Skip to main content

You and I and Blood


In this haunted night, I want to confess my realisation. The person hurts you the most, who you love the best. The hard tears are crawling from my right coners. My nose is getting a bath. Unwanted bath. An ooze made it all happen. I am wanting to care least and trying to get busy. I hope I shall succeed. I want to make the person cry for me. I want to cut the flesh of the person. I want to fry the person. I want the person to brush into salty sand. I think I'm bloated and something is stuck inside the lining of my throat. I'm lying crooked in my bed. Right side turned. My neck is paining. It is numb, the way I'm. The way my feelings are getting. The glass window is moving, I can hear the shriek sounds sometimes. But I waited, did the person ever notice? I want happiness, joy, laughter. Did the person notice? All the person can do is encircle the flaws of era and me. I want to slap.
Myself. For thinking everything worthwhile. . . My drooping eyes is the remembrance to a shadow fight.

Comments

  1. AnonymousJanuary 30, 2024 at 5:51 AM

    Nice thought. Can do more with the language. Reads like the ramblings of a 12 year old teen because of the language. Can be improved.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A City that Never Called

When I was in my late teens, I wished to walk down the streets of my city. The city of joy, Kolkata or maybe Calcutta. Apparently, it remained a wish, which did not get a chance to turn to reality. Although, Kolkata is a reality to others. But for me it is surreal. A place, away from my daily business. Even though, I belong here. Roamed to and fro from where I did my master's. Kolkata never called me. It never asked my hands for a stroll, and that is unfortunate to me. Unseen remained as it is. Being mysteriously aloof at this point in life. Made me pen this write-up without a purpose in mind. Pardon my purposelessness. But I assure you, that this will nonetheless confront your relationship with your city. Does Kolkata unfailingly have to throw at us a purpose? If yes, then why? Why can't we walk on its heart without a reason? Either Sun or rain always punctures my plans and urge. Especially, Mr. Rain. It caused me what not. Or is it me the reason behind not pushing myself to ...
Post a Comment
Read more

I Got My Back

You cannot find me anywhere, Hold on, are you trying to reach out? I must warn you from doing that. I shall never return, To whom I was not, To which I failed to become. I am the hush between collapsing stars, The echo’s echo in abandoned halls. Once flesh, once name, once need . . . now mist, An afterthought the dusk forgot to list. Why do you seek me in ruins and rhyme, Threading your breath through the seams of time? I unstitched my shadow from memory’s shawl, And walked backward through silence, leaving no call. I am not the voice you remember in June, Nor the ghost that wept by the spill of the moon. Your yearning is kindling for a long-dead flame, But ash has no longing, and dust bears no name. Would you summon a wind to cradle the storm? Would you weave warmth into what was never warm? I, a figment of what never fully awoke, Am beyond the grasp of regret you invoke. Do not knock on the door of the undone, Where twilight and sorrow bleed into one. I reside...
2 comments
Read more

Tint and Shade

Nights make me realize why I was born. The purpose lies so clean, so sheer, I almost see the parallel universe. Am I writing or just at some slumber party in that other world, wrapped in cosmic silk, laughing with my forgotten selves? It sounds flaky, I know. But it's a glass-skin kind of realization, translucent, impossible, almost unachievable. Still, it clings to me. My monochromatic musings must have been tedious for you. I know I become I-centric. But what else can I do? Somebody has to speak my language. Somebody has to understand me. Somebody has to be my spokesperson. Because there was absolutely no one when I was dragged through the bumpy, unpaved road trip of life. Believe me when I say life asked to see me naked. And not metaphorically. It was a demand, a confrontation, raw and unrelenting. So under the elusive canopy of night, when most lives fold neatly into silence, I felt the spectral tug of existence. Not in the noisy glare of day, but in the gossamer hours when tim...
Post a Comment
Read more