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Wednesday, February 22, 2017

The Morning Hue

As the first ray of sun, dispersed through my tinted window glass, golden and bright... I tossed around the bed sheet... pulling out the covers... my eyes, slowly opened to the hue. Blur. Then, it slowly cleared, making me conscious eventually. However, my eyes were burning- my sleep wasn't complete. A mere three hours' sleep is inherently inadequate by normal standards anyway. 
Not that I didn't want to. I used to be a deep sleeper. Lazy as well. But now I couldn't, for, each time I tried to sleep, I had nightmares.


Another anxiety hit!

Things have changed now. Talk basic- I usually slept topless, only with the trousers on. But today, I had a T-shirt, for, the nights were now colder than before.
Then, if it had been a year or a half ago, I would have opened my eyes with a smile. A new text message would drop in- may be a sweet Good Morning, or something likewise. And, sometimes she'd show up in person... give a soft hug, may be a kiss, or a peck on cheeks. Or rather none of it. Instead she'd drain a bucket of cold water over my half naked body. But, I would pull her close, into my arms, almost clenching the waist, and then, we'd kiss like animals until either of us skips a beat. 
In either ways, she would make my mornings as warm as the intruding sunlight.




But now, it is only the sunlight that didn't change. 
The morning  texts are now gone- and they're never gonna come back. I was, all at sudden left out, in the middle of my happiness. And, her departure, put a permanent dent on my sanity. 
By the time, I have forgotten to smile. It has been a long time, since, I laughed whole heatedly- like a loud guffaw. My ear to ear grin is now a rough and stern expression, which only makes me feel how vague my life has become. Tables have turned upside down, and, before I could collect the pieces, understand what has gone wrong... everything was burnt into ashes. 
I might sound retrospective, but, every time I tried to face the reality, the memories haunted me. It was like, standing over that abyss, where even the last ray of hope dies. Where you stop caring about things, and you're dragged to madness. And then, a free fall! It is only a matter of time, when you realize that you have already become a monster. 
And, this monster, didn't let me sleep. 
Do you know a thing about depression? It's a grey place. A prison, where you are both the suffering prisoner and the cruel jailer. 
Every night, I would keep staring at the black roof my empty room- with just one bed, the closet and a television. The fan would keep creaking, and until my eyes are tired enough, I would remain awake. 
And, like every other morning, I woke up today to another dull day. For, I had sold my soul to her, and now, none could fix what she has broken.

I jumped up on the bed, yawning and breaking the remaining dizziness. I had to get fresh now. Then later, may be finish the book, I left half, last night. Those were now my only escapes to peace, though very temporary. 
I sighed, pinched my eyebrows, and, rubbed my face- my hairs, almost messed up. 

The bestrewing rays were still warm. Warmer now, I guess. I winced, wondering-
Should every bygone be bygone? 

And, all I heard back was-
How does it matter? What's gone is gone anyway.

Monday, February 13, 2017

The Vintage Rain


So, it rained like yesterday,
One drop over that vintage skin-
And, one on the glass astray.
The lusty warmth of the wet soil,
Fell over the rocks and the narrows.
Like one earth finding its contemplating shadow.
Two worlds- neither together nor apart;
Taking everything in notion-
just blew away.
Tossing the grass green,
Like a confluence of several arcs.
It rained like yesterday,
One drop over that vintage skin.


Every moment, making a crisis,
The shadows screaming loud.
Like one hand over the other-
aloof and astound.
The chaos of the heaviness,
the heaviness of the slow breathes.
Those mixed with noise 

in the psych of sanity;
like the moisture of the window screen.
And, it rained like yesterday,
One drop over that vintage skin.


For, it is naked nostalgia,
Everything just, yet, brutally vague.
Naive gestures of those nerves,
Taking toll over the tender rage.
When it felt all numb,
Yet brutally pleasant.
The rotten smell,
of the smothered soul...
And that noise of silence-
Mixed in a chaos of solitude.

It always rains like yesterday,
With one drop over that vintage skin.