Full stops as Hurricanes.

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Fashion me,
and this crisis.

the guy in front
spills coffee on his shirt
and he sighs in frustration,
I laugh
blushing in acknowledgment.

we sit side by side
in the parlor
2 hours and we leave
he sighs off again
his hair an ugly mess.

we have sat down for coffee again
but my lips desire something completely else

signing off
he holds my hand again
like in the bookstore
in an empty aisle.

he left about 4 days back
and probably thought that I died
but I am alive. Very much.
Only wondering if he too was just
another reflection of a man.
I saw, six years back.
Hatred, the same.
In both their eyes.
Pitch black, their stone cold hearts.

Artwork by Manjit Thapp.

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Dates.

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You and I,
We,
are here to look
and celebrate all eternity
in this deafening silence by the sea.

Sometimes we laugh,
and sometimes we cry,
after a momentous celebration
of us making love and of these short odd
Dates.

And when you and I are not close together,
We remember these days and moments
and know that life was always so well
that even the moon smiled as it saw the stars
Falling down.

 

Artwork by Manjit Thapp.

Nothing (Not a poem #3)

Let us sit together at the shoreline today. At 3 am in the morning and do nothing, be nothing, whilst we stare at the city lights fade away. Let us sit close together, holding hands, never letting each other go away. You, my lover, have become my poetry from nothing to things that are now taking shapes, though are still ambiguous.

You, my lover, have become me, like something that belongs to me as much as the moonlight belongs to the sun. So promise me, that you will never ask for it back. And I like the moon will shine and burn and burn and shine. Into nothingness.

At least he smiles.

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He still smiles. (Not a poem #1)

Thank goodness for the world that I cannot love you. Otherwise, what do you do when you fall in love with your brother or with your best friend. You die, or you suffocate yourself and lie. It’s a blunder.

But not really, you die, only metaphorically. Which is worse.

And then you meet them, the ones you loved, love,…… and end up with improper goodbyes, empty conversations and the love decays, except not really, because, he, still smiles. And you fall in love again. Except not really.
Not this time.

 

Bad luck; of course.

 

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Write about me, sometimes.

 

“I don’t think I have known you long enough to love you, but then I don’t understand love. I am crying now, but mostly sobbing, so that I don’t catch anyone’s attention, for I would like to continue crying. Crying isn’t so bad either.”

The number of people I have dated for the first time in my life is absurd, almost laughable, to be very honest. The last one was, of course, Andrew, whom I had finally started dating after almost 3 years of crushing over him, but of course, my father who is the deputy chief of the police is transferred somewhere far away, and I had to move with him. Of course.

We have moved at least 3-4 times over the past 7 years, which increased especially after my mother’s death since my father knows that I love him just a little too much. At this point, it’s almost a game. Though, this time he did ask me, if I wanted to stay back, maybe in a rented flat, but I refused, which I guess is fine. Father is old now, and I love him, but maybe a little too much.

I have already packed most of my clothes and other belongings, I have also secretly packed the letters a few very close friends wrote, these letters define me.

“Will you write me down in your prettiest paper with your typewriter? Write me down in a story, that you love, and I promise I’ll fall in love with it too.”

I smile and giggle as I read the story one more time.I have found myself reading letters/ emails/ personal stories more than ever.

Very appropriately, the season is fall, the month of October. I remember, very vividly, last October. I fell in love with a Guitarist who was obsessed with just one tune, that he refused to play for his audience, it was only when we were dating that he played it, and realized that it was never meant for me. We broke up soon after.

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The current neighborhood, where I live, is rather calm, something which I have fallen in love over the past one and a half years.

The third person, on my list of people I have dated, at least over 1 month, was Mathew, with the stupidest beanie I have ever seen. He also had this weird obsession with carrying his giant backpack, Why, though?

This doesn’t really matter, now,  does it? I’m moving out again, and I know I’ll be off to somewhere else after that too. I love my friends nevertheless, always have, but maybe moving away has made me careless. I find myself walking by the shoreline alone now, but I am not alone. Sometimes I think, my mother died too young, too fast, but then maybe death is easier.

I have never quite loved any of these people, except my father. Neither do I mind moving out, it’s just that…………………………

I continue to love people whom I once loved, even when I try and avoid them at every street we meet. I have become painfully naive, and know no difference between the things I like and the ones I dislike. Am I passionate about both, yes.But truth be told, I don’t know who I am, maybe just a fragmented puzzle. Maybe.

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Cold

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It is half past one, and you
are more restless than I, when
this day had started, when
you and I met.

The air that parts the window from the curtain, is
colder than I guessed, and now
I fear that I might freeze to death.

And so I move, towards
the closest thing for warmth, and
I find you, wrestling for sleep.

So, I kiss you, gently on your cheeks
And it’s wet now, colder than the rest of you
But there are other things to worry about
Because the gentle peck on your cheek
Wouldn’t even be there, when you wake up.
A message, disappearing, before anyone reads it.

There is much else to be worried about
Like, the coldness, in between you and me
and beneath all of us.