Sunday, May 11, 2008

Today

first hit me in the garb of an
early morning fart from
father and shot me out of bed
unawake, snatching at residues of
7 a.m. half dreams.

*

was another hatechain.
i wrote hatepoems inside my head
for someone, a chance break for mother,
(and guess what day it is)
and laughed at his childishness later,
hating myself for smiling about
people i choose to hate.

*

i discovered a bald patch and
wished all todays would do me a
favour and end,
but not yesterdays nor the idea of tommorows
and never
3-years-agos

*

i lied about God and wrote him
a note saying: "Dear God,
i don't think i would've liked you much if
you did exist."

*

i washed the heat off
my nape
and felt my wet hair drip
on my bare back
for a little longer than
a prostitute can
afford an orgasm.

*

i didnt nap for i was
afraid i'd cry
pools in my dream i'd
cry pools i thought silly me.

*

hasn't ended yet

*

i felt like an old man without his grand-daughter
though I'm still a teenager with
a need for brassieres , and have never wanted
a child of my own.

*


i realized that i've grown up a little
due to this city with its share
of madwomen at bus stands,
and lack of starlight or clarity.
making sense was never this easy

*

i didn't fall in love

*

was an empty box of crayons,
or an empty bowl of soup i
sat picking at the insides of, with nothing but digestive tablets
to indulge in, but after a while
i felt some greys crawl under my nails.
its never truely colour, or complete lack of it
greys always crawl in much closer.


*

i wished the sky would unhinge itself and
blow me a kiss or blow a spine into me or just simply
spit, goddammit.

*

i wrote another note
this one said: "Dear God,
i don't think
you would've liked me much if
you existed"
and hoped he cant read
thought-notes in this language.

*

i laughed at myself and refused to admit
that this shell is safer than not-quite-rights, for
a change.

*

i just made up stories or spat out strings of hackneyed
words trying to make up for the
waste it was, and look
this wound up as a waste too

*

is not an end either.

10 comments:

Sayan said...

Oh yes,it hit.

Aruni RC said...

Greys always creep in. And I've always thought the sky to be the visor, behind which smirks an uncaring, impersonal Providence.
Heh, whatever. Always like the poetry: thank god it's not the usual green grass and blue skies of May!

littleblackstar said...

one must feel guilty
while penning poetry
for they intrude into my
private space
more than yours
exploding every myth
exposing every flaw
that chanced to crawl
under bitter carpets
or were pushed there
on some summer noon

Lucid Darkness said...

nDid you look around and at yourself during the day, and watch the sun change its colours and run away?

Did you smile, knowing that you were not one meant for words, but for letting them reach the Ocean floor while being caressed in your nebulous mind?

Did you weep, feeling the sorrow that befits the dewdrop dissipating into the summery air?

Did you laugh, triumphant of the death that you embraced?

Did you think, that this is not the end, merely in itself, but in a riot of mysterious alluring greys that spill onwards to new beginnings?

But of course, you did, otherwise you wouldn't have written this, would you?

Ah... too many questions. Hehe.

little boxes said...

i cried reading this one...
beautiful

Opaline said...

I really liked this despite my usual dislike of blog poetry. Liked the first and third speshly much.

Doubletake, Doublethink. said...

today i didn't fall in love, either.

Running in circles. said...

<3

weevil girl said...

thankyouall.

@arunima and bdc- :')

@opaline- you did? why thanks so much!

@priyanka- so -samepinch-

<3

Jadis said...

I've absolutely no idea why or how I missed this one.


It made me weep.

Atleast today is locked in today. Atleast.