SOME DAYS

some days you are more
than just a memory,
some days you are
a mirage with no trick
to catch,
some days you are as
hazy as our first kiss,
some days you grow
in my chest like a
pelting pain,
some days it's easier to
look at you with eyes closed,
some days i melt
under your skin,
some days i fear
your departure,
some days you leave me
notes with no love,
some days i scoup
from your fantasies,
some days I am as
delusional as your existence,
some days, you come closer
with no intent,
                                                                                some days I see you
                                                                                sitting on the moon,
                                                                                some days I breathe heavy
                                                                                catching hold of
                                                                                nothing more than my
                                                                                own forgiven conscience
                                                                                and that's when i know    
                                                                                that some days i dream
                                                                                a little too hard.

Image Credits : Artidote 

//Behind your Back//

how many times have you gone back 
to scratching your old wounds?
Healed, they stay there
reflecting a forgone time
of lost consciousness
and drunken amazement,
here you are
sitting and loitering
back in a time
that passed away in seconds
walking on a path full of
wet sand and cranky winds
they begin to define you now
and yet
you go back to it
for the kind of solace
that only makes you drop
down your shoulders
till world itself
rejects you sorry apologies
and half dead attempts
to go on in life.
How long?
                                                                      how long have you been
                                                                      waiting with your eyes shut
                                                                      for your tears to push through
                                                                      and take a final fall of resistance ,
                                                                      to sit adamant on your dried skin
                                                                      and lie unassisted
                                                                      on your curling heart,
                                                                      it bleeds no more?
                                                                      are you listening?
                                                                      to those murmurs
                                                                      slow whispers,
                                                                      thrilling silences;
                                                                      they still talk about you
                                                                      only this time
                                                                      behind your back.

image- @pinterest 

MEMOIRS

I have memoirs within me, they unfurl when I travel alone, noticing and un-noticing many that pass by. Sometimes they belong to me so I smile engendering memories we shared and bred together. I click and click till they blink their eyes and vanish but then there are those I don't know, those new to my existence, those who pass by without smiles and warmth, those who are busy making memories with their own people, those who have their own clicks, those who have their own memoirs. Those who don't belong to me and yet every time I travel alone they pass by me and it clicks.

Image - Pinterest 

HE MADE MY VEINS

I have unmade veins, they are a mix of green and blue, traveling through whatever little is left of me. They are no maps to where my intention lies, they are his doing, he made them to find my own ways, ingesting hollowing smoke into them, puncturing my flesh, oh! there is none left. They spread among the redishness of my burnt skin, he often leaves his traces down where he travels. You won't find me, I am lost within my own veins.


Image- Pinterest 

WOMEN TO NAME NO SCARS AFTER

I call myself a man with open wounds, fresh air and sun fills up my entrails with love and loathe, blood rushing to the ends. I have no women to name these scars after and yet I have them evidently placed under my sleeve, that's where all of them left their slippery kisses hidden to reconcile with in times ahead. None of them returned. I drew a line every time she left me with a staying smile and then in no time I had too many to sustain. It was to remember the number of kisses I got in a lifetime, the number of women who left a part of their existence with me, the number of women who moved on without taking them back but it was too late to realize that my number of scars long proceeded the number of women who unloved me.

image - @Pinterest 

HAVE YOU EVER FLOWN ?

When I read, I fly off to unknown places. There are no people really, just characters, many of whom I like and connect with, many of whom I have despised, but then there are those I have fallen in love with. I look at them and they smile knowing that I know them, inside out, belonging to them. They know that they have my attention and have captured my soul, it has been long now. I feel freer than before knowing that they acknowledge my presence. Their gallantry and heart amazes me and I want to be like them, call them my own, represent them. I travel with them to places, breathing in the experiences alike. They are not just a fainting memory, they are much more than that. They are the ones I remember and smile myself to for having read good literature.
Have you ever flown?

image - Pinterest 

MORNING SUN

Do you feel it? The way I do, the morning sun peeking through my half open window and un-ordered blue curtains. A landscape is my morning ritual. Do you feel the soggy rays falling on your dry skin, finding its space, settling. Do you feel it needing acknowledgement through your sealed eyes, you flicker and it rushes with all the warmth it sustains. Do you feel it sitting on your parched lips, open from last night's sleep. Do you see it forming beautiful messages on your body. Do you feel it befriending your slow exhausted smile. Do you feel the morning sun the way I do?

Image - Pinterest