Pareshan Sa Pyar, Anxious Love

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We often wake up, clenching our fists and yearning for an unfathomable feeling which for some odd reason, always eluded us. The sinister yet pleasing feeling of something the Gods claimed is Love. And stories, philosophies have been prompted about it, bards written, homes destroyed, poems sung, songs played, wars took place–and there was always bloodshed. In all of this, God was in and out–and tears were prominent and longing was there. And people spoke of tales–of conquering mountains and digging fountains. And it seemed that all of the ones who could feel, were stuck in it, oppressed by love–becoming prisoners of a poisonous feeling which all but turned them sick. They wanted to escape and they just could not. And those who wanted to stay–were kept being expelled.

And over the sky–Cherubs frolicked in gaiety and drunkenness. And all the demigods and deities danced around a fire which burned the whole sky and turned it into tar. Then it rained–a murky yellow rain–and look at us, we all kept on living in exile and isolation in a rotten, broken shell–trying to find solace and escape in the rain, as if it was meant for us. But who was it meant for then? It was meant for no one. And we all laughed, pretending to live but soon–the acid would take us too–the acrid rain and the suffocating air it brought on with it–we will long to breathe. But we always longed to breathe–out, but we never could. For we were love famished, love starved and seldom satiated.

We all thought at the end of it–we will have love to fall back to–and love would never fail us. And love rarely does. But we know nothing of it–for we make our own definitions and attach our own feelings to it, we scavenger for hope and come across everything else but hope. We entwine our hands with another–perhaps someone we love and a momentary sickness takes over us. After it passes–we remain, everything remains–and we miss that nausea. And in every solitude, we try to somehow induce it again.

So every time we see kites in the sky–we have a yearning. Until we realize we are those kites–attached to a string which has all the control over us. And we become frail. So we try to escape ourselves–out of our empty shells–into that of another, and then we long to escape from there too. And in each escape we leave small tokens of commemoration.

And in the end, we know–that we know nothing about it, about this love. Because it is a ghost–it is seen until it is not, heard until it is not, felt until it is not. And it is cold. So we let our thick desires run over it and we make them subservient to all. It is the most terrible affliction to have–and it too, is a pandemic–for it spread like plague and it took us all out.

There was a big garden–lush green with fruits and flowers of all sorts. Yellow apples, brown cherries, purple mangoes, red bananas and white dewy strawberries. There were large trees–all with pink trunks and blue leaves. And flowers which looked like birds and smelt like rain. There was a big lake–it ran wild and ferocious and it was filled with red wine. And silk clad fairies danced about. It was something and it was nothing because the sky was painted in six different hues of violet and there was music.

This was the place where the first sin would be committed. Not of betrayal, or of lust, or of deceit but of love. The two naked figures were running amuck–hiding from each other perhaps for they had seen each other and saw each other. And they were shook. For they felt something in their insides and outsides for the first time. Perhaps it was the very first feeling that humans felt. And they knew–they were destroyed. Both of them stopped for a while and turned to each other–their eyes met and they intertwined their fingers and laughed. And they were destroyed. Because as soon as it happened, sparks flew and fireworks took place. And as soon as they did–they both wanted to get as far away they could from each other yet stay where they were, forever in an embrace.

They both wanted to turn the other in a statue–clay bound. Yet they both wanted to take a hammer and break away that figure of clay. And they both wanted to cry and bleed because they were not okay, for they could feel everything. And when you feel everything, your face becomes a mirage–it has empty blank stares–and they both looked at the sky, but they were the sky. They were happy and they were sad, but mostly they were stifling for freedom from the other. They wanted to fall back into their own empty shells again–for they had seen they empty shell of the other and left their marks–and were afraid.

So there was confusion and chaos. And one of the figures–turned into a snake and went over to the other and told them–“I know your suffering, it is love. I know your plight–for you want to escape but you want to stay. And you want to save yourself because this might be the first and last chance of it. And I know what you need to do–you need take a bite from the forbidden fruit. And it will give you all the answers.”

Then the snake disappeared.

And both of them knew–that the Gardner had told them specifically to never go near the tree which bears the forbidden fruit and if they did they will be punished and thrown down in a desolate desert. Yet they were desperate to be lit by fire and destroy each other. So this was an enticing offer.

So they meekly went over to the tree bearing the forbidden fruit. Carefully picked up the fruit–the color of red. And looked around, fearful of the gardener. And as they were about to bite–they stopped. Thought about everything. But then in a mad rush — they ate it.

Everything began to disintegrate because the Gardner was disappointed and angry. But he was also anticipating it, for he knew.

And at that time, they both knew they had made a mistake. SO they tried to run towards each other–because they longed for one last touch. And they never got it. Thus they were banished. Into their skins. Into misery. Into love.

From that day on wards–the desolate desert has been afflicted with a brazen sickness–it is of love. And it is not sacred.

And we all fall prey to it. And we seldom escape but we long to–every moment of it. It is a servitude, it is a lesson. It is a punishment. And we all face the evening—with longing and our child like eyes and we get lost because we cannot feel what we were meant to feel.

A Two Liner

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And now that we must love from a distance–without touch, without digging deep in the souls of the others by locking their eyes with our own, without being mesmerized by their laughter and drinking it from a chalice, without playfully toiling with their hair with our fingers, without breathing fire into their hungry deceptive bodies–and now when we must stand in corners and long for touch, now that we have to listen to empty jazz tunes alone, and dance…from a distance, that we have to love from gory distances–now we miss Love and we will keep missing it until the grey macabre stillness takes it. And when we were driven mad by it, we looked away from it. Now we are being driven mad through it–without it. But now, we miss it and we are fools.

Two Weary Travelers

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Two weary travelers, set out on a course
Through the damaged roads
And over the dried out sea
Through a vindictive sky
And over the ashy mountains
Two weary travelers…
One was red and the other, green
One wept in euphoria
The other laughed in dread
One had a silent bird sitting on top of their head
The other carried a stick made of lead
One told stories of wars on the moon
The other sang songs about heaven’s gloom
One wore their beating heart on their sleeve
The other displayed their dying soul on their ragged fleece
And on they went, to far off lands
Where no one was awake
And they would ring the bells and leave a trail
Where ever they rode
And on the sunlit tops of hills
There were whispering shadows
Which told of tales of happiness and only
Sadness followed
And one fine day the crows were dancing
When one of the travelers sat down
On a cold bench to never get up
And sat there looking at the sun set
And when the sun was drowned in the dark
The weary traveler had passed
Into the gory light
Now on the train that goes nowhere
One weary traveler sits
Alone with their mind hoping like a bird
Without any feathers
The traveler has now a box which contains a dead heart
Which they wear it on their sleeve to see if it ever would beat
And time will stop moving it’s hands
But the heart will never beat
And one weary traveler sits on the wing of a plane
And flies to the sun as it sets

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It’s like the days are not even days any more.
Night isn’t night anymore.
I am not even who I was anymore.
The sky has turned into ash, it isn’t blue anymore
The moon is a black dot, it isn’t the moon anymore
The sea has turned into soot, it isn’t it anymore
The tree upon which I gazed outside
It is not standing there anymore…perhaps it travelled north or towards a dusty gloom
I don’t know anymore
There is so much dark now, I don’t want the light anymore
I loved someone once
I don’t love anymore

Upornost

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When Death ruled the valley of fear
Destiny cried with a misery for the dear
But they went to find the valley of the dead
And saw that fear ruled it with a certain debt
Hidden away in a mortal plane
The immortal seized the valley of fear
Only to find–it was nothing–
Nothing but the death of a dear
One can see and one can choose
To keep the eyes blind
But the two valleys–out of them,
One would win and the other…
Persist

A Life within a Dream

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She departs from solitude
Goes into the deep, the deep forest-
Where Willows are sown to weep
And she cushions the sorrow
The sorrow of the beast
For he never knew the love he felt,
Was one to keep
The departed lunatics were baffled
When she came into the deep,
The deep forest where a million pains were reaped
Yet she moved like a princess
In the heart of the forest which was rather deep
There she stood, out of her solitude
Looked at the silver trees
The shadows of the stars and the red moon,
One stolen from its sleep
So she buried the promises which were never made
Deep into the creek
When she wakes up from her awakening
She will know that tales were written
And songs sung,
Wasted were the lovers
SO hung on its idea that when dawn broke
It was only a leap

No. 265

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The tunnel–is a tunnel; the same for the train

The same for the the person hiding from the rain

A shore is a shore;  the same for the sea

And the same for the ship which has to be.

And time is time; for the one who is still

And the one who stares deep.

 Death is all around us

The living and the gone

The Riders and the Sea

Death is all around us

Life isn’t so much so.

The difference is the same; same for the stones

And same for the skin and bones.

What do we know and what do we care

The questions will be questions; for the answers

Answers all feared.

We never stop–and we never begin

SO what is the difference

And what do we care.

It will go on and on and on

Even if it stops–what will be the difference

Between what is and what isn’t.

For the world is the world; the same for the strong

And those who do not dare.time