Words are not enough to voice, the tragic noise I feel inside
Maybe I draw a picture to soothe, the nerves that never sit still
I pick up the pencil and a clean sheet of white paper
And I think.
Words fail me, but my hand moves
And draw parallel lines, the paper ends, and yet the lines go on
In my mind’s eye, I see them moving
Cutting through me like butter
Sharp, coal black figures, constant
Moving, traversing the paths I dare not dream
Curse the ends that never meet.
We are born to die, is what we learn as rule of life
Death gives life its meaning, or else we are all being fooled by the no-show Godot
Ever turned the page to what comes ‘forever after’?
Ever heard of something called fate!
Driving Peter Pan of Neverland to hunt you down to take your heart to feed his soul off your own
All the pixies and the fairies and their dust won’t make the pain go away
Locked in the tower, sitting on your neck.
The pain only mounts as the years go by
And its that time when you know why you were born
Its the time for death to you as its own
For none shall escape it, for we are what it is.
Catching on to something which is less than a whisper
A whimsical fancy, a spec of imagination
That something, somewhere might just click
A happy ending to a forever after
Or is there more to the story than pages being written
How much longer can the writer count on the word bank
Desperate souls, eat away at rotten things just to get away
And fate tempted like Rumplestiltskin says
“I know a desperate soul when I see one.”
You inspire me to be more than me
If I said it then, I say it now
I want to be good for the sake of your wind
Cleanse my aura, keep it real
To gain what I feel
In reality, a sham so terrible and
With the load I carry
I wrote this piece years ago and while I was going through my drafts, I found it. Wow. It has actually been quite a long journey since 2003.
Today I want to confess something which I had buried deep inside my heart. It is a memory, a very painful one.
Let me take you back to the time when I was in 4th standard section B. My form teacher was a very good teacher when it came to academics. I respect her equally today as I did when she was my form teacher.
I used to write from a very young age especially poetry and I had started developing a little confidence in my writing. Just as a 11 year old would be excited to know what others thought of her writing, I was also excited. Since a teacher is the epitome of intelligence for a young mind, I thought I would show my teacher my poems and she would tell me where I stand.
So I went upto her table, kept my copy in front of her and told her that I wrote it. I still remember that she read two lines and started laughing. She threw my copy across the table at me, laughed in my face and said ” yeh kaun pade ga?”
Imagine my shock, disappointment and hurt that my teacher, my idol said such harsh words to me, a 11 year old child.
Dejected and discouraged, I thought that my teacher was right. I didnt know how to write and so as a result, I stopped writing.
But I started writing again in my 6th standard. And went on progressing thanks to certain teachers ( whom I wont mention as I dont want to compare my teachers. I love and respect each one who has ever taught me), I got better and better.
That memory faded from my conscience mind but was resurfaced a few days ago due to an incident which I will share in my next confession.
This memory hit me so hard right now. And it made me cry. Today I would like to tell her that despite being a good teacher, she failed to be my guardian, my guide. She failed me at a time when i needed her support the most. She broke the heart of a small child who wanted nothing but appreciation from her. It wouldnt have hurt to just pat me on my back and say “you can do better”. I swear it wouldve made my day. But no, you were bitter and cruel. You gave me a scar that I will carry for the rest of my life.
I used to look up to you
Yet You failed me.
You were my idol
Yet you crushed my hopes when I was a child.
I write to console my heart, that cries foul in the face of adversity
That knows that life is limitless and unfair throughout
Dragging through the rung, the mud, I wish to learn a lesson or two
But what for, if my final destination is death itself?
What do I strive for but gentle, supportive company
To hold hands with, while sitting in the waiting room.
I am waiting for my calling, but I am restless too.
Words are over my head and my writing is leaving me behind
Everyone is leaving me behind.
I may be a bit slow but God knows I try
I always have, to match the pace
To turn the corner at the right time.
And yet I see you merging into horizon, some four and a half hours ahead of my sunset
And the internal struggle, to keep calm.
Nothing works. And so I write to calm my heart which cries foul at the adversity of life.
It’s a wide hole, left open by the absense
Of senses, of feelings and of everything that was you
Now there is infinite space, a space no one can fit in.
It’s a limbo, a giant churning gyre
Spinning head, I try to lower myself in
To decorate the gaps, with your memories
To fill the void, with my empty words and a wounded heart.