I felt lost,
the moment i left safe harbors
everything loud lowered the tide to murmurs
lips shivered giving away confidence,
to winds of uncertainity
both feet were not in agreement,
each pointing to a different direction,
eyes could see everything travel,
except the body stuck behind it,
hands had just come out of pocket,
as if trying to figure out,
whether to raise themselves
or just fold back into each other
i took the first step...
i had to choose,
to wait in hope or to rush out of fear,
fear of missing out,
fear of ending up alone on the street,
fear of no one giving you a shout out,
but i chose to wait,
wait for things to cool down,
wait for people to turn around,
wait for life to happen the way i wanted it to,
just that no one told me,
once you choose this,
time invested buries the option to move on,
things only get personal,
so personal that no one cares,
and you do end up alone on the street..
i figured out something,
but it doesnt feel good,
it wasn't exactly what i was looking for,
and now i often think
why was i looking for something in first place,
the chase moved me towards the thing
but not before moving me away from many.
I was five
high on school but naive
everyone around preached
"always say the truth"
and i did..
i was pulled up
and warned to ask before saying
then i tried lying
a tight slap came from the left
i understood silence was best kept
Came in teens
managing home rules and hormones
i thought i knew what it means
truth was now the last resort
but i tried keeping it the first
i was roughed up for saying it
tagged dumb for not playing it
then i tried lying
i found ways at least sometimes if not always
home, office, friends,neighbors were managing me
i had no time to figure out truth
suddenly peace became a bigger thing
and i gave up both truth and lie in the bargain
now i only say what others wanna listen
no one pulls me up
and i remain sane
Sometimes we feel the hand that never leaned beyond waving to hold us.
Sometimes we feel the lips that gave us hope of a kiss, but did not utter a word and turned away.
Sometimes we feel the heartbeats, even if their hearts were cold to us.
Sometimes we feel their murmurs breathing life into our memories, even if they are just shallow breaths.
And irony is we can't convey or express those feelings to anyone out there, we can just embrace them.
am willing to quench everything that leaves you thirsty,
are your emotions willing to hold any water for me,
am willing to tame every wave that leaves you drowning,
is your sail willing to give up the shores for me,
am willing to let go the boundaries that bind you,
are your steps willing to trace their journey back to me,
Sometimes there is no plan in place,no goal in sight,
but the journey has to go on.
Sometimes there is no check in place, no one to say right or wrong,
but the job has to be done.
Sometimes there is no outlet to the emotion,no proof of even its existence,
but the shaken heart has to be balmed.
Sometimes there is no shoulder to cry on, no place to hide tears,
but the tides have to be emptied.
Life had some moments where heart was in dilemma,
whether to pump-up in rage
to skip the beat,
whether to rush through the emotions
pause to repeat,
whether to break open the chest
bury it deep.
But i decided not to tear the page then,
and orphan the story of an infant emotion.
Just left it blank and folded,
in the arms of unfinished story,
which is still unfolding with every passing heartbeat,
with a hope that ink will mature one day,
just enough to let the folded page bloom into an answer,
heart felt for but couldn't seek.
They come out of hiding,
appear to be abiding,
searching not, but begging for place,
place not in house, but in heart,
they are into impostering like an art,
you avoid them at start,
but end up dealing,
you look for their wounds,
wounds they have decorated,
to catch your attention,
without even a fleeting mention,
in the conversations
which involve your silences
and their stories,
your copy-paste OKs and their overdose of sorries,
you give them place,
a place in your heart,
whether as a gift of love or a loan of sympathy,
and the problem starts the moment they take it,
they try to make it something of their own,
making you forget the heartbeats you own,
they start coaxing you for more space,
you give them an inch more,
they bargain for square feets,
they nail you on your weak nerves,
even blackmail if it serves.
We try to sleep through...
the near misses which were never aimed until the very end,
the frictions which were indulged in to test the blade,
the conversations going in reverse courtesy the motor mouths,
those brainless orders given by the brainwashed,
the never ending race for someone's medal.
Trying so hard is making insomnia more achievable with each passing night..