Tongue runs cold
words freeze on its tip,
neither melting their way back to heart,
nor diving off the lip,
voice rises retreats like an impatient wave beneath the throat.
There is another world around the clavicle,
a volcano desperate to erupt,
throw up all the lava,
crushing the icebergs,
before diving of the lips,
dragging a scream along.
And the moment passes…
All the lava drowns in my veins,
burning the heart,
smoking the lungs.
My eyes go blank after the calamity inside,
and just then someone asks
i say, “nothing, just choked..”
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.
seconds are outgrowing minutes,
minutes are distracting hours,
hours are tiring days,
days are reducing months to weekends,
months are forgetting seasons amd stealing years,
years are comsuming your life,ageing you,
you think you can control life with reminders amd alarms
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.
I felt a bit of something everyday,
it went on for years,
all i have is outdated feelings,
people, situations and time have outgrown them.
A soul without body ain't a life,
and feelings without expression aren't emotions
Let me breathe pain,
hold back tides keeping tear wipes plain,
instead gulp those salts to unclog the throat,
if not quench the thirst, it would keep me afloat
The play was real without any rehearsal,
some enjoyed their tragedies,
while others remained poker faced even in the joys.
Ones who thought they were hero,
broke down after realizing their role,
ones who thought they would own the stage,
had to make peace with a guest appearance.
No one actually knew when the backstage will recall them,
dialogues were going to be important,
but silence too had a role to play.
Some got variety of roles as long as they remained clay,
while the stubborn were played by the play.
All tried to bribe the script writer for an immortal fame,
but he kept changing the actors and stage remained the same
out to find their meaning
growing thirsty for ink to meet their full stops
Seedhiyan chadhte chadhte,
seeshiyan khaali hoti rahi,
zubaan pe shehed ragadte,
choton pe gaali hoti rahi.