grief

Grief, it seems, is a private affair — celebrate in public, mourn in private. It stays, breathing with you, a lingering sense of tiredness accompanying it. The ritual of an end.

Why does it feel disassociating, destabilising? Yet, it seems solid and tangible, like a bag of metallic balls weighing you down, the cold taste of metal lingering on your tongue. One, a high; the other, a low — yet both are highs, both lows, a matter of perspective, perhaps.

Happiness is light, frothy, ethereal, and web-like — like cotton candy. Grief, a rain-drenched bed sheet, cold and heavy.

Faithful. Grief, I suppose, walks alongside you — a silent presence as you journey through

it’ll be okay

Are things crumbling and collapsing into disarray, with entropy carrying out the inevitable as I write this?

Life seems to be flying by, yet slow — really slow, sometimes even agonisingly so.

A dozen and a half trivialities. There’s this sense of tiredness that pervades my being. Sometimes, I feel like I’m on the brink of exhaustion. It’s getting tiring — holding on — yet I keep going. Keep going every single day.

Acutely aware of all that has happened. Life’s reality, at times, seems intense — painfully so, real and tangible.

Something tugs at my heart, mourning for something that was — a garden now reduced to ruins

It’s getting a little too cold. Pour a cup of tea?

the ordinary everyday

It’s intriguing how sometimes something so mundane becomes a part of our everyday. There was this little blue bag that I took along on all my grocery runs. – a loyal companion, it was always there by my side.

It’s been a week now since I lost it. I believe I had it with me during an errand last weekend when it simply slipped off my shoulder. I was sad later that day when I realised that it was gone.

But I’m okay now. Today, I took another bag with me on an errand run. I suppose we, as humans, adapt to our circumstances.

hollow

recently, I had this conversation with an old acquaintance

and all throughout I felt uncomfortable. the feeling didn’t go away post call. something just didn’t sit right. something was off and I couldn’t put my finger on it

then it struck me. the conversation. the whole setup
it felt transactional

fragments

gooey and mushy

drawing lines

P.S. Old scribble circa 2019. Monotony was served for lunch everyday back then. Though I don’t have vivid memories of how grey and bland things were in that brief (brief) window of time. But when I look back at these scribbles, it makes me wonder. Life really is like a sine curve. Undulating.

Like they say, this too shall pass. It stands true.

P.P.S. That period of time, though bleak it was, it made me more resilient. Patient.

Sometimes you don’t realise what’s happening around you, with you, when you’re in the thick of things. It’s only in the wake of the event that you’re able to grasp how it changed you. Made you stronger (or so I hope).

tea, please

my hands were freezing,
the heart growing cold

I longed for some warmth
a cup of tea,
or perhaps a warm embrace

pour a cup of tea?

P.S. was watching this turkish movie and the guy held a warm cup of tea on a rainy eve, he had this faraway look in his eyes. he seemed sad, lonesome and lovesick. and my heart reached out to him

despondency, where do you hide in company?

it was a sunday morning, two weeks after moving to bangalore. my flat mates had gone out for the weekend. I woke up and found myself all alone in that house. I remember making a late breakfast, a boiled egg and some noodles. it had been a little after noon, and this feeling hit me like a truck. it was intense. I remember it not being so pleasant, but I was curious. I had never experienced anything like that before. I tried to deconstruct it. I sat there at the kitchen table for a bit, just soaking it in. trying to comprehend the strange, new feeling. just when I was settling in, something distracted me. maybe the ping of a notification on my phone, I forget. I moved on to watching some tv show and soon that feeling faded away, it faded away into the background

had a weird day today. today, reminds me of that day

I think I miss people. I’d be in my own bubble but sit nestled among everyone. just being a fragment of the hustle bustle around

P.S. it was my first time living away from home. the first time I encountered loneliness in its real form. not a familiar face in sight. it was a fleeting experience, the loneliness I experienced in those few moments. the trance soon broken off by a digital ping

adrift

you’ve drifted away,
I can see it in your eyes

you search for another when you look into mine

you aren’t here, love
not anymore

not anymore, love
no more

who do you tell the stories to

I like words. The way they sound.

A friend had asked, ‘why do you write?’

I think the desire to express, to be heard is human. I wrote my first poem when I was eight. At least that’s the one I vividly remember. It was for a friend who was moving away. 

Writing is a form of expression for me. It lets me be. No expectations, no boundaries. Just raw thoughts on paper. It is liberating.

I started journaling in middle school. The notebook was a gift from my father. When I revisited those yellowed pages, I found it full of random musings, not a detailed account of my day, but rather thoughts swirling around in my head. End of high school, I picked up a domain name and started a blog. Yes, this space you see right here. A bunch of poems bundled away in some corner of the internet. It felt safe. It was my safe space. 

I write because I want to. To an outsider, the words might seem trivial, mundane even. An abstraction. Not for anyone else to comprehend, I write for myself. Something compels me to. 

It’s my form of gentle and honest observation. It helps me make sense of things. In the thick of things, I might not comprehend what is happening around me. But if I’ve documented it, in hindsight, like putting a puzzle together, it all makes sense.

It clears out the fog, an exercise in clarity.

I feel fortunate that writing found me. Words give me company. Like an old friend’s company, it feels safe. Warm and comfortable.

For as long as I have words by my side. My savior, my solace. 

how long will you hide?

quiet,
honest

hidden away

a quotidian existence