Ennui

Eight days had made a difference.
Eight black days.

Time devolved into time.

I hated mornings.
It crept through the hollow spaces of my dead windows,
Sunny. Bubbling with brightness.
I hated this ...light...
It threw into stark relief things I wanted to keep unseen.

I made tea for myself today.
Too sweet.
I drank it anyway.
There was nothing else to do.

Then I thought-
Let me think.

And I did.

About faraway seas and storms and ocean-liners.
About trains and planes and handsome foreigners.
About how this will make no sense to them at all.
About how I should stop anticipating a call.

By then it was time to feed the dog.
My bones clicked together like knitting needles as I made my way to the greasy kitchen.
I sipped the air, rather than breathed it.

'This is tiresome', I spoke out loud to the masala-stained light-pink tiles.
'Tiresome to write.''
'Tiresome to think.'
'Tiresome to love.'

I waited for the birth of a beautiful, silver, tinkling phrase
To come to me with hesitant, wobbly baby steps.
After all, my brain had been impregnated with pain, right?
This blackness should bring forth light...

No.

I made tea for myself again, today.
Too sweet.
I drank it anyway.
There was nothing else to do.

                  ***

Suddenly it all makes sense!

Do you know the feeling when you read something awesome and tell yourself, 'I just HAVE to share this'?

Well, I felt it when I came across these poems by Alice Walker from her book- 'Revolutionary Petunias and Other Poems'....

I have learned not to worry about love;
but to honor its coming
with all my heart.
To examine the dark mysteries
of the blood
with headless heed and
swirl,
to know the rush of feelings
swift and flowing
as water.
The source appears to be
some inexhaustible
spring
within our twin and triple
selves;
the new face I turn up
to you
no one else on earth
has ever seen.

 ______________________________
While love is unfashionable
let us live
unfashionably.
Seeing the world
a complex ball
in small hands;
love our blackest garment.
Let us be poor
in all but truth, and courage
handed down
by the old spirits.
Let us be intimate with
ancestral ghosts
and music
of the undead.
While love is dangerous
let us walk bareheaded
beside the great River.
Let us gather blossoms
under fire.

_______________________________

When you wan't something really badly, fight for it.
Tooth and nail.
Nothing worth anything in life, ever comes easy.
Ever.

?.

Has the silence endured long enough?
Are you satisfied now?
Did you get what you want?
Did you get to know what it is you do want?
Do you now believe it’s not in your hands?
Have you realised it never was?
What will you do about it now?
How will you write about it now?
Can you?
You can’t?
What is this then?

The silence has not endured long enough.
You are not satisfied now.
You did not get what you wanted.
You still do not know what it is you do want.
You do not believe it is in your hands.
You realise it can’t be.
You do nothing about it now.
You do not write about it now.
You can’t.
No. Yes.
Another blog entry.

The Day I Knew I Wasn't A Poet

I will never be good enough
For you.
These words
Are dirt.
Compared to her words of gold.

I cannot write about politics and drama and Bollywood and come up with witty one-liners or write monologues and digress occasionally.
My words are no more than what I feel.
My words are what I feel.
Feelings?
"Amateurs write about their feelings when they write poetry."
I should have learnt to dress up the 'I' in six foot long red silk cloth.
Unrecognisable.
I failed.

We will never have a fight
Over you.
Because I quietly dug a grave for my 12 day dream and laid it to rest.
Newly-dead.

The first day I saw you
I knew you were too good to be true.
But I buried you under.
And I never looked back and I never missed it.

Till today.
When I saw and smelt and felt
What it is that will never be mine.

A quiet devotion
flared up from nowhere and engulfed my left brain.

If I didn't know better
I'd say I'm hopelessly devoted to you now.
I don't want to write.
I don't want to win.
But please, please, please
Let me stay
here.

Read Your Mind.

Eye in the Sky

Jack of all trades.
Master of some.
Not this, though.
My left hand couldn't help me.
And my right hand wouldn't.


And obviously because this can't be an original idea- I'll tell you what inspired me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1IXQ1pKl_Q