Calender read Oct 19, 2021.
Watch read 19.46.
But i was sipping cola from college canteen in 2009,
and worrying about the appraisal of March 2022.
All these while chipping the overgrown nail of index finger and waiting for 19.50 local train.
It felt as if the urge to escape from routine present made me a drama writer, who is simultaneously working on two stories. Both would not end in mind, but screenplay born out of overthinking would be potent enough to numb the present. Adding more air to the bubble of past and sucking every drop of hope that future could hold onto seems to be an art human has mastered while going through evolutionary process.
Or maybe mind wanted a high without consuming any substance. So mind began creating a cocktail of timelines.This episode made me ask a few questions to self.
Am i living my life?
Am just busy hijacking the moment with memories and imaginations?
Do we spend most of our times thinking about life, trying to predict outcomes, making ourselves believe that good is already gone and there is no chance it can recur ?
Do we subconsciously prevent ourselves from experiencing something new or unknown?
I am sure this has happened with many of you and many times. It is still happening without you even realising it.
The drama won't end easily. But being aware of the drama may always help.
Blood drips from the wound as if pain crying in relief
you were on my speed dial,
while i topped your missed call charts,
saw things were falling, still hope was in denial,
while you were busy building a life apart,
i gave up my flight to make you walk again,
and after a few steps, you shunned my hand,
pushing me aside like an unwanted end,
not bothering to look back,
leaving me wounded in pain.
You taught me pain,
and i booed it.
You gave me a scar,
and i tattooed it.
is like planting a scar.
It grows into memories,
memories give back more pain.
Applause echo in flashback,
silence stares at me,
frozen shoulder hangs on broken back,
while toes dare me a ballet
if pain was a heart,
memory had to be its heartbeat,
heartbreaks too have a heart beat.
A fresh wound found a home, besides a burried one,
a matured scar found a younger self, it could mother.
It was their first meeting,
amid tired emotions,
just after all water was shed.
Scar said, “I am your future, but we both are the same…
…i am pregnant with memory and you are with pain”
Wound said, ” Maybe, but i feel we are different…
…i came as a guest and you grew up in this home”
Scar said, “A grave doesn’t grow….
…but memories do return to pay respects.”
“Not in flowers, but with tears.”
an inch below the scar,
wrapped in a clot,
on a nerve serving the heart.
But on somedays…
pain changes sides,
tearing the day,
into series of dark phases,
nerve is trampled,
and heart pounds heavy.
A desperate attempt follows,
palms holding up,
as if gating the mind,
from the escape.
Finally a cry erupts,
with silent tears,
to ease off the tremors,
followed by a hope,
that pain doesn’t wake up.