suicide, really?

 i don't want to live 

 if i cant live
 the way
 you want me to

 i want to live life queen-sized
 or not at all...

 suicide, really?


 what an ugly
 unrepresentative word
 you choose
 for what
 some of us chose to do with our lives,

 living or dead... 

 February 12, 2014


 (for sylvia plath, October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) 

I NEVER LED YOU UP THE GARDEN PATH

i never tried
to lead you up
a garden path.
and if you saw roses
surely they could only
have been 
your own
fantasy?
why, then, 
did you choose
to riddle me with thorns
that weren't imaginary at all -
each 
leaving me
so bruised
that the wounds 
are still raw,
bleeding...
nothing could be more real than them.

* * *

was it only yesterday
that you brought those roses
which i'd arranged in the vase
gently ridding them of thorns.
nothing had happened then,
no injury
as i sat handling each beautiful bloom.
what was different then -
was it love perhaps ?
i know, 
please don't remind me
i don't believe in love,
i'd always maintained,
and do i now,
i wonder...
well, let it remain
another
unresolved contradiction
like all those others
within me
that force me
to turn towards you
even as i realize
that our paths
are not meant to cross

* * *

and if i got lost
missed your door
and could not even find
the one i'd left behind,
i suppose its all my fault,
after all,
our definitions of love
are not the same.
i'd only said
i don't know what love is;
but i'm grateful for what i've learnt...
all that love is not -
hurting
tormenting,
and leaving
the other...
slowly
but surely,
if the lust is left
unfulfilled...
what kind of shallowness
would desire only the body
but not the soul
offered
so wholeheartedly.

* * *

how can i help but remember
the constellation in the sky
that you once pointed out to me
as i stood,
and stared,
transposed,
becoming almost a part of
orion,
was it ?
and now,
suddenly
i feel
as if
the
orion's
spear
were
pointing
out at me!

* * *

and just the other day,
when you sat reciting poetry
in that velvety voice of yours
that blanks out everything
but
the poet,
his imagination
and me,
how proud i felt
to have inspired
words so
sublime.

* * *

but if you now choose
to ignore
the willingness to accompany,
the eagerness to give,
the togetherness to share,
and the eternal bonds
that tie us,
and if you're
actually feeling
a little out of depth,
the loss is also yours
for thwarting
these deep pools
of feeling,
that lay...
...just waiting to be tapped.


* * *

what gave you the right
to walk away ?
in that one infinitesimal moment
that separated
agony from ecstasy
life from death,
you from me ...
why do you seek to destroy,
with one single blow,
timeless joy,
and that precious something
we shared, but could not
give a name to.

* * *

whose number would i dial
when i'm in need of a friend,
whose shoulder would i weep on,
whose door would i knock upon
when life seems like a dark tunnel,
and the only ray of light
eludes me,
when everything collapses
like a pack of cards,
so easily shaken
by a mere gust of wind.
and who would edit these meanderings
and shape them
into profound poetry,
the kind fit to adorn
a connoisseur's collection

* * *

the night is dark
and lonely,
and this fluorescent lamp
my only company,
the stillness
shattered
only by the occasional howling
of an animal
as lonely as me perhaps?

how befitting
that a storm should be raging
outside too.
lightening casting
silvery patterns
on the easel above
and raindrops
dancing
to the tune
of thunder's trumpet!

clouds running amuck,
panicking perhaps
at their threatened existence,
their state
not very different
from my own!


* * *

and how ironic,
that i should sit through it all,
so very calmly,
almost divorced from reality -
surely all this
couldn't be happening to me ?

but how do i ensure
that this is but a nightmare,
until i close my eyes
and embrace the oblivion
that only deep slumber
could introduce me to...


* * *

do i really believe
shedding a few tears,
announcing bravely,
that my world is still intact,
that tomorrow's another day,
and the rest of the cliches
could bring anyone out
of abysmal wells of misery ?


* * *

this constant stream
of relationships
attempting to break me,
has only made me stronger,
and if i can't understand
this simple truth,
about life,
that if agony goes deep
so would the ecstasy,

then I
cannot possibly go on...
living,
or existing.

is there a difference ?

is
there
a
difference?

LOST AND FOUND

as i sit here
by my window
gazing
at the clouds outside
busy
conducting
a complete orchestra,
as if
and hurling innumerable
little pebbles
all at once
to create endless ripples
over the surface of the pond!
the clouds weeping
to their heart’s content.
as i to mine.

the rain came on
with renewed vengeance
its waxing
and waning
coinciding
so well
with my inner turmoil...

the raindrops spattering outside
sounding suddenly
like the hooves
of a million horses
all marching
in unison...

the clouds seemed
to be bending
under their own weight -
those pregnant clouds
relieved at last,

delivered
while i wished
i could have
myself
released
with the same ferocity...

the clouds gave
a thunderous applause,

when the rainbow adorned
the naked sky
at last...

after all its usual dwellers
deserted it -
the moon, the stars, the sun

and finally
even the clouds...

ONE MORE ADIEU

will this facade of calmness
(which beautifully conceals
the inner turmoil)
see me through
this vicissitudinous path
whats-its-name…
…life ?
this endless tale
of meetings, partings?
and in between,
the ephemeral something -
beautiful while it lasts
tormenting when over,
and leaving behind,
a dried river-bed ...
i guess,
if agony
and ecstasy,
and pleasure and pain
and rest of the opposites
must remain
together,
i too should give up
resisting,
and bow down to nature.
the conflicts
i realize
will remain...

OF MYTHS AND MIRAGES

lately
my thoughts have been veering
invariably,
towards you.
how naturally,
i unload to you
confiding
my deepest, innermost feelings,
allowing myself
to even 
weep on your shoulder,
as if
you and i
have always belonged.
don't tell me you're real...
for i'm only familiar
with myths

and mirages...

SEE YOU SOON

all those words
trapped inside me
pleading for a release,
are celebrating at last...
many a vicissitude 
had they witnessed,
staring helplessly
at the gamut of emotions -
the hopelessness
the despair
the ecstasy,
the elation...
ah, wouldn't they be glad
to tell their tale...
"where art thou? our savior divine
knock, knock
are you listening?
when do we get to meet you?"

PRISONERS OF FREEDOM

i promised to walk along
life's lonely paths
with you
but why
did i
hold onto you
so tight,
and lean on you so heavy,
that i lost myself
completely
(becoming smaller and smaller),
while you walked ahead oblivious,
wrapped up
in your own thoughts,
your needs
and beliefs...
i should have let go of you then,
but no -
i chose to drag along...

breathless
bruised
bleeding,
and competing,
with the only thing that mattered
ever
to you...
... your freedom.