Unexpressed Feelings
Page 4
That day I brought you home and read you the whole night, page by page, word for word. Sometimes I sniffed your yellow and worn out parts. I threw myself so far in your depth that it took me a month to come out and notice I was actually sitting in my room. Nowhere else. Not with you.
I know I didn’t even thank you. I just took my purse and closed the door in your face. I don’t know if you stood there in shock, or left instantly. I don’t know what you were thinking and if you wanted to meet me again or if you thought of stealing my poetry that would forever stay unpublished. But that’s what I didn’t want. I didn’t want a story—a beginning. Not anymore. I have long ago stopped walking on a road where my dreams walk around. I change my destination a hundred times if I ever see an old wish of mine standing there in its real form. I don’t know them. I don’t want to. They too must not know me. They too must not recognise me as their owner.
Maybe you think I am a mean girl. I wish you could hear how I cried behind that same door, cuddling myself on the floor. That evening I read you again. All night. You were seeping through my skin and flowing into my veins. At four a.m. I clutched you to my chest and wept. The next day I didn’t leave my bed. My curtains guarded me from the sun. And all day, I read you.
And all day—I loved you.
And wondered…
Maybe after fifty years, someday, somewhere, you will remember me and my poetry while telling stories to your grandchildren? I hope they learn and tell the next world, some people aren’t meant to have a story in life, and that’s absolutely okay as they become a story instead. Sometimes we finish all our right times meeting all the wrong people. This is why when the ones who are right—eventually appear—all we are left with is wrong times. Things could have been different between us. So, too, our stories.
If only we had met when I was ready to let the whole universe enter my heart.
Unreachable Soul
Where each season goes for celebration
when not its turn
to paint nature,
you will find me there.
Where the cheerful children
of unwritten poems,
play all around,
you will find me there.
Where the night sits
beside the small window
of a girl who collects moonlight
in a black pitcher,
you will always find me there.
Release
Where there is no law
of truth and lie,
where there is no rule
of wrong and right,
beyond what we wish, what we fear
and answered-prayers keep chasing behind,
no obligations to explain,
no questions to ever answer;
only to close these eyes
to sleep in the lap of love
and stay there forever,
I will be found surely there,
even if the body is swallowed by earth—
only if ever
someone searches truly
and wants to find me.
Life Goes On (Part One)
Almasa. What should I tell you about her? She was a wonderful teenage girl who had the miraculous power to cure herself from any wound, either physical or mental. With her own salty tears, she would cleanse her raw wounds. And her breaths were given, as though not to breathe but, rather, to fan her sores.
The witty, six year old girl that used to play with her every afternoon, always teased her saying, “You are a blue sky that is completely hidden by the white cloud.” When Sasma—that was how the little girl called Almasa—asked why, she always replied, “You look astonishingly stronger with teary eyes and heavy breaths but no one notices that. They think you are very weak.” Hearing this, the smile that sometimes rippled in the corners of Almasa’s otherwise frozen lips, was a melodious tune with no musical instruments.
One day, Almasa got injured again. This time her pain was so intense, she screamed as if a fire was burning her alive. All the people of her village including her own family urged her to let her tears stream down on the wound and to fan it with her breath so that it would heal, so she kept crying and breathing, breathing and crying. But the wound would not heal.
Time went by and that little girl Almasa used to play with, turned into a beautiful lady. In a beautiful twilight evening, a handsome knight married her and took her away to his castle far from the village. With time, she forgot Almasa.
After many years, this little girl turned into a cute old woman. Her face was glowing like a crumpled diamond. One afternoon she noticed the sky was completely cloudless, as if someone has just coloured it with pure blue paint. For the first time since her childhood, the memory of the beautiful self-healer knocked her aged mind. She remembered how the girl would heal her cuts and bruises with her own salty tears and seek all her peace by pouring her breaths into those deep sores. She hurried back to the village and asked for her. She did not even remember her name; all she remembered was how one day she was severely wounded and all the villagers advised her to keep crying and breathing.
“Almasa?” the farmer asked.
“Yes, yes Al…Almaasaa! Where is she? Is she fine? What happened to that wound? How did it heal? Did she…” The farmer replied even before she could finish, “Almasa is still there where she used to be.”
“Her cave-like unlighted room,” she abruptly whispered, knowing not how she recalled it.
Life Goes On (Part Two)
The minute she entered Almasa’s room, she observed a very old woman, wrapped in wrinkled skin and wearing a grey dress matching her black and white twisted thread-like hair, sitting beside the broken window.
“Almasa!” she cried. But Almasa did not respond.
“Sasma?” This time she raised her shaky face in tiresomely slow motion and looked at her visitor. There was a minute of black in her fading eyes yet the smile she flashed later was as young as it used to be in those childhood days. It was only the music that was missing. And then without any words, any keenness, any curiosities, Almasa slowly lowered her shaky face again, and continued pouring her tears and puffing her breaths into the same wound that she’d been nursing for fifty years.
“Nothing has changed in her life except time? Can that ever happen in real life?” She wondered while leaving the room, deeply traumatized. A mass of grey cloud suddenly covered all the blue in the sky as if all the moments of life became a single moment—of goodbye.
Even Before I Knew
There was a dream I used to see
even before I knew
why this story meant so much to me.
There is a love I used to long for
even before I knew
why I must never have it all.
There is a sad end I used to live
even before I knew
this is how I was meant to begin.
Part Two
School of Lost Souls
Soul’s Power: Kintsukoroi
You repair you,
your collapsed body of clay,
your wrecked heart of glass,
with hopes of gold,
confidence of diamond.
And the world shamefully witnesses—
How your soul becomes
so beautiful
so magical,
just for having been
painfully broken.
Life
This Earth is a funny planet.
Life in it is nothing—
but a game.
We all are players.
Some play with toys.
Some—
with hearts.
Butterfly
A perfect time
for transformation
is when you experience
an intense pain
and feel simply
out of control.
Know that
it’s time
for the caterpillar.
To become a—
Butterfly.
Love
One day.
One day, I told the world, that what I felt for you—was Love.
Today I’m not the same soul anymore. My heart isn’t the same, my body isn’t the same, nor are my two hands that you proudly un-held. You left me and this one lesson was instantly unlocked. I looked up above with teary eyes astoundingly wide seeing the light and glitters that hardly reveal themselves to anyone. This hurting moment of abandonment convinced me to be its student and so opening my heart, stretching my trembling hands to the unseen immensity, I’ve learnt—Love is one of the strongest weapons human beings end up using to achieve success and freedom: the two most priceless things for which hatred and wars have been destroying the world since its creation.
Being a student of ache that is universal, I learnt the rule is simple—success, through Love, doesn’t seek anyone who is already a failure. And freedom, of course through Love, doesn’t hunt for someone who is already a captive. Love sees no situation, no condition, no reason, no rule, no law, no right and no wrong. When it is meant to enter your life, it just enters. Yet, the success and freedom one attains through Love, even if this person continues to stay a failure or a captive in other matters, they would still achieve a kind of success, a kind of freedom that even the most victorious and independent people would never achieve otherwise.
However, many times we human beings end up expecting Love at our door when things are going wrong, too wrong, when we are half or complete failures or brutally caged or have a little bit of absolutely nothing. One midnight, all of a sudden, we just decide to stop waiting for achievements and independence to enter our lives; we just hold the hands of Love tightly, sometimes even grab it by the hair, and drag it along the ground toward us. We think, this, this Love will bring us triumph, deliver our liberty.
And thus, in our rush and anxiety and grief and fears and suffocation, to fall in Love we end up choosing someone who is available, reachable, who is near, and who has the ability to solve all our problems. Or maybe some. Or just one. Or who can benefit us, give us what life kept hard to reach. As a stubborn and impatient creation, amidst all our problems, we don’t understand—actually we don’t want to understand—that when Love enters you, it will continue to choose the same person for you again and again no matter what your situation and condition is. Your Love will choose the same person when you have everything and this same Love of yours will choose the same person even if you have nothing. Your Love will choose the Love of your life when you are a winner and this same Love of yours will continue to choose the same Love of your life if you are nothing but an awful failure.
In Love, always ask yourself these three questions: the person whom you have chosen to Love, would you choose this same person if you had everything and if you were tremendously successful? Ask yourself, the person whom you have chosen to Love, would you choose this same person if you had a little bit in life? Ask yourself, the person whom you have chosen to Love, would you choose this same person if you had nothing and you were a complete failure with lots of restrictions and calamities? If even a faint ‘no’ echoes in your heart, then your emotions and feelings and longings are not Love. You might have accepted that person in your life out of helplessness, or out of fear, or compulsion, insecurity, greed, selfishness, ego, pride or mistake, or even an immature decision—for any of these reasons, but not for Love.
When I didn’t have the freedom to have everything I wished for, when I didn’t have the option to choose what I wanted to choose, when I was nothing and I had almost something of nothing, was exactly when I wanted to have you. If ever I had just something of everything, you wouldn’t have been the choice.
This is exactly what hundreds of thousands are doing right now. We pretend to be happy with whom we could. We Love, whom we shouldn’t, whom we must not.
But whom we—could.
A Historic Lesson
Some people enter our lives
as an answer to a hundred questions—
that life will someday ask us
through some destitutions.
These same people leave our lives
as a question to a hundred answers—
that life wouldn’t give us otherwise,
not even through any disasters.
Lack Of Love
Some people understand,
who you are,
reaching to the bottom of your heart,
from a distance so far.
And surprisingly,
some take a lifetime
to understand who you are not,
despite being someone so close.
Living Through Nightmares
For some,
they do not need
to fall sleep,
to have nightmares.
They go through them,
even in their waking moments,
feeling every fright—
with eyes wide open.
Know That
To be completely in love,
with someone who loves you
not as much,
is what will always break you,
in the end.
The people who mean,
too much to you,
will one day
make a daily routine,
to hurt you too much.
Ego
The greatest distance
is not the distance
of a thousand miles.
It is actually the distance
we create between two souls
whose bodies touch.
Between two souls
who were once together,
who were supposed to stay together.
Laughing While Bleeding
If the sun leaves at night,
what more damage could moon do
if it threatens the sky
to withhold its light?
No moon, no stars,
no new discoveries,
can darken the universe
more than the sun.
So when the people inside of us,
cause our destruction,
what more damage could be done
by someone from the outside?
Why Do You Write?
To leave the world
for some time,
to rephrase myself
and edit some parts of mine.
To put some full-stops;
to hear, with hands,
all that other voices
fail to tell;
To un-live some regrets;
un-speak some words;
un-feel some aches,
some mistakes.
And come back to the world
completely different—
absolutely ready
to repair any of its cracks.
Poet’s Poetry
Throughout history,
poets have always been
an unsolved mystery.
No one knows,
if poetry is for a poet
or a poet is for poetry.
Why they write,
for whom they write,
is but an unknown story.
My poems are every poet’s sadness,
through them I give the world
a rhyme of secret victory.
Two Sides Of The Same Coin
Some truths have so much power,
if told at the correct time,
even the truth of extreme disloyalty
brings oneself the title of honesty.
But the same untold truths
wil
l remove the veil of lies,
showing the face of a betrayer,
if told later by another.
Patience
By pretending,
it didn’t hurt you
as the spine of your trust broke;
by remaining content,
simply not knowing
the things you wanted to know;
by continuing to smile,
with a bullet of remorse
lodged inside your gut;
by realising,
every misunderstanding, every doubt,
doesn’t always need an explanation;
you do—
the greatest justice
to your very own self.
You Silly Girl
If his voice
makes you forget
you have a choice, too,
if his eyes
make you forget
you can see, too,
if his luring words,
make you forget
you can control yourself, too,
if his presence
makes you forget,
that you even exist,