chaiNboli

 Forget my name, call me your "HOME". Cup my face with your hands,   look into my eyes and  then sing a song. Pull your anger out, scream at me. Speak to me about your fears, your flaws, your first crush, your last love, your first heartbreak, and the last kiss. Tell me the story of the scar on your knee  and how your father  broke your favorite video game. Let me dress your wounds  and tuck you into my heart. Let me run my fingers in  your messy hair and  touch that black mole on your back. Take me to a library, trace the words of an old classic with me, Gift me books, Kiss me on forehead,  and sip the last drop  of morning bitter coffee. Let's share silences and peeled oranges and  drench in the rain and the morning light. Love me, hate me, ignore me, break me into pieces, push me away, pull me closer, curse me, kiss me, but  don't adore me.. Forget my last name, Don't utter my first name, Just call me your "home", that'...

 If we get a chance, lend me your words and take my ears in return The world seems like a  silent hell without you. If we ever get s chance tell me everything, the alpha and the omega, tell me about your thousand rebirths and hundred deaths, show me the remains of your ruined castle, read me stories from  your burnt diary and  sing that song you promised me. If we get a chance, again, take to me to our favorite coffee shop, speak to me in a language  foreign to this world and  listen to my absurd stories with your eyes closed. If we get a chance, gift me a white lilly, not a red rose for  we already know the  pain of  hidden thrones. If we ever get a chance, Give me your death  and take my life in return, for am bored of this existence.

 I carry solitude  in my cart, hidden under my paranoid hibiscus flowers . I don't smile, I laugh. I don't cry, I bleed. In my nightmares it's still the train leaving taking you away from me...  (away.. away...) No roses bloom, no nightingales sing. The sunlight vanishes, darkness gets darker. I utter an apology into the thin air and ask the wind to carry it to you  (modern Mekhasandesha?!).. I polish the medal of the good daughter with tears and sweat, the shining laurel with price of our life. And against reason I see a future,  and there  I wish to see you again, to meet your eyes without a trace of regret, to talk to you  the way we used to, to laugh with our hands holding eachother, to relish your smile without fear, and to let you know that you are the only one ever walked on the streets of my  barricaded heart. Like a parasite  am growing old  feeding myself our precious memories.. And I think you are here, Somewhere near.. May be...

" 2 more years" you say_ an informal declaration of my marriage. My mind hisses, I warn myself  to hold back. I bit my tongue- after all it's a joke. Like a crow  I collect twigs of past and hides it, carefully, to build a home peaceful for you. Every night  I wash away the old me, with tears and blood. The old me,  and the new one the difference you never know. I huddle softly  around the house thinking of the hundredth way to tell you about the  only man I ever loved, the one you hate. You think  I am  awake because of my 1am cravings  and offer me bread and nutella. I chew and eat  my grief along with it, his soft smile itches  the edges of my brain. Every morning, I find a girl  looking back at me, her dark circles singing the memory of  a gone spring. Sometimes I offer her a smile, a compliment  for her scars. I call her  by my name, the one he gave. Everyday I think of him,  his black dreamy eyes and m...

 You seem to be a distant god, a mortal one. The one who turns my blood to wine, the one who walks  above my teary ocean. I stab myself thrice a day, my prayer doesn't  reach your ears. I sing a thousand songs, my heart's lyre broken. I chant two thousand spells,  my tied tongue bleeds. No revelations, blind prophecies. Still I refuse not to trust you, and to adore another among 33 million.

Every night regret follows me  like a child desperate for a hug. I summon my courage  in my paper thin arms to close the door  in his face. Every night I dream of you, a wild fire, glowing my skin red. My flesh cooked, salted with tears: perfect offering to all carnivorous gods around. My bones feel hollow carrying the sea wind singing the first poem I wrote about you. My breath heavy with words unsaid, songs unsung and cards unsent,   signed 'with love'. I try to let my tongue utter your name, fails and wake up. I see grey nebulous world in front teary eyes, ears open to  dense silence. Every night,  I dream about you, my lips dried, dear clogging my throat- a nightmare again, I hear myself say. And I promise myself, everything will be alright- a lie told  a hundred times over.

 I wished to tell you not to leave, yet  I couldn't. You seemed like a foreign skin, eating my grief with  that beautiful smile.  A single shade of  my relief, a wounded wanderer just like me. A companion to rode the broken roller coaster, to compose forgotten melodies. I wanted to talk to you, About all that pills that almost saw my mouth, all the unclosed chrome tabs  searching "easy ways to die", the pages of my old diary I tried to fill with a  perfect suicide note, the screams under taps, and the pieces of scattered glass  in the kitchen of my lonely apartment. I wished to tell you more about smiles and scars screams and giggles and you and me. I wished to tell you not to leave,  to call you by name but I didn't ask your name and you didn't bother  to know mine. When you left the door open, I wanted to  tell you not to leave... but couldn't..

 I am thousand deaths and hundred heart breaks old. My mangled wings dead I stand frozen on the deserts of my past. I carry cursed words  in my palms, and two syllables of dreams  within me. I wear clothes sewed  out of grief, which cover my grey wounds. My mouth has alphabets arranged into unanswered  question marks and my brain itches in the memory of old smiles. You tried to kill me, exactly four times, four seasons I survived. Every night I sing myself to sleep my demons crawling on the old paper walls, and ghosts under my bed. I move around the  wretched circle of life, wondering will I ever stop carrying you in my fingertips.  Oh lord teach me to forgive to forget and  to risk myself  once again.

 Dear Min Yoongi aka Agust D aka the sweetest Suga.. HAPPY BIRTHDAY KING Thank you for being our Suga. You've helped me a lot with your music, giggles and dance even without knowing my existence. How can I thank you enough for all that things you did?  You  are such a precious human being. Whenever I felt low, seeing you smile, giggle, dance, rap and making that cute pout face have given me strength.  You are such a gem. Some people think that you are a cold person. But you are not. Your heart is so warm. You love in silence and in pieces.. Not everyone can do that.. Sometimes I find parts of me in you (or vice-versa).. I get shy to express my love by saying "I love you".. I prefer to be with my friends than to be in a party.. And just like you I just wish to be a rock in my next life (hopefully then we will meet)..  The thing is you give words to my emotions.. I still can't get over you crying in the backstage after the first performance. The way you turned you...

I am neither a muse nor a poet. Spare me from your expectations, the chains to my hands.  My words are simple yet absurd. They won't heal you. They won't jab you. They are mere groups  of letters,  nothing more. I use them for myself, to wipe my tears, to dress my wounds. Am selfish. I am not writing  (or copying?) to leave a mark forever, because am a synonym of oblivion itself. But only if I could write what is in my head, only if I could express what I feel...

 3 spoons of sugar and 3 questions over a cup of coffee. Now that we can't  quote Kafka and Woolf, silence between us, the guest we never  used to know once. Our love being a  charm on devil's tongue and we the forbidden fruit to each other. The clumsy coincidences  and years hidden in  my long limb's palm. My heart craves for your pomegranate lips. But I can't let you feed me the crumbs from your table, the remainings of your boring dinner. 3 spoons of sugar and 3 questions over a cup of coffee. The rain singing  a high pitched song condemning my  bizzare choices of words. Can I ask you  three  questions,  the ones my  fragmented heart cries.. First  How many tears should I sacrifice in the altar  of your ignorance? Second How many spells should i  chant to get you back? Third , the last one, blending with my tears  and yet to be moulded, Not even a question but a promise that I will tuck you always in my m...

Three drops of blood and a slice of my heart a dinner to the man I ever loved. Tears for taste memories dessert Savor the wine of my untold pain. Baked a cake, but with care must not be burned in the oven of regret.  Broke some eggs but not like you broke me, A furnished smile for icing. Cheesy lines ,  out of context and a pineapple pizza for the good times we had. The strawberry flavored ice-cream  cold us you, some butter to match  your slippery words. Apples and oranges but no more onions they 'stink'  you used to say. I won't sit  in the old chair for a company_ it's my tragic flaw. I , myself, is that glass of water in front of you, sure to be  untouched, ignored. A dinner to the man I ever loved, before he leave  the house in my street . Unwashed plates untold words_ A dinner to the man I ever loved....

My mother tells she always wanted  a daughter as her first born to braid the hair  to hold her hands in the muddy monsoon roads to laugh with ease and to talk about how her day went. She smiles when she  talks about the first time she saw my little feet. She tells how she dreamt of  my teenage self standing beside her  in a Saree shop criticizing her choice of color with silent looks, Of discussing about the marble shaped mole  on my hand and to have a gossip section  on weary Sunday afternoons. I , gulping down the cold tea, nervously tries to remember the last time we talked to each other. My Misty brain cells fails  to recall the last joke we shared. My impatient sighs silenced my black pupil confused to focus... I know am far away from  what she wanted to be _ not the little princess of her untold fairy tales. My mother tells  she always wanted a daughter as her first born, but not a one like me.

The first time you  said that my eyes are beautiful  my salty palms turned cold and my lungs gasped. It was long time ago, when you and me were  in my garden, watering purple chrysanthemums A summer day, now a blurred memory You were standing under the shadow of  the mahagony tree  three feet apart but not a safe distance for my love to take a chance. I watched you peeling the  oranges, your slender fingers moving as in a ballet. The  brown eyes and pitch black hair and my heart chanting the holy verse to itself 'love..love'. Your lips curling into that beautiful smile and eyes wandering in the blue sky  Below the surface something was breaking then I averted my eyes the fear gripping  in my veins. It was a summer day no longer a blurred memory. I should have told you what the red hermit between my bones was singing. But I didn't. The first time you  said that my eyes are beautiful  my salty palms turned cold and my lungs gasped. I ...

 In the side pockets of my blue denim i carry my regret, neatly folded like a crisp white paper. Sometimes I let my blood to draw pictures  over it and wonder how  beautiful this shade of red is.. I know I cannot go back in time I can't be that girl in pony tails laughing her heart out. I can't sing under breath while running towards our old chembaka tree. Now I live in a castle of memories, thunderstruck nights burning my yellow coloured flowers. Coffee stains on the pages of my favorite book, hiding my tear dots. I hide the cuts in my hands and so the bleeding heart yet sometimes I get tensed like a girl in the days of her menstruation. My words are shutting the doors on my face,  names and faces in a  muddy pit of oblivion_ the impotent brain of  an immature girl. Yet I carry my regret neatly folded and  carefully takes it to remind myself that I have something to loss.

 Dear E, I miss you. Today, when I saw an ant carrying the soft wing  of a butterfly  I thought about you. The way you laughed, the way you looked and the way you left. Sometimes I fear am losing you, I fail to recall your face but then i hear your voice approaching me as an invisible wind and  your eyes  that small mole on nose everything comes back. It's your memories that keep my dusty pages in the place from the tornado of  desire to die,  like a paper weight. I write each and every day to you,  for you until my fingers burn and my eyes bleed. I cry  I bleed and die in a vague hope that tomorrow everything will be fine.. Nothing changes The days and nights the sun and the moon remain or repeat. The time is long gone the promises of reciting Neruda in a sea side, the dreams of a  garden of purple flowers. But I believe  the sole purpose of my bloody existence is  to love you to adore you and to cry over your absence. My hear...

 I will never apologize for loving you, tucking you dearly to myself. I will never apologize for remembering  your lavender odour nor for keeping the birthday cards you  signed 'with love' . I will never apologize  for being in halves, a broken piece and a perfect act. I will never apologize  to put you as first in my wish list. I will never apologize  for bleeding my eyes each and every night in our memories. Someday we will  meet again, in a  parallel universe, when I break the shackles of temporary. Until then let's meet in my dreams. I will not I will never  apologize for loving you and for being loved by you.

 Remember me not and our shared silences. Do not remember  the winters  the springs  the summers  and the autumns  we had.. Don't stand in my shadow, Achilles the great.. Run away from me, and the memories of  the melody of breezes when we kissed. Your hands holding me, tracing the words of  books together in dark.. Pomegranates we gifted The songs you sang... I was there when  you cried over me, washing my mortal body with your  blood and tears. Pain choked me , your beautiful face soaked in tears, but my hands fail. The dawn the end.. Now you know What Hector has done  to you, but Achilles... Don't go, forget the reason.. Of all the sonnets  and poems which  will be written on us, I swear  I will wait for you... .... So I read Madeline Miller's "The Song of Achilles" for the nth time..  And as usual it's melancholy filling inside me.. Remembering a quote I read on the same reading experience- "When you have a c...