Wasted Moments like Spilt Honey

Days like these remind me that my tiny room is an eye of the storm. I lie down on my red and blue chequered mattress and bide my time.
The moments drop down slowly like spilt honey, their sweetness intensified by an acute sense of loss and waste.
Never again will I have this moment.
 Never again will I be this young.
 Never again will my heart be as strong and my mind me as bright.
 But what does it matter?
My toe crosses the imaginary line of my sheltered nook and lo and behold! There is restlessness and mistrust and delusion that this is important.
Anything matters.
I will make a difference.
I will succeed.
Success.
Such a pitiable word.
People keep trying to make it big in life. Have a successful job, marriage, social circle. I would like to think I am successful today. I have not a heart that belongs to me. Neither do I have an intense desire to belong to anyone.
I look out of the grimy glass vent at unassuming pigeons mating with abandon. This moment is forever. 

Little Life Hacks- A Diary Extract

Road to Delhi from Manali
6:5 p.m.
July 2nd, 2016
(Extract from Diary)

Last Day

Sometimes you don't need an eternity or a forever to be happy.
What he kept telling me- live in the moment-seize the day-
But 'cest la vie'.
Sometimes bravery is not in doing great things- it is in doing the little thing- the mundane, tiny things without losing hope or motivation. Every day. Without being swallowed by the tide of routine.
A simple act of determination to be happy- no matter what- to go on- to never give up.

Throwback to 2009.
" It is so easy to be sad. To dwell on the negatives. But Happiness... that takes courage."

To make sure that you wake up, dress us, show up- every day. To not drink your coffee too black or smudge off the red lipstick with the back of your hand when you look in the mirror and can't remember how to smile. To not forget that the highest walls might have scalable windows.
I have been taught this by unexpected people.
Tiny little life hacks.
It is so true, you find people in the strangest of places.
And love,
maybe in the strangest of places.
Like yourself,

Last day of Summer-2016

I sit up on the mattress and
crack my neck slowly.
First one side and
then another,
Next come the sullen knuckles
and with the 'pop',
a smile.
It is the last day of Summer
but still the feeling of Summer lingers on-
May with all it's parched- to -the- bone nights
and sudden, silly romance.
June brought new heartbreak and
feet spiced with wanderlust,
counting shooting stars with new friends,
July and the rains breaking over me like
they knew I was waiting for it-
 a day's delay and it would have been too late.
Discovering new horizons-
immersing in petrichor
and dreaming of brilliant blue peacocks
on Monday mornings.
It has been eventful, the last few months.
I milk each day for a feeling or an image and
store it away,
behind the broken bits of forgotten kisses
and stolen glances.
I gather all my memories
and compress it in a blood-seed.
Maybe someday it will sprout the
essence of Summer-
Happiness, Life and Hope
when I need it the most.

Spring 2016

How easy for them to say
Unbreak yourself today;
 because it is Spring
and everyone is happy.

You must be too.

Because the birds are flying in the sky
and the air is warm and wet
and the flowers-
they roll on by
as far as the eye can see.

But I feel my soul is splintered.
And my body remained broken and never healed
 the last time that they stamped my heart into the ground
with unforgiving, heavy feet.

And it's been too long

This...
Wave.

Up and Down.
Crest and Trough.
Happiness and Sadness.
Sanity and Madness.

It goes on and on and on and on and on and on ...

January Nights

Cut yourself slowly on starry tips in a night sky.

Rub stardust roughly on your scars.

Make them beautiful.

 Seaweed entangled in dark hair 

drowning in the dark waters of his eyes

that shine through your past erroneous ways.

Sometimes you can't see past the smoke of your dreams turning to ashes-

and the fateful spark that lit it up remains forgotten.

Halogen lamps blind you on empty highways

as you speed past the place where he fell in love with her faithfully.

Fateful lines on your hand criss-cross into future  somehows and maybes-

just waiting to happen.

Snaking past reason and logic-

inept words for a Saturday.

What is to be -will.

And Love is the four letter word tonight-

but then again, wasn't it always?