Come closer

I want to run my fingers on you
Like you are a piece of forbidden art
I want to hear you sing
Like it's the last voice I would ever
And while I touch you
I want to see how you reflex
I want to see how you feel
So that I know that you are for real

Undocumented version of a lost tale

This world is always crowded no matter when you board it or from where you board it. But among this crowd are individuals who are just there as unaware of someone’s presence as themselves, unaware of the fact that they are composed of same molecular structure, filled with same emotions that are simple yet utterly complex, distanced by ambitions and brought together by a common sense of fear.

And from these people a stranger would come one day to change your whole idea of happiness and rescue you to a more fragile yet serene world. And that my friend will be when you know you are doomed.

It isn’t surprising to be attracted to someone on the metro or someone in traffic fixing their hair or someone waiting in line to grab their first coffee of the day. What is more surprising is that that people fail to acknowledge their feelings, they pretend that such things are a just a form of lecherousness and are deemed to be thus shameful. But you never know that the person next to you could become the best of your friend or a partner in crime (literally) or your dog’s worst nightmare. You wouldn’t know because you would be too scared to approach or be marked as bothering or ridiculous individual or may even be ridiculed at. The only reason why humans are different from animals is that they have a more refined form of communication. So why not use it? Why not tell that woman that her hairdo is making her face more beautiful? Say things that you mean otherwise don’t say at all. Say good things because our speech has magic in it. It can make someone’s day and there is no greater happiness in seeing someone else happy. If you don’t like something don’t talk about it but if it is bothering you be polite and gentle for humans are impressionable and you do not know what happens to people behind closed doors. There is incredible amount of warmth in a stranger’s kindness and that is the only gift you could possibly give to others.

This is what a state of oblivion is. We have so much to do, most of what we aren’t even sure about and still no time for anything. If only we could see others as tales and untold stories of hate, love, passion, crime and every other emotion; maybe then we would realize how amazing or how terrifying the world is from other’s eyes. Maybe someday. Someday, when we would understand ourselves better and look beyond the comfort of our private zones. Maybe. Someday, maybe.

It's not me, but you

I am not the poet you deserve,

Nor the artist to make such splendid art,

I am not the designer to vintage,

Nor a composer of fine music or craft.

I am a tiny human

Devouring the basics of touch,

I am not kind or noblest of all,

But I am your lover.

If not forever but just now.

I am the passion to make you kiss my lips

And hold me too tight for my taste.

I am that kind of love

To take you through melodies undefined,

Even when you know no sound,

To make you question your existence

Yet savour the underlying lust.

I am that kind of desire,

Where you run recklessly in rain,

Yet not be as wet as you would be,

When you see me naked,

Or when you feel my sultry breath on your skin.

And still I am that kind of care,

When you wake up to me caressing through your hair

And you’d feel no need to wake up

And thus lie deadly bare.

But the funny thing is,

It’s not just me, in fact, it’s all you,

Who could drive me so exotically and erotically crazy.

And thus I sit here, all bare,

With nothing on me but you.

Forgotten Treasures

To be able to achieve greatness

Isn’t what we are meant to be

In such insignificance

One must look at the trivialities.

Things that are happening now

And yet are billions of times apart,

Worlds being created and destroyed,

By so called humanity’s whims and fancies.

One must look at the long lost love

And cherish why we did what we did

And imagine the possibilities of things that could happen

Or things that couldn’t have been.

But let’s not live in a world defined by the haunts of past.

Unlearn all the learning

For maybe it’s time to look into the mirror

And see the reality for once

And recognize what’s beautiful

And will only become a face of adversary if you let it.

Love yourself in the most unimaginable ways

In ways that do not happen to exist

Because only you can create fantasies

And bring them to live into utterly broken lives.

All I want to say is that,

It’s alright if something didn’t happen,

It’s alright if something in fact did.

Nothing could possibly change

So embrace what that is now

Love the only thing you have

That is you.

But still,

It’s alright if you aren’t much loved,

There are plenty who will or maybe

Just one person who does

And still, it’s alright if you are loved

You shouldn’t fear it.

It’s alright if things don’t work out

It’s alright if you love darkness

Or if you want to be sad and broken

Or if you want to be crying all day

Or if you decide to never trust

Or to never truly laugh

Or to hide behind that mask of happiness.

It’s alright if you don’t like your family

Or if you don’t appreciate kindness

Because all stories are beyond our comprehension

As at times such things don’t matter.

And although everything might hurt

It will be alright if it isn’t.

And most of all, it’s alright if nothing really is

Because time heals.

Yes it does, really.

Existence in Solitude

I do not know if I even exist

In this peaceful darkness

I can hear someone breathe

I can hear someone live

I can hear the sounds in the night

But I do not know if I even exist

It’s beautifully terrifying

The art of the night

Making us question ourselves

And life and its basics

I can feel the wind touch me

Like the October wind does

Filled with melancholia

And yet the most serene thing ever

Maybe that’s the beauty of it

Things that we do not see

Are hidden beneath the first surface of solitude

Just like in every single being

Similarly

I wonder if someone will find me

Find that I might have something underneath

Probably treasures of unknown wisdom

Or just another boring mystery

For that, maybe light the passion of darkness

Till then all I can do is probably exist

In the wake of religion

In times like these

With virtual being our release

We owe valour someday

To love ourselves in another way

Rather, in a more natural fashion

Where people wonder indomitable passion

But in a more disbelief, it frightens me

Thinking about what I’ll do

Not to conform to worldly wisdom

I’m willing to be a forgotten autumn leaf

Falling to be free

Yet only be called a liar and a thief

I am willing to meet this humble end

Among those fallen soldiers

Where in I shall lie

Unnoticed and forgotten

Only to be crushed under their feet

But let’s not let this chivalry end

And put an end to all pretend

For all I know that maybe God is a sadist

Having given us free will

He enjoys what we do

Not to ourselves but others

And he loves stories of torture

Mayhem and despoliation of humanity everyday

And maybe that’s why they believe in him

For they enjoy the pain as much as He does

For me, hate is a strong word

But so are love and life

If only in this land was there no God

People would look upon themselves

And not as pawns of an imaginary fiend

Rare Circumstances

In the year of 1999 all my hopes shattered, my idea of life was uprooted and bones tingled with fear at the very thought of love for I believed that every happy thing ends on a rather sad note.

Yet after years in hospital and more years in therapy I came out to be a strong person. And during my periods of sanity I realized I had inherited much. But the irony is when I wanted money I was penniless and now out of nowhere I have everything I don’t want.

Pushing my wheelchair hard, mainly out of frustration, I decided to end my social identity as a recluse. I decided to sell books on a stall by the road!

I could not continue with my old job of running a heartless company and neither could I possibly face the monotonous schedule and official diorama. Added to this, I didn’t have many friends who would ridicule my desire to be with people of a different genre. But there was Mr. P, my psychologist and I didn’t tell him about my future venture.

I was young and reckless but that is how I found my wife.

Of all the books at my home my most beloved possession was The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien. Almost every night I would fall asleep by its side. My father would read every line with heartfelt emotions and mother would help me dress like an elf whenever I wanted to run away into my dreams. But as I said happy isn’t what was planned for me. Now, whenever I am broken I have my copy of the book and I would read it just for the sake of old times.

Years later, I was beside my stall, hoping to be greeted by a customer I read my favorite book. The street was dark with a distinct smell of O’ Henry’s burgers. There was a strong wind which made the atmosphere more gloomy and pale, yet I had a strong feeling of being watched. Amid the howling dogs, honking cars and screaming children Mr. P came. Stomping at the carpet he said, “Hello, Jensen. How have you been feeling lately?”

I found those words unwelcome. If I said that I was fine he would emotionally blackmail me and if I said that I wasn’t he would hover over me till death. To avoid all the agony I said in a rather puny voice, “Same old, same old.”

 “Well, since you didn’t return any of my calls I took the liberty of allowing myself to ponder over your shop. And by seeing your under-improved state I suggest you should find another means to spend your day. And how many times do I have to tell you not to read that book, not to fret over what had happened?”

“This is my idea of happiness and that is all I have to say.”

Providing much relief, a woman too pretty for her age stepped ahead looking for a romantic novel (a genre I hate more than anything). She scrolled through a book and flipped through the pages just like the breeze which ran its hands through her unbelievably dark hair. She asked what the price was and I couldn’t speak. She was just as I had imagined her to be, my Arwen the fairest creature from my beloved book. I searched for words and surprisingly instead of saying anything required I demanded two dollars.

That night I couldn’t sleep, I had been hallucinating. Scared I went to my bed with difficulty. My inability to walk had rendered me useless. I flipped through the pages of the wonderful book. I went into a deep slumber. And when I woke up my world had changed. I wasn’t Jensen Archer, the poor rich guy. But I was the king of the men, Aragorn, the rider from north gifted with wisdom and longevity. My love of life was Arwen and I was there to save the world from its doomed end. I wasn’t in wheelchair any more for I could run. I had somehow found a passage to the place I had always wanted to be in.