i’ve tried to encapsulate what we have into purple prose and exaggerated imageries and i’ve tried to encompass what with have into mere words embellished with italics or elevated in bold but everything proves to be futile
but i hope you fathom that
i seek comfort with my hand nestled in your hand
with your arm angular round my neck
in your choking laughter and boyish giggles
in frank confessions and awkward admissions
i take pride in the fanfare illustrated with every sound your trumpet produce
i find solace in our countless 5 more minutes conversations (and meet ups)
i yearn to see your (QT PIEEEEEE) imperfect-impecabble face
and i’ll go on but this list will never end
and i’ll go on but just be aware that i really do and i hope you do too
(ps. don’t feel too good about yourself or tease me about it if not …………..)
displacement of impeccable hearts along a line of fault
i want to trace your intricate palm lines and maybe they’ll lead you to me
I never planned to be a fugitive or escapist or anything along that line. But recently I find myself stuffing scrunched up receipts labelled with feelings into once empty pockets and I feel like a primary school student with a trolley like bag (laden with everything I should have felt) climbing up flights of stairs. And my arms scream for mercy with every step I harrowingly conquer and it just doesn’t get easier. My knees buckle under the weight and caged thoughts only escape through shallow gasps through quivering lips. And I don’t know whether I’ll ever reach where I want to go and I don’t think I want to know.
sometimes. just sometimes. not all the time. just sometimes.
you’ll see reflections in his/her eyes. reflections of the Milky Way or the Andromeda or the Triangulum globed in their chestnut brown eyes. but don’t be mistaken. you’re not the one who planted those galaxies in their eyes. listen carefully with your ears planted on their laden chest and you’ll hear that the palpitations of their heart do not beat in sync with yours. gaze fastidiously with your eyes searching for some piece of you imprinted on them and you’ll find nothing (because they refused to)
I want to see your ink scrawled name seep through paper thin hearts
it’s that kind of day
when time lapses and I feel as if I’ve catapulted into foreign grounds.
I remember when our facial features were nothing but a blurry amalgamate of our parents’ and our cheeks ladened with baby fats and times when a pool of embarrassing yellow settles around our growing feet. When the angular edges of our shoulder blades stuck out awkwardly, when the pants of our trousers rises above our ankles and the necks of cartoon imprinted shirts inhibit our ability to breathe, to stretch our eager necks to discover beyond what was handed to us.
But now facial features fall into place to draw lines of distinct cheek bones and our smiles settle facilely on our porcelain faces and eye lids no longer merge into bleary in betweens. When did Time twirl us round and round to ease us into foreign grounds?
I want to be lulled into a deep slumber with a smile stretched across the earth’s polarities, with the universe globed in my eyes, with patulous palms revealing palm lines, with cocooned limbs and fluttering eyes lids, with an amalgam of half forgotten half remembered journeys into a vast vacuum of feelings consigned to oblivion and abandoned recollections, with my head nestled into familiar scents of home, with shallow heart beats palpitating to the cadency of my recollections, with the soft whirling of the fan
(Even as lighting bolts through a navy blue canvas emptied of stars and thunder tears through the blanket of security)
I want to fall into a deep slumber with flickering fragments of the future, with a distant unwavering flicker of hope that angular edges will fall impeccably into place with rounded edges one day
one day angular edges will fall impeccably into place with rounded edges
Don’t we all kneel in a meadow of hope sometimes with our hands outstretched and our palms facing heavens, hoping for anyone anything a higher power to bless us with more than what we have
Don’t we all trudge through silent bustling roads with shoes filled with stones and hearts ladened with regrets wondering why life just can’t be a little more kinder, a little more tender. ‘just a little, just a little’ we all plead
And don’t we all have hearts locked up as captives in gated cages but still feel as if our heart plunges into nothingness every now and then
Don’t we hastily stuff our emotions into empty pockets, clinging onto ‘absence makes the heart forget’ with our dear lives
how a smoker refuses to abstain from smoking even when pictures of blackened lungs screams nothing but a charred future with failing lungs
how a habitual gambler yearns to hear that familiar flutter which brings comfort to his soul, ease to his aching fingers, empty promises to his hollow heart and empties his empty pockets
how a mother’s chiding is inadequate to abstain a growing child from habits which will grow as shirts rise over the belly button, as pants rise over the ankles. habits which will flourish as the child punches his fist up in the air proclaiming victory over the playgrounds he had conquered, but a battle against old habits will never be won
and you, i pledge with gritted teeth and sunken eyes, i pledge with a fist over my heart, i pledge with my palm up in the air facing the heavens. you will never be elevated to a lingering presence.