a little romance with life

What is the simplest hardest thing I know? Erasing the entire playlist of my phone But sometimes, it’s just best to let go.

There is a fine line Between hurt and abuse Between dislike and hate Between fear and terror Between wounds and scars Every day, every single day we stand on one side of the line every day, you choose to cross it every day, I choose to stay.

How does the crescent moon feel on a dark day Trying to light up the world, trying to float above the vastness Does she sometimes wait to feel full again, to feel like herself again Not knowing that she has been complete all along? Does she know that even on her weakest day, she means so much to the world? How does the moon feel on the strange day When the Scientist comes and tells her that she is 384,400 kms away from the earth And that all the people she loves, can’t probably even come to meet her Does she feel alone in the sky? Not knowing that Lovers look up to her every night, And that Poets have loved her beyond distance, have craved for just her sight. And how will you feel when you realize That you’ve been cheating yourself all this time Telling yourself that you are weak, that it isn’t yet the time to shine But maybe like the moon you are beautiful and bright and that behind the happenings that change you every week is a person like the mo...

It was a different test I was giving, the kind that would tell me the kind of person I am But it didn’t ask me the questions I expected, instead it asked me What my pulse was like So I placed my hand on my neck, and closed my eyes to feel its sound And I remembered how long it had been since I realized that my heart was beating Every day, every hour, every minute Even when it was broken, even when it felt too full, even if it was so tired that it could have just given up Months have passed since I saw my shadow following me, giving me company when I couldn’t bear to be alone My footsteps, oh they’ve given me sounds, like music in the background, so beautiful but tuned out And after months I notice how my hands dance as I write this, how my finger jump, how my arms move And I never saw the expressions change on my face from delight to wonder to seriousness. Some days, I feel too lonely, too tired, too alone, too broken, too sleepy But I like to think of it as...

I dove deep down yesterday, under a pile of books Looking for a poet who had been lost since days I found her hidden in a corner, behind a page Chewing on a word- ‘lonely’ She had tears in her eyes She too had been searching for me. I sat with her for a while, on the edges of her book Our backs resting on the walls of a poem she had written I was with her, listening to her tales of sadness Of words that had left her Of feelings that no longer inspired poetry Of the ache she didn’t want to write about After a while, she sang to me old poems Those that were written during a happier time. When I was leaving, I picked my poet up Thought I’d keep her in the front pocket of my shirt Right in front of where my heart was But her home was in those pages, her soul in those words So I settled her on a nice cozy bed of a brand new page Promising her happy dreams And a dose of hope, to help her write again.

I know ‘right before the exams’ is a crazy time for me Sometimes beautiful and sometimes incredibly difficult Sometimes all about poetry that flows through my blood in those days Sometimes the hollowness of my room, sometimes of my thoughts Sometimes the emptiness in my heart, and sometimes how full I feel because I took more time than usual in finishing a meal that would otherwise be over in less than 10 minutes; the slowness comes in the avoidance of books that I love but hate because I have to glance through them fast and I can’t taste them slowly and swallow them with joy; the way I enjoyed my food today. So I glance at them and look away, at the choices I have made Of distant poets and story tellers and lovers of words whom I love and I stare at their lives so deeply with tears in my eyes wondering if they ever feel the way I feel sometimes; and if I will ever feel the way they do; and if ever somebody else will wish to feel the way I feel today ...

Right across my room lives the boy who creates music; dham dham badampam dham dham giving me wanted and unwanted sounds all day dham dham dham dham; and inside the room I can see him his specs staring hard at the screen, his face wearing a smile; dham dham dhadam dham bam “Would you like to listen to my new piece?” he says “Nahhhh, I haven’t got the time”; dham dham “aacha chal jaldi se suna” He’s the guy who gives background music to my life. But this boy who creates music doesn’t really know that he creates so much more. he creates joy for those struck with sadness and laughter for those who have been serious too long he creates sparkles in eyes he makes complete opposites stick along he creates food everybody loves and the best chocolate coffee I have ever known he is everything that is right with me and everything that is wrong, corrected, and then rolled into one. He is crazy plus innocent like a recipe made of chocolates and m...