Damsels of youth

The night only grows younger by the hour,
Younger,even,that we are.
Times like these,
are the youngest we'll ever be.

Moments as new and naive as a daydream,
Dreams as swift as the breeze,
The brightness in your chest you feel,
Surreal seems the glossier side of reality.

Feathery and fertile feelings,as you look up,
blossom into full bloom like night beings,
the stars,they were never enough,
you had to know that the sky was yours for keeps.

Song for a long day

Coffee cup watermarks on old tablecloths,

those same empty whites that swim around,

those same hollow irises.

This poem feels like it's already been penned,

inked into verse like blood into veins,

half writ story of a qaurter of a life.
Sprawled across the cold floor,tonight,
lying limp to the tunes of Bastille,and a starless sky,
It's raining down in torrents too hard to fight.

A bottlecap full of vodka trails down our chins,
as we try in vain to turn sorrows to many a giggle and grin,
Do our tragedies end where our new stories begin?

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The inklings of an ending

Watching reruns old sitcoms on languid Friday afternoons,sprawled out with a glass of coca-cola,
my idea of freezing time.Like savouring comfort food.
It hits me hard that a few months down the line,I'll never be able to come back from school and wile away time watch television will never be possible again,and the knowledge hurts.
I stare at dappled sunlight on my ceiling on Saturday mornings,contemplating life in blank verse-
I stare at the sunlight long enough for it to look like the roof is growing wings,I never did enjoy magic realism too much.The point of living seems to be a non-existent dot.A period at the end of a sentence.
Propped up against the cold tile wall,swabbing a wound with a cottonball of Dettol,I hear the sounds announcing the arrival of night,as I think to myself "Is this all?"
And then,as if on second thought,I steal away an old,empty bottle of Musk scented Old Spice."Smell like a man" it reads..The bathroom sure smells like a macho man,then.
Again,I stare at the ceiling till it resembles one of a high-rise one with Fresco paintings,a museum's.
If I could close my eyes and transmograte,I don't know where I would go.All the hours seem just as hollow,the promising possibilities just as distant and lackluster.
I'm a giver-upper,I lose faith faster than the blink of an eye-lid,Don't take me too seriously,
Dear Life.

Chai stained momentum

Elements that unite and untie,
like ribbons that were once fastened bows,
Blocks that bridge gaps and create divides,
at the same time,complexity blows.

Hope that springs as naturally each time,
like words,like poetry and that daydream
you see over and over and over again,
like pain,like liberty,like love.

If love was the parent,hope,
the best friend,she understood,
you never gave up on her,because she stood by,
and watched you cry.

She watched you tumble and fall,and grow,
She helped you get away,and let go,
She is the songbird you wake up to,
The sun set will only play out to her tune.

And when in the quiet of night you close your eyes,
all these elements will blur into specs of soft light,
you will listen carefully and hear that voice repeat,
a distant murmur of a warm memory.

The feeling is memorized by your heart,
as good as your favourite song,
sending goosebumps through your skin,
everytime his lips curl to hold your name.

                                                     

"Arnold Palmer"

Sometimes,I feel that the bits of confetti flying on the streets
 are freer than me,only the aftermath of celebration,
                    they wander aimlessly.
And even if it's only for 52 seconds,with its breathtaking beats,
a song can leave you goose bumps,and for that moment freeze unity.
As we sat there,our thoughts scattered like a sea,

because we found a park bench that fit us perfectly,

I really began to see,what it was to be set free-
Like the little children collecting stray peacock feathers,
like the peacock,itself,serenading the skies,
like the strings of glossy flags waving on streets,
like the downcast clouds that can pour relentlessly.

Freedom feels like a third dimension of its own,
made up of Saturday nights and comforting silences,
Of exploring stories and childhood tragedies,
Words are but an excuse for the sake of
How much love one can hold out.

As our smiles caught the sun,squat in between
the path that curved endlessly-
Sunlit corners inviting our paths to merge,
The light at the end of a tunnel.
In that mirage of an afternoon,we were free,we were free-

Never did I know this is how it would feel.

                                                               

The art of fangirling and Beyond

I'm not a hardcore fangirl,I hate to admit it,but I'm not.I'm surrounded and by them and I love them to bits,I only wish I could admire something with that intensity,but I can't.

Most fangirls aren't taken too seriously,but it's an art,one you might not notice the beauty of until you actually look deeper than a peep.It's an art because art is abstract and free-spirited,because love,in every form,is art.Art is made of love.I think fangirling has existed in many forms before the term was coined,say,all the hipster groupies of music bands in the 60s,or the courtesans of Rome.And time and again,society tends to marginalize them,degrade them.Condemn them as silly because of a choice,just as is the case with consented incest or homosexuality or suicide or even abortion.It's a choice,and we're all entitled to chose how we live.
And those who say it's all just a stint of consumerism,us being unoriginal products of a grand scheme of deception clearly have forgotten what it feels like to love a phenomena beyond themselves,to acknowledge beauty in the mundane.To realise that this could symbolize unity without even knowing a fellow lover's name or existence.Psychology claims that infatuations are so common because unrequited love is easier,but what if we choose unrequited love over and over again because it feels more fulfilling.Because in a broken way,it isn't unrequited at all.Maybe every infatuation is as good as fangirling,because it looks shallow in its depth,deceiving in its appearance,but it is as full of impact as the intention it is born out of.It's complete in its imperfection,which is why fangirling makes sense.I don't owe a justification to anybody,but fangirling deserves to be explained in its true essence.Many may say its no better than an addiction in which pleasure triggers the want,and the chemicals kick in..but it's not always so scientific,so simple.I've always been the dreamy kind,anyway.

                                               
But what I really want to talk about is that which doesn't have a coined term yet,nor a euphemism-
That feeling when you've loved and adored something or someone long enough,that it becomes an ingrained part of your existence.It feels wrong to call it fangirling,when you grow up with it,when it teaches you and changes you and makes you half of who you are.Atleast,makes you believe in something other than yourself.
I don't even know how to convey the feeling...
"You don't fangirl over your favourite blanket,you don't fangirl over your mother,you don't fangirl over childhood home.You don't fangirl over your school."  as a friend of mine says.The love just comes to you,naturally..
I couldn't fangirl over Grey's Anatomy, Taylor Swift,  Dead Poets' Society, Coca-cola,Poetry or Ramona Quimby,if I wanted to.I love them.Because I am them,and they are me.And we're in a relationship that's the hopeful kind of sad,the sad kind of happy.Anyway,I don't want love that's easy.
                                        

Shadow of choice

I opened my eyes to a lucid dream,I stood outside my body,

Thrown out of a car wrecked night,

A pool of blood ominous to the arrival of farewells,

I looked tranquil as slumber slept over me,

Shards of glass strewn on the highway like confetti.

I stood there,watching,never knowing I had a choice,

Not knowing how to chose,how to say if I could stay,

When they waited for me back home,to return that evening.

It came in flashes,like they always said,and I had never cared to pay attention to it,

My mother’s smile,my baby sister calling out my nick name on a summer day,the favourite boxers I wore that morning,that familiar love song on the radio,

My first kiss so gentle on the lips,the endless tears that followed  a broken dream.

I wanted to stay,to be awake,to know I had a choice,a chance

At life,at growing up,at someday getting married,of being a parent,

Of working a real job,of being legally able to drink,of  growing old.

But life,she gave up,gave way,not too long did she wait,

She crumbled and fell face front  in the hour of death.

Night fell silently on the scene,I felt my loved ones cry,

Heard their hearts ache every time they realized,always hitting them harder than the first time.

I left,because I did not know how to stay,I wasn’t given the chance,

Ill-fated time snatched me away in a jiffy,my youth she stole,

"for a moment,then gone."Forever.

They still wait for me,I can still hear them pray with a faith they half lost that night,

I was eighteen,and it was the only goodbye.

Drunk on a moment

You're so buzzed on happiness,you've savoured even the last dregs of it from your paper cup.

The sky looks like a blanket and you could fall asleep on the hard concrete of the terrace to the distant music of trains and planes and sunset sounds of the city slowly coming alive at night.A premeditated act that feels like meditating to tune into the mind's hidden confessions.

You have never been happier,you can never be as young as this ever again,and it makes you nostalgic and happy and worn out all the same.

It's so fucking beautiful,you swear you could cry if it wasn't for the fast pounding of your heart reminding you to live in the now,and here.Who cares what time it is?

Just laugh,just take that breath you've been longing to,live that life of storybooks that seemed only faint desire until now.Real adventures,yes,that's what I'm talking of now.They say noone can measure infinity,maybe they never tried.This is as raw as being a regular,real teenager can ever get.

Just live in this moment of surreal perfection till your heartbeat grows faint and you don't know who's arms you're falling asleep in and you're head is dizzy and you swoon with the contentment of intoxicating beauty.This is life.