The Silence of My Voice

You tan my heart, as the sky flushes I licked the rain when your tears wouldn't feel wet anymore, Do you yearn only when you reach rock bottom, Or you remember that crookedness only for the way the light at dusk bounced off of it? You mislaid to sweep the debris of who you were, left on my bed last night, And, I stopped writing your story, not because I ended it, but because it was time, And, as you kept falling, it was quicker to imagine my life without you in ten minutes,  Than to wholly live them, The ratification for all that you feel, Your deprivation of compassion when the twigs let you go, Between the bosque, and the groves, The shrubbery, and the firewood, I hewed you out of my words, I blotted your skin with my ink, Give me something to scribble, give me something to scatter, I wore your moods, and I lugged your hopes, I dwelt on your dreams, and I walked atop your thorns, You hoped for love, knowing death still lurked, For you found this life every twilight, much les...

Hello. For people who've been together for eons, I think the I-love-yous are just a stimulation. I don't think a lot of that has to do anything with the need to be loved. It's more to be cocksure that love still exists, as if there'll always, at least, be hope. There will always be some reserve fuel. Which makes me ponder, albeit different for everyone, what is that particular junction when people stop themselves from falling in love, and rather be in love. The point at which their self-esteem doesn't take a hit, at falling weak in front of them. The junction through which they resolve to compartmentalize their affections, and caching the residual. The junction when they build a mental barrier to make themselves, and the other person, that belonged together only in a certain period in the relationship, a souvenir. The verge of doom, after which they can never possibly fall back in love, or change the past.  The cusp when reached, they tell themselves, "Don...

The goosebumps on his nape had signalled me that he was familiar of my ubiquity in there. I'd witnessed him residing under the same lamp, on the same bulbous and stout pieced wood for years. He had yet another Dan Brown in his hands; his beguiling fingers flirting with the pages still sent spasms through me. It pushed me back to the time when I disintegrated, every vein holding my being liquefying into his. I reeked more of him than me; he reeked more of me than himself.  Trickle by trace, my incandescent breaths over his dank torso, obfuscating my beginning and his end into one. His hands ducking at every curve I curve through, turning me into a corpse of molten flambeau. Never a time when we settled for the two of us being the two. Letting countless mistakes happen, fingers exploring out the closeness of the two being one. Fiery water, boiling ice, spending all of ourselves onto one another. He eyes that pretty across the table. Digging back in his book, resorting to the ...

Twelve flavours Twelve lovers Twelve dates Twelve places  Twelve kisses Twelve beds Twelve breakfasts Twelve flowers Twelve coffees Twelve teas Twelve omelettes Twelve sunny side ups Twelve walks Twelve restaurants Twelve pasts Twelve presents Twelve futures Twelve projects Twelve jobs Twelve cities Twelve foods Twelve eyes Twelve voices Twelve poems Twelve stories Twelve songs Twelve genres Twelve exes Twelve, more to come Twelve t-shirts Twelve shirts Twelve sweaters Twelve bras Twelve blankets Twelve days Twelve nights Twelve weeks Twelve months The past year And the next to come. Therapy. Happier this time,  Ak.

Overly sweet coffee, and the underestimated bland tea, Broken spines of a book, and fallen leaves of the gingery tree, Boisterous silences, and the straining piano notes, Broken phone networks, and prudently hearted notes, Loquacious senses, and sardonic tongues, Unknown ignorances, and methodical glances, Stolen truths, and concealing lies, Surreptitious smiles, and reluctant cries, Starry nights, and tacitly retired drives, Solitary overhauls, and conjoined cautions, Supervised footsteps, and the agreeable wind chimes, Blistering softness, and the disquieting light, Fleeting sheets, and dented bolsters, Desiccated  throats, and clammily sultry bodies, Unkempt love, and the copious confessions, The incessant denials, and the fate's laughter in your face.  Oh, the inevitability of things. Reminiscent, Ak.  

How different were the two? Like the darkness of a liquor chocolate, Against the dewy cinnamon bagels? Or the roaring of the sea, Against the hidden hushes of an avalanche, How different were their voices? Like the inconsistency of your consistent black coffee, Against the bitter carnality of that cabernet? Or, the squelchy parcel from the rains, Against the velvety pats of snow against your face? How different were their eyes when they looked at you? Like the ones which gleam simply in desire, Against the one screaming out to you in need? Or the way a child clings to his toy, Against a weeping bride holding onto her father's shoulders? How different were their hands? Like the robust hand from the heist of a ravenous man, Against the hands that devour you under the sheets? Or the ones whose touch make you whinge, Against the ones which make you close your eyes in conviction? How different were their seasons? Like the sun's fervour fluxing your cream...

"But they never warned me", You retaliated, Your voices screeched, your heart breached, You wriggle and slither, Skulk and scuttle,  You prostrate yourself, just to hold on to it, Like a man edging on the valley,  Rasping, and scraping to live, With each hope fracturing, Every dream fragmented, You still endure to tussle and brawl, "Help me", you plead, "Save me", you weep, And she simply laughed, "Why, but?" Lightly seizing the end of her robe, From your those once strong hands, Now frantic, deplorable, wretched, You mislay her, And there he was,  Hiding under the heavy embroidery of the drapes, Smiling, laughing, reminiscing, Think of it, of the alerts, He did warn you, "I'm Greed, I'll take what I give." And he stood behind the curtain, still, Belting yet another name off the list. I just breathed. So long,  Ak.

Trying to make sense of it all, How really were eternities in a moment, Walking down the freezing night, Smelling December in the wind,  The fallen leaves ask, The dimming moon doubts, With everything around questionable, Yet unanswered, Fighting the cold,  Stuffing your hands in the years old jacket, Lathered in dust,  And that's how you've liked it, just because, You feel a crunch, You hold on tight to it, And tighter to your heart, Maybe, just maybe, you know what it is, You hope for it, You've been looking for it ever since, again just because, You take it out, glare at it, turn it around, And feel the familiarity of the words warming through you, And you crunch it along the same folds, And put it back, You know now, where your survival trick lies, You know now, felt it again, Eternities in a moment. By Tom French Blues, Ak.

A few innocent footings, When was it,  That you held grip of you? The you, which was merely ready, The you, which never knew the use of tongue, The you, still hiding behind your mother, Awaken hard by destiny,  You wept, and swept, and crippled,  But still went strong, Like an iron grip of a baby's hand,  On the slender fingers of her mother, Smiling, laughing,  The blows,  Working their way like potions, Raising her, bit by bit, Piece by piece, With each time her growing up,  It kept taking something from her, Sometimes, the strength, Sometimes, the courage,  Sometimes, the will, And here, I sit beseeching My hands folded in obligation to Thee   Take you may whatever, But do spare her, her heart, For it's only the heart, It's pristine goodness, and fondness, That had her from going. Buckets full of love. Always there, Ak.

Haunt me, Unlike the ways of spirits, Imprinting my soul by yours, Haunt me, Leaving your scent unto me, Like a room filled out by baked apples, Haunt me,  Until I start hallucinating, And haunt me, As if you truly follow me, Haunt me, By the sweet tones of your piano, Whereby I sat watching you play, Haunt me,  With the bitterness of the morning coffee, With the torn pages of the book, You could never read to me, Haunt me, again, With all the singularly eyed jokes, And the laughter that followed, Haunt me, still, Through the seconds, When you helped me replace my guitar strings, Haunt me,  Haunt me, till I hum the tunes you made, Haunt me, until the edge of madness, And haunt me,  Till I bleed of you. Been long gone, eh? Some inspiration it took, this one. Buzzed, Ak. 

Have you ever known, what coming home is like? How would you,  When all you've done, is wander, Through every lane, searching, For truths, fighting them with lies, Pulling your own strings apart, Heartbeat by heartbeat, You will never know, What coming home is like. Have you ever known, The warmth of another soul, The comfort of the company, Of another's silence? When all you've done, Is run away, Thinking of everyone as crowd, Selling your heart out, On cheap street take-outs, While only gathering the lonesomeness, Others had on offer, You will never know, The warmth of another soul. Have you ever known, The disgrace of two parted lovers? How would you, When you believed you two, Could survive apart, But what for, really? Because all you did, Was be terrified, but awed, You will never know, The disgrace, the ache, the abomination, Of two parted lovers. I miss this space a hell more often now....

Helplessness.  It's hard to not be deafened by its inconspicuous screams. Shrill, hard, hurtful. When it touches someone, it ceases the soul. It renders, the unfortunate, inhumanly vulnerable. And sometimes, only sometimes, allows the white light to peep in. Imparting its only emotion to the one it strikes on, it never leaves. It sucks them out, feeds itself off them. Its presence starts to be felt in the gut, rising to your heart, increasing its beats, reaching out for your throat to squash it, wrangle it, and choke all your strengths and happiness down the drain. Those people with a frown on their heads, a doubt in their eyes, and a silent scream in their slightly opened mouth? Yes, them. They're the ones helplessness has been feeding off of. Nibbling at their coils, it spreads like termites in your body. You'll feel it. When immobility will dictate over you, and thinking of a way out will only burn those extra cells in your brain, you'll know it. You'll know ...

Things we do not expect happen more often than we wish. Anticipation of something that's never going to happen in your hopeful possibilities is the worst form of human torture. Ask a dying man his last wish. Seldom would you find one asking for nothing. Sounds hilarious, doesn't it? Someone dying with all their wishes fulfilled. And that's where the crux of it all lies. The entire gist of it comes down to letting go. We, humans, take immense pride in embracing what mutilates us. We're nurtured with the notion to endeavour whatever it is that we want till our last breath, and if we don't achieve it, die trying. I'm sure the grass is always greener on the other side, and when I reach there, I can see the weeds up close. Until then, I'll try watering my own premature grass. You'll be told to attempt harder, but none will appreciate if you find your own America. We are used to seeing results, but the effort is what we ignore. We brand those strong who try to...

"Remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it." - Suzanne Collins I could keep running back to you. What's bound to happen, will; no matter how hard you try to change the course of planets, they'd still be rotating and would still be on their axis. I could literally sit and stare at your beauty for hours, and the beautiful part is that you'll let me. Those scars. They ooze your sensuality, your strength, your determination, your loyalty. The ones that run deep within - I want to trace them with my fingers like on a Braille. So that they narrate their own legend. I like you, at times, and I feel I know you at times, so I'm not going to let go off you, as of now. Of course, one can't measure love by the amount of words exchanged. Unfair, it would be, wouldn't it? We do talk - it's only that we say very little. Your sins? I might hate them, but I can't simply deny that I'm in love with the sin...

No. No, it doesn't matter in the ultimatum where you end up. I can get pretty difficult at times. There'll be moments when the thin blade of killing me with your bare hands solely, would fragment the nerves of your coils. But just wait. Please, wait is all I ask for. I know I haven't proved to be the best person around you. I'll annoy you, test your patience, bring you to the brink of murderous behaviour, or even might shaken your trust in our bond. But listen. LISTEN. You've been there with me when I was happy. And I promised to be there in your angst. And I'll be there even if the angst is because of me. If I end up being the reason of your anguish. Please bear with me, because I don't want to be unable to be there with you. It just wasn't about the happiness deal, was it? I told you I won't let your problems remain yours.I'd be your shield for your problems hit me . Hard, in the face. Only to remind me, come what may, y...