Somedays (how it is)-

Somedays (how it is)-

Some days, I feel like a foetus in the womb. With no care in the world. Peace abound, peace within.

Somedays, I feel like thunder is rumbling within me and and a fire is yearning to be let out.

Mama says- that is life. Somedays, it is; somedays it isn’t. 

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My words-

My words-

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I write for the days when the beating heart within my chest feels ripped apart. For the days when my readily accessible tears fail me (it wouldnt be the first thing to fail me).

I write for the days when my mind spins tales on purpose which perpetuate me as the villain- it is my mind but i have no control over it.

I write for the days when rejection and heartbreak; betrayal and sadness all morph into one and spring on me at once.

I write to remind myself, I am not alone. I have my words, I have my Lord. I have been failed before and I rose and wrote words.

So I write these words and save them, for the rainy day that I would need them.

Closure-

Closure-

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One word… seven letters.
I always had this idea that to move on, to let go of the past, to put one foot in front of the other through the door called future, I had to have it- closure.

And I sought it, I chased it, I pled for it.  Each time I thought I was close to it, closure merely opened a can-worm of emotions I had no idea still existed within me, no idea how to handle them.

The search for closure led me down a path I should never have tread, a path of hurt of pain of emotions I should never have felt again. And every single time, I still kept going back, for that closure. The person In me, never learnt.

I’m only now understanding, coming to the conclusion- closure isn’t a conversation that needs to be had, it’s not a word that needs to said or unsaid, it’s not a meeting which needs to take place, one last time.

Closure, simply is putting my big girl pants on, taking that big leap of faith through the door into the future with the ideology- Life starts now. And it doesn’t matter, whatever words lie behind the door which were never said, whatever final meeting which never happened, closure doesn’t have to come from an outside source.

The only closure I need, is the closure from within myself, to be able to say done and dusted, and mean it… closure comes from me.

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Goodnight-

Goodnight-

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I knew the love wasn’t there anymore, when he’d end with just “goodnight”. A sign so trivial, only a better half can be expected to notice- and I did.
Goodnight, he said simply. Without any accompaniment; no dear to lighten it, no honey to sweeten it. And I knew, it was only a matter of time before even the goodnight would vanish.

It wasn’t the ending that hurt. It was- watching everything evaporate right before my eyes, watching a marriage collapse, brick by brick. Seeing the sand grains float to the ground and knowing there was nothing I could do about it. He had made his choice… for us.

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Choices-

Choices-

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Speak now or forever hold your peace.

We’ve all heard that statement in movies and reality, spoken so many times and mostly in good humor. But what happens, when those few words decide to make an appearance in the movie of our life, but not in a comic role.

How do we decide, if speaking up when our ring is about to become another’s is better than holding our peace and silence- forever. How do we weigh it? Is there even a scale for that.

How do we decide if destroying another’s fairytale is worth saving our own. Does the end justify the means in this secenerio?

What If? God forbid, what if, we weigh the odds and conclude that forever is too long a time for us to hold our peace, we muster the courage, speak the words of our heart, and they fall only on the ears of its recipient but not his heart. Would it be worth it then?

Or should we stick to mama’s saying- if he really wants you, he’d come running back even if he’s about to say I do. And if he doesn’t, no one wants a coward anyway.
But what if we wait, and- he doesn’t?

Confession-

Confession-

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Because,
telling you would mean, awaking most days with the knowledge,
The knowledge- you know that I want(ed) it to be you, although you are not mine to have;

Because,
telling you would mean, having to mask my emotions with an exaggerated display of happiness, when I sight your arms interlocked with hers.

Because,
telling you, would mean living with the knowledge that I almost destroyed another woman’s life… almost.

Because,
Telling you wouldn’t make any difference. The ring is hers, the wedding is upon, and all I have got is the dignity to hold my head up and utter through gritted teeth, how happy I am for you and expect you to believe it.

Because,
Telling you- would mean accepting the truth, you wouldn’t fight for me, us. You’ve always been an avoider of conflict and saying it won’t change that.

And because,
You might say, you wish it was me…. and I could handle me being unhappy but I couldn’t bear it If it was you. So I delude myself, as you delude yourself, and pretend we were never meant to be…

Once upon poetry-

Once upon poetry-

There was a time when poetry was a solace, an escape, a listening ear at a time of heartache. It was the balm to wounds burrowed by others; an antidote to words hurled.
It’s ready arms available with the sun out, with the night in, on stormy and sandy days alike- it was always there.

There was a time when poetry was a witness to flood of waterworks; a testament to minor victories and the chart of a rollercoaster journey. It marked the lows, the highs and the stagnant plateau. It was a friend when friends were few.

And you wonder, why I still write poetry? Wouldn’t leaving it be a great injustice… not even that I could.

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The breaking-

The breaking-

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It wasn’t just one experience, it was a multitude of them. One after the other like the crash of a carefully assembled dominos cards; in succession. I slid slowly and then rapidly, hitting a few bumps along the way, like I wasn’t already on my way to the bottom. And I learnt on that downward journey, I learnt the bitter truth that rock bottom does not guarantee you won’t still get hit.

I watched the solid parts of me break into pieces, the liquid of my essence dissolve and gaseous parts evaporate. I was losing who I had ever known myself to be.

It took watching my whole life vanish before eyes for me to realise what life had been trying to teach me for quite some time. Sometimes, you have to shatter into pieces in order to mould into the “you”, you were always supposed to be.

Unlike the other woman-

Unlike the other woman-

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“But I love you,” he said.
And I wondered where he got the notion that saying the words “I love you” was akin to an eraser which wipes off a slate of past mistakes; a chant which hypnotises one into prompt obedience regardless of the absurdity of the orders; a piece of blindfold over a woman’s eyes to block off the reality of events.

Or maybe, he just assumed I am like the other woman who had come and gone. A blooming soul withered by a facade of love, fed on sugar coated words which tasted like nothing- nothing- a compilation of meaningless gestures- suffocating.

And maybe (cause I can only assume as mama always said speak for yourself alone) he was fed on the notion that love is blind, love is an eraser and love hypnotises in the hands of a man.

But honey, Living has taught me, you can scream I love you until the oxygen carrying capacity of your lungs deplete, without sincerity in action, it don’t mean nothing. Call me cynical, but living otherwise would have me ending up just like the other woman. A washed-up replica of a once upon a time star. 

Pieces of a Puzzle

Pieces of a Puzzle

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I am who you think I am and who you think I am not. I am a chest of secrecy and a cloak of openness. I am the strict parent and the fun-loving one. Yes, adrenaline courses through my blood and yes, I need caffeine to go through the day.

I am the spontaneous friend and the sensible one. The burger binger and the salad encourager. The lens wearer and the makeup lover. The football junkie and the pink stiletto owner.

I am who you know me to be, and who you’d never imagine of me. A hopeful dreamer and soulful realist. A traditional home-maker and modern go-getter. A day time hustler and nighttime writer. An avid talker and a silent listener. A couch lover and a crowd speaker.

I am who I am and despite what you may Want, I’ll always be who you’ll Need me to be.