chaiNboli

 There are days like this, ones that have a sauce charm in which I smile and a stranger comments that i have beautiful eyes.. There are days like this  in which I joke about everything and let meager sunlight kiss me... There are days like this  in which hope seeps to my veins  and tells myself to count on all the blessings I have.. There are days like this, once in a while, in between two thousand days and thousand nights of my bleeding.. There are days like this  but not often ❤ (Once in a while I feel happy for real)

 Do you think it's absurd that I want to study Latin, Greek,  history,  law and politics..  also philosophy.. I mean am at that stage of life where am supposed to have a job, to support my family. But am thinking about some things that will never happen.. Like having a post graduation in English literature, getting a job as a librarian, meeting a Korean guy and falling in love. .. yes thus is how my brain works. She is an irony itself. She is a pessimist and optimist at the same time. She cries and hopes at the very same moment.  She wants to share but also to hold back.. She wishes to say "FUCK you " and also cares about hurting others.. She bleeds a lot but acts like everything is OK.. or can we just point out that she wants someone to read this blog but also doesn't wnt that? it's the same about my heart too. it loves and it hates..  it can't move in but moves on.. My heart wants to follow the dreams but it is practical..  I think you read and under...

 Yesterday my  best friend tells me that I am so obsessed with k pop, that we are not talking  to each other like old days.. She tells that she hates my cousins for dragging me into K pop.. I laugh and points out that it's my nieces who did that.  She stays silent for a moment and says that she is happy for me if the k pop bands are making me happy.. I smile and tells her this is just my passing fancy and soon I will lose my interest as it did in many cases.. She asks me whether am happy to which I answer about a the girl who once told me that am that type of a girl whom mothers will find perfect for their sons.. I send my best friend screen shots and we together recalls our college and hostel days. My best friend speaks about three long essays I wrote about how much I miss college and I tell her I have deleted the posts. She didn't ask why but confesses she won't go back to that days if she gets a chance.  I use the hash tag #wersamebro and we laugh. And I tell...

 I was born, I don't remember the day, I wish I could... I don't remember the exact time  I found myself surrounded by words, words,just words, words.only words. I was always a reader not of future, but of past. Words, meaningless, yet not harmless form  a pool around me and I tu led my molten grief inside my brown skin. "Speak something, tell us a story " they always say, everybody asks me to  speak, speak... how can I speak? what can I say? My tongue is my third eye, useless, disturbing. But  unlike my mouth my hands are unprincipled: they crush, hold, bleed and they speak. My fingers tell  thousand and one stories, without enough enchantment for the king. My fingers, they remember me of snakes,  the tongue of snakes to be precise. There was a time  I thought of being  a change, a cause of revolution. But then i fell in love. Fourteen days and I  realized am a revolution. My world, my moon, my stars-  everything in his brown eyes....

 I am a mess of things you hate I am a silent lonely mynah, lost in the way. Don't look at me, your day will be doomed. Your pity is not what I want, neither your love  Give me a reason  to exist, because  I don't know what and why.  My days and nights blurred into one, just pain written in my memory's margin  Forgive me for  what I said, what I did, but am not sorry for my thoughts that kept me  dead  and alive..

Dead is soft and  so is love, I fell in love  with a man I don't know //Falling in love with a dead man_ crazy they say// The man I love speaks poetry, the one who holds  a sacred place in my heart That smile paints me red, the tangerine sun rays seeping through my skin. //Falling in love with a dead man madness you call// The man I love  lives in the cracks of  my grief molten mind, in the voids of my brain. He is a  piece  matching my broken dreams , a hope and the pain unrecognized... //Falling in love? love you call it? they ask..// The man I love  speaks of unheard screams, his songs are  happiness  mixed with honey, his songs that keep me sane... //This is insane they murmur, but they don't know// The man I love  is my home, the home I always  wished for. Existing between  always and never, I haven't met him yet  but will..  in another  dimension of space.

I wish to say  what I feel, to write my mind.. But tell me.  Why are some words filthy, some beautiful and some lovable? Some words tragic  and some words doomed,  some with magic of smile and others with pain? How can some words  be chameleons, and some humming birds? How can some others be complicated and some simple?  How can some be  mysterious ,  and some burn? /may be am speaking of  love  and love only / I don't own words, they are puzzles that I will never be able to solve...