.

During the first two years from when it began she thought it was something she had to blame herself for. There was no reason behind this but she just thought that she had to- thinking that somewhere along her childhood, nature had decided to make her different. Abnormal. Unusual. It was there. It was but she’d decided that sidelining or ignoring the whole thing would somehow make it go away or make her turn back to normal. Although it seemed to work on the exterior, the same couldn’t be said for the interior. While there was a smile plastered on her face, there was a war going on inside, a struggle to maintain that practiced composure – a battle between the need to express herself openly and the scrutiny that would result from it.

It was quite interesting to see how the parents never talked about it either. They were conventional and conservative. The immediate response to their daughters condition which she talked to them about it was either “it’s all in your head” or “there’s nothing wrong with you ,sweety, just don’t think about it”. She didn’t know but these statements were more for their own contentment and convincing than hers’. And it wouldn’t be fair to say that they were entirely at fault. They were only trying to protect her from what others would say : even the mention of a mental illness would destroy her life.

And it went on and on and on until the third year when she found out that what she was really going through wasn’t made up – wasn’t just inside her head. It was a condition that , according to statistics, most of her classmates probably shared as well. She read and read and read. It wasn’t something bad, it wasn’t severe and it wasn’t something to be ashamed of. But then she couldn’t understand why everyone had pretended to ignore it when they probably knew. ‘Why?’ she couldn’t determine. But now that she knew all about it she was more frustrated.

She knew what was going on, what was the treatment, what was to be done and how. Every single detail had been memorized and learned and yet there was frustration at having found out. She cried, silently. There was nothing she could do because even now, even when she knew, they still wouldn’t believe anything was wrong. And she would never, never, get away from it all.

A WordPress.com Website.

Up ↑