Undoing hurt

To love is easy,
as easy as it is to hurt.

Difficult is to unhurt an aching soul
,to undo a bitter wound.

for no love can compensate the pain
that a hurt can give. 

चीखें

खामोशियो के सन्नाटे में

गूंजती हैं ये चीखें :

चीखें जिनसे मैं बना हूँ |

सबसे तेज चीख तो सत्य की होती है :

उसे अनसुना कर मैं कहता हूँ - 

"अरे यह सन्नाटा क्यों हैं ?"

~

जिसे मंज़िल समझ चला था

वहां ना कुछ था न कुछ है - 

बस, चाहतों की छल-भरी आहटें |

की कभी इधर चलना है, तो कभी उधर

भटकते राहों के बाहों से निकलकर

कभी जीना सीखा है मैंने ?

#31415

It is a chilly morning. They gave me a blanket : more like a vomited on, shagged on, spitted on rug. That's how I know the weather. But, that is not what I am troubled about - it is the chill within that is killing me. It starts from the sole of my left foot and travels upwards, branching to hit my right hip which I had once fractured in a bar brawl, until it reaches my skull and seems to disperse like water from a stunted hose pipe. Of course it does not feel like water - It feels like acid, like hot iron on butter. I am sick.

I am in a 2.5x2.5x1.0 feet box. Do you know what that means ? It means I cannot quite lie down without licking the wounds on my knee and I cannot quite sit up without smelling my stinking crotch. I cannot stretch, or stand, or jump, or even shout -  I do not like my scream  : it does not sound like me any more. I cannot see. There is no light - I realize now, on being deprived, that the rays of sun, which we take for granted,  bring hope from the center of the galaxy. I can only smell - vomit, blood, feces and others i have no vocabulary for.

Every day they open a slider and hand me a bowl of foul smelling soup and bread. And they open the same slider again - for 5 minutes. That's the time I have to take my shit. If I miss that, I get to live with it. A'int it like the shit we have in our life ? There's always that slider that opens for only that much time - if you miss it, the shit stays with you, probably forever.

I designed all of this.

I wanted to be here. You see, I am an addict. And the heroin is my seductress. Oh! how i miss her. Each chill, each shiver, each cramp is her message to me, her enticing arms, her warm and deep embrace.

She fucked me.

No. I fucked me. Over and Over.

Thus I'm here.

I am a rich man you see. That's how I can afford this setup. I will be out tomorrow. And I will be clean. 3 months in this box - i have kinda started loving her. The first month was the worst. Or so I thought. It never got better. But I still love her. She has made me clean.

These shivers are like the last attempts of the hunted gazelle to live - the last dance of a beheaded chicken.

Tomorrow it shall end.

Its like swimming from the depth of the ocean to the surface - Oh! its so magnificent ! I can see a thousand suns - Oh! Its so beautiful, I had lost my memory of the sun - its so brilliant. I swim faster, fighting gravity - the sun becomes brighter, it is smiling as I come to hug it. Oh! the surface is so close I can see the waves - I am almost there. Finally I can breathe-

Ahhhhhh!

Have they set my box on fire ? But I told them to do that after I was out ! Ahhh! My skin! Its burning. I cannot see - Is this my end ? Is this death ? Its an angry death - to die burning. I would prefer drowning - i would prefer to die cold. I cannot live - I am burning - Ahh! I die now.

"Yes Sir", said a neatly dressed soldier, who carried with him a Kalashnikov - it was a beautiful machine.

"Oh, its Arnold", I thought smiling.

"He is #31415", said the soldier to the 3 parole officers seated in front.

They looked down at the papers, startled - I think they did not understand the language. They were discussing something - probably the plot of a movie they saw last night.

"Do you want Parole ? You just have to say it, it is not so difficult you see. You have overstayed your term by five years now. Asshole", said the young one seated at the center. "Harvard", said my right lobe. "Yale, you fool", said the left, to which I agreed.

"Fuck Parole. Gimme a cigarette", I said smiling.

 I was hopeful again. I could feel the rays on me. I had it all planned. It pisses them off you see - my smile.

"Send him away", barked the officer.

Multiple Homicide - 2 families : each with 5 members. Every one killed - decapitated. Even the 1 year old. 

In the End

In the end :

When everything else is gone

As it will

What will be left is just You.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So Love yourself.

Tears

And when all the tears have teared

down the valleys and gorges : 

navigating the crevices of my

stricken face in darkness -

~

I ask myself - "What was it ?"

Grief? Pain? Angst?

Fear? Hope? Love?

Lust? Death? Life?

~

When all the tears have teared

down the resistance that was my heart - 

and brimmed, shimmering in the light.

Boiling broth burning my form.

~

I ask myself - What for ?

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Stifled voices of my soul

finding resonance in nothingness.

~

When all the tears have teared

to a dry patch : leaving

the eyes like a pyre to burn alone.

Heart-y incense.

~

I laugh - or my soul does

while my stricken face stares into nothing

and the thoughts carry the nothingness

into words that you can read.

Ramblings on love

Between the ebb and tide

of the heaving heart - 

the lover of mine, makes me

die, makes me live, makes me cry, makes me high

~

Between the moments that pass

between the moments-

this love of mine rents me

tears me down, builds me up and raises me

~

Between the gaps of my tooth - 

whispering winds whisper -

this love of mine kills me,

 breathes me, makes me, breaks me

~

Between every second,

every heaving of my heart

every healing of my soul-

this love of mine - does its miracle through me

~

Between you and me,

the countless I's:

they die. This love of mine still

is mine, and mine alone. 

I like these words of me

I like the sweet words:

I speak to me-

Not oft do I:

but it is the sweetest.

~

Dripped in joy,

soaked in contentment

its a voice speaking through me:

but not my mouth.

~

I like these sweet words:

I speak to me:-

they whisper of dreams

of ships of planes of floors and ceilings

~

I like these words of me:-

these words that make me smile

~

I like these words of me:-

these words that make me me.

~

Photo Courtesy :- http://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com/

Dream On

It is not an MIT or Princeton or a UC - its Maine University - the last university whose decision was pending - It came on 21st March, a month before my birthday - They want me.

Its a journey that began 2 years back - a journey to study Maths : A journey that brought in contact with Ayesha - a fellow traveler along the same route. Our fates were entangled, and so were our lives. Today, both of us hold an offer letter to the same University.

The first things that crossed my mind when Ayesha called me to tell us we both got offers from the same University - I do not remember - I was sleeping after having meds for cold and fever. But I am sure it was disbelief.

Later on - its significance dawned - half way across the globe were a set of mathematicians who reviewed our applications and deemed us fit not only for studying maths but also for teaching maths.

We have both faced the same questions - Why Maths ? More so for Ayesha - Why Maths after a masters in Economics ? Most institutions in India deemed her ineligible - because the criteria for education is degree - not passion.

Individually, we dreamed the dream to study maths : together, we dreamed the dream to study maths together - today is the first step towards that dream. What the future holds, no one knows - it was not an easy journey so far - it was, but, a fulfilling one - a remarkable one, it will not be an easy journey hence.

But, at the bottom of it, is the Universal language - The language of dreams - spoken in soft corners of the mind and seen in the crevices of the shell that breaks through to light.

Dream On

Untitled

Some things never change. 

When i was 74 kilos, I felt fat. Now I am 92 kilos. I still feel fat. 

2 years back my life was in shambles. 2 years on I know i have come a long way. The fight will never end. 

They called me fat before, and they do so now. 

It affected me then, it affects me now. 

Some things never change. 

~

People will make fun of others. Fun of their looks, their ways, their attitude.

People with grit will always move on. Always.

There will always be something in you that some one other can criticize.

There will always be a beautiful you, a you that is you. 

Some things never change. 

~

I have not always lived for what i believe, but i have tried : I will not always live for what I believe, but i will try.

I have hated me for the opinions i keep for myself : I still do 

I have fought to change my life, and I always will

I have expressed the way I feel, and i always will.

Some things never change.

~

But I will always do :

I will love me, because I am important to me

I will chase my dreams, because without them there is no me

I will hold me, because there is always a way

I will do anything for me : and I need no reason for that. 

Some things never change.

~

But

There are many things that can be changed.

Anger

Anger runs in my family. Repressed emotions fly out like steam from a kettle. I do not know anyone who has not felt anger at one point of his/her life.

It is a tremendous feeling, if observed and not acted upon. I am angry right now. The reason is not important. The fact that i can view it from a third person view is amazing. I can feel it burning through the insides of me. I decided to write because unexpressed emotions tend to make me low, and i do not want to be low.

It is like this beast sitting inside of me trying to pounce at anything. What is the best way to let go this anger ? Does it not have to be expressed in some form or the other ? Or does it need to be replaced. As i am typing, i am trying to smile and take deep breaths, hoping it will help. Writing is helping. But, that too is expression right ? But it is a positive expression - it is an analysis, a study and not a reaction.

To be so intensely aware of anger - it is so true that anger is represented by fire, by something loud - because my insides are on fire and I feel like the only way to get rid of it is by doing something loud. Instead, i am able to contain myself to my quilt.

It is not entirely impossible for people to do unbelievable things in anger - it is powerful. Lust fuels longing and listlessness, anger fuels fire and urgent need for action.

It is a remarkable experience I am having with my anger. But I have had enough now. I will try and dim the cause, which is a television glaring with current politics discussion. :)

Frozen and Scared

Stuck in snow, in sand, in marsh :

marshmallows are over, sorry. 

frozen and scared:

cold meat in cold basement.

Whats there in your basement ?

Enough firewood to see it through ?

frozen and scared:

Look back - but to what ?

Whats there inside of you ?

Stripper - strip it out. 

frozen and scared:

like peas in poly bags.

What screams within -

Death ? Death ? Death ?

frozen and scared:

That's how the dead lie.

Nothing to look back to.

a dream to march to.

tears to shed and sweat to burn

you have no time to lay

frozen and scared.

Cry now, child. 

Let it go.