Should I?

Should I pour out my heart today,
Do I have the guts yet?
How many nights has it been now,
That I have slept without you by my side?
I have lost count of everything,
That once seemed to matter to me.
Now my whole world revolves around a single thought.
When will you be back?

I sit by the window, look at the trees,
Look at others walking down that lane,
Wasn’t it only yesterday that we did the same?
I think of unspoken nights, unspoken deeds,
How we fit the pieces of the puzzle,
To make it one whole, just like our lives,
Once wayward, without promises,
Now leading to one destination.
Now and then, when I look out into the street,
I see you and me walking, hand in hand,
I see you smiling at me, my life in your hands,
And you hold it close to yourself.

You’ve given meaning to my life,
Only to be away for so long,
And this is getting unbearable, for it has been,
It has been way too long without you.
I sit by the window, waiting for you,
When will you be back?

Teen At Heart

My nineteenth name-day, I sit and stare,
Into the skies above, counting the stars,
I could tell you and you wouldn’t believe,
But yesterday we danced in my dream.
I think of the day when three years ago,
My father, ever so angry with me,
Kicked me out, and I had nowhere to go,
Save your arms, and you, and our love.
Do you remember how we danced,
In the rain of the first monsoon?
It was as if I was living a dream,
But the reality soon harshly banged on me.
I’ll never forget the night,
When you were molested to death,
For my wrongdoings, oh, how much I hate myself.
I pleaded to them, took the blame on self,
Even returned everything I stole,
But they only laughed,
Gripping you in their arms,
Your face still shining, thinking I’d do something.
And you should know,
Though you never saw,
I revenged you, my sweet love,
I killed them each, one by one,
Three times my fingers were red.
I had let my people down,
But I wasn’t sad or upset for it,
I did what I did, and I am not ashamed,
Because I did it for you, my love.

Two Worlds

I kept walking though I knew,
I had lost my way a while ago,
But the crowd moved so heavily,
And in such vast numbers they walked,
That even if I wanted,
It was too late to turn back.
But then I suddenly saw your hair,
And though you were quite far,
I thought I might make it to you,
If I cut through the people,
And purge towards you,
But then you disappeared.
The sun was right over my head,
I, too tired to walk any further,
But were I to stand I would be,
Stamped and trampled by others,
So never stopping or missing a beat,
I walked the path everyone took.
No one seemed to care where it was going,
As long as there were others on it,
They had a belief in each other,
But looked at me with wary eyes.

Suddenly there was a fire,
And everyone started running in all directions,
I was lost,
The people I held faith in were all gone,
Every time I followed a path,
It divided into two and there were,
People on both the paths.
There was no road less taken,
And not one not taken,
All were stuffed, like raisins in a cake,
Finally we reached a river,
And some of us rowed a boat to the other side,
We will start a new world now,
And though now you aren’t there,
Though I can’t see you anymore,
I know somewhere,
You’ll start a new world too,
And maybe one day,
Our worlds would meet.

Hot Winds

Hot winds blow today. Fiercely. Ever more than before.

As I sit inside my room, a copy of “A Storm of Swords” in hand, which does not seem to end, I wonder of the future. I have been trying to finish the books of late, so that I may overtake the series on television, but to fail. Yet the summer outside presses it in, chaining me to my room, leaving me with no more options than to read and write. I sit in an unknown city, and through the verandah peer at unknown faces. They don’t bear smiles for me, neither glares. Absent emotions, they move about robotically. I go back inside the house. The roof presses its entire heat into the room, so much that the air conditioner doesn’t succeed in cooling it. That was one town where I lived ago. Now I live here, trying to make this as much of a home as the former.

Delhi, the capital of my country. I was not so excited coming here, for pain of loss of friends stings deep to those who have but a few. Yet now I confine myself to the city of Westeros and its problems, forgetting mostly the issues and problems dwelling around me, pressing ever as a box full of books does to the thinnest book at the bottom. Time has much changed since the last time I wrote of home. My notes date that as 17th December 2011, seems a lifetime before. Jamshedpur remains but a fond memory, longing to visit it, in dreams as well as in reality. Soon I will be there though.

College has but ended. I can call myself a graduate now. Yet leaving the city where I spent three and a half years of plentiful life, seems to burden me with more grief than I can partake in. The last goodbyes, knowing I would never meet them again. It seems so queer now that they were people from all parts of the country, heck, from all parts of the world, and that when they return to their homes almost a universe away, the only solace I would find is by pinging them on Whatsapp or looking up their new profile pictures on Facebook, glimpsing at how much their lives have changed since we last met.

I should be happier, I know that, deep inside somewhere. I did not fare that bad after all. Finished off with a decent score in college, made quite a number of good friends, but alas, I had thought the same four years ago, and where are those friends now? Remnants of them remain, like the left over crumbs of the bread a crow ate up, slowly yet fully. I have a job now, I am employed. It’s a big company and their work is big too, affects a lot of people. I should be happy my work will affect so many people, but alas, they’ll never know I have changed their lives for the better, or for the worse, I don’t know; thinking about it now makes me both happy and sad, like two faces of the same coin, fallen on the street amidst dust, never to be looked at again, unless perchance someone kicks it, and then lifts it up, dusts it down and keeps it in his wallet.

I want to tell people I will miss them. There are those who I’ve talked to and known for four years now, but still refrain from bidding goodbyes. Why do I do that? Just to keep people stood up to the notion that I am not sentimental, and forever a stoic, when in reality, I am but nothing of that sort? I don’t know. Questions forever bewilder me. What will I do now? What my future holds for me, I have no idea. Am I supposed to make one of my own, or only embrace whatever comes my way?

Hot winds blow. They remind me of summer now. Summer days in school, when we would rush to the kiosk at recess, buying Coke and clanking bottles. And then go back to class. So many promises we did make on the last day of school. This one friend, just stopped talking, and never told me why she was upset. I still need an answer, one that I will never get. I have been but long forgotten. Summer. Reminds me of the long vacations, and trips to relatives. How small I was then, with nothing much of import to take part in. Only if I could go back there, and sit, like an idle guy, just sit. Reminds me of the coaching classes too, ones I took in order to get into a good university. Wouldn’t comment on that; I am happy with what I got out of it. No complaints, yet, sometimes, I wish I could complain a little more.

The rains will come in soon. And with that, everything would turn better, as it always has.

Abyss 4

There appeared a hole, a narrow deep one,
And inquisitive enough about what it would be,
I started delving into it.
I went deeper and deeper inside it, deep into the abyss,
Until I found myself in a place,
Where winters never existed.
I didn’t know where I was, except that,
I knew no one around me knew that either,
We all came from somewhere we couldn’t remember,
And settled around this fire, the fire of death.

I saw this small guy, who said he died the same day,
How he died he didn’t know, and little did he know,
That I knew how he did.
He clasped my hand, and asked me to take him back,
Through the same hole that I came inside through.
I agreed, but when I turned around,
The hole was nowhere to be seen.
Only a sick laugh surrounded us, a laughter of cries,
Saying what’s gone is gone.

Colors of his life, colors of my life,
Turned then from white to black,
And whilst we sat thinking how we’d go back to life,
Someone pushed me and I woke up to a horror,
It’s two years now, where are you?