Tuesday, 25 June 2013

I wonder what happens when
The light hugs the darkness
And the smile kisses the tears
Who melts into whom?
Does the darkness grow lighter
Does the light become dark?
Does the smile turn away the tears?
Or do the tears leave a mark?

And what happens when a person is in love
And the other is not quite so
Who decides whether it’ll reach an end?
Or it’ll be love forever for both?

I don’t see how these things mix
When opposites come to interact
From different ends of the city
And from far away points in the mind
To bring to each other
What the other has never seen
And become for each other
What they have otherwise never been.



Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Painting

I have the perfect painting in my hand
With all the right strokes, from all the correct angles
The figures are beautifully made
And the shades are just right
The paints mix in the ideal way
And it’s neither too dark nor too bright,
I love it when I look at it
I miss it when I look away,
My perfect painting

Then you come along
You show me how one stroke is wrong
And how I missed an angle by 5 degrees
That figure has a hand too big, and that nose doesn't look too real
How a pink would have been better than red there
And how it’s a little lighter than it should be
And I know you are right
It is not perfect
But I would have loved you more
If you would have just let it be.

Saturday, 8 June 2013

The worst taste in the world
is not of curry with too much salt
Or of coffee with no sugar
Not of a chocolate
when you eat it
an year after it’s expiry
Or of your chicken when it is undercooked
The worst taste isn’t of a bitter vegetable
that was churned and churned
to get a bright green juice
to heal your upset stomach

The worst taste is
of anger
as you swallow it deep down
Where it stays
longer than
you want it to
And of its little pieces
that stay in your mouth
with a taste that lingers
just to torture you.
Sitting on a bean bag
placed on my balcony
With the sound of my favorite music
playing in the background
And my annoying little brother
trying to correct every single word I write.
But still I write.

Because from where I’m looking
the building right in front of me
is as tall as my hand
And the person
walking on the road
is not even one finger tall

So I sit
and measure everything
from where I’m seated
The trees, the cars
And I try to look at tiny little smiles
But people are just too damn far

And I think of other places
where I can see the world
through such different eyes
Wondering
why I don’t go there
more often.


Thursday, 6 June 2013

I want to write a poem on wet mud
Not flowers, or love, or how I feel
But just on plain wet mud

Because to my eyes it reminds
Of the delicious color
Of my favorite chocolate

And to my nose, the favoritist smell in the world
A scent that gives
Such immense, such intense joy

To my mind it brings back memories
Of rainy days
And of those childhood times well spent
Wrapped in mud
Dancing and laughing

It reminds me of the earth
Where everything comes from
And will go one day

Wet mud
Because when I take it in my hand
It can become anything I want
A snake, a pot, a clown
Wet mud
And how it gives life
To all the beautiful trees I love

And I realize
That I have stared at the sky too often
And too long
looking at the stars
And thinking of places where I don’t belong
And now
I stare at this mud
And I know it’s there
I can touch it, feel it, smell it, see it
And as I touch and smell and see
I somehow become
Closer to me.
I hold a record for falling in love
With people
Whom I’ve never looked in the eye
And being so far away from them
That we never even shared
The same air

And because I never knew them as people
I dug as much as I could from afar
For more things about them
That I could love with all my heart
But more often than not
I just fell for a piece of them
Just one single part

Like the guy I loved because I loved his voice
And the jingle in his laugh
The way all words sounded
So much more beautiful
As they came out of his lips
And so it didn’t matter to me what he said
Because I was already in a daze

I loved another two or three
For the thoughts they had
The way their words would rhyme as they spoke
Like every sentence shared its heart with the other
And like words got a whole new meaning
And I was but a student
Trying to learn their magical art

I hold a record for falling in love
With people
So deeply and with all my heart
But loving none except a single part
A soothing voice, a magical soul
But never a person, never a whole
I just know how to love just one part
Maybe that is why I know of love
Only from afar.