She looks like love

"She speaks in smiles,and smells like crushed petals.
The language of her efforts speaks of pleasure and reflected pain,but never pressure.
She whips up her thoughts until they can be piped out like whipped cream icing and makes you believe in dreams.She would always be an investment for one's happiness,and an asset to one's  contentment.As it usually so happens,until you're in love,you never realise it's about choosing to give rather that picking to be given your share of it.She who showed me the beauty of it all,the sparks that make the world shine on,is the one who breathes life into my fire,ignites the dormant volcano of desire within-is my perspective of being loved,too.It's she,only her,that has me with all of my heart-and it's she that is the mark my world is most imprinted with.She's the sun in the centre of the crayon caricature I made as a kid and it feels like holding light,itself in your arms when she's in them,she looks like love."

The Last first time

Desks with graffiti carved out all over the tops,names and dates and places I will never know,favourites and lyrics the only form of familiarity.Looking down at it feels like describing unity,being somehow strangely connected to every kid who once sat here,carving out their niche in the world,leaving traces the future would fail to recognise,and time would acknowledge,anyway.
The last first day of school you'll ever have,they all said,and the finality of it all hits home like a hurricane.
The courtyard is sprawling with little girls walking hand-in-hand with their parents to their first ever day of school,the entirely sentimental scene of taking the first school photographs occupies these young parents and in the midst of all of it,I'm not sure how to feel.
Calling the school experience bittersweet would be too much of an understatement,really and like a friend of mine says "School is our normal." Call it sucky,sleep through most of it,or wake up with a smile because you have a home,a niche,that nurtures your heart,lets you be,it's all too overwhelming to even digest that it's going to slip away soon,and you're going to be out of school and it feels more like being school-less,like some sort of abandonment that orphans you of a home.
I've loved school and I've detested it,the same.I've been the kid who lives only to see another day of school and also the kid who is so sickened by it,they need a break to create breathing space.It's the place that's so full of love and so full of crap,and you put up with all of it because you don't know better and you don't really want to.
I wish I could deduce a definition for all that runs through my mind at the moment,but after all I sum up,the truth is,I'm only in deep denial of accepting change,never been a fan,anyway.For once,though,things don't seem to be falling apart,aspects of my life seem to be adhesive to each other,making so much sense that I seem to be waiting for the next teenage catastrophe around the corner.Oh well,here's the year rolling out like blue hills in the distance,only slowly rolling into sight.

Crtl+Esc

ESC (Song that inspired the post.)

Zombies,trampling the dirt they have forgotten is called Earth.

This might as well be a post-apocalyptic movie marathon.But hey,guess what?

Those have more thrills and twists than the graph of my days can be plotted at.

A letter takes up the space inside my head,a letter never posted,

a letter unsaid,one never read.

So much is the power of a letter I want to address into space,if only one piece of writing would be enough 

for it all..that people cease to count as much as they used to.

Weak -Daybreak in the peak of monsoons,or leftover tea,this is it-

The last cup,of what I thought were bonds for life,turns out I'd only been blissfully ignoring the bottom of the cup I was drinking out of.

Sometimes,just sometimes,there is no cup,just strings like pizza cheese,holding up things that don't need to be helped.They spring like weeds between rocky slabs of concrete,no need for fostering,no use for fawning over.They survive all right without award or adulation.

Okay,I need to stop.Too much metaphor,too much cheese here.

See what I mean? I never took it seriously,when people remarked with half a smile,I'm getting older.

I feel you,all of you.

I wish for us all,for there to be an Esc key.

Hoping it wouldn't take us so long to have realised that what mattered and what din't isn't the same as what will.

Just a daydream away.

The sides of you that are parts of me,
Snow angel shadows of our dreams.
It's where we meet,first meet,
Burning bright as memory.

The blanket of stars and  cups of tea,
Monsoons of the mind unleash.
It's when we first felt,felt free,
Mapping out all the irony.

The shards of hope and crescents of hurt,
cut deep into wounds we couldn't see.
It's how we first knew,knew love,
sitting in your balcony.

The books our words could fill out,
dwelt deep in the grooves of discovery.
It's what me meant,meant to be,
Mettle of malleable metal cast across adversity.

Ode to a Submarine Sandwich

"You don't need to click a photograph of that," she said "not all beautiful things need to be captured by a camera lens,framed into definition,sometimes,your eyes are enough to hold all the beauty still,comfort it like a crying person in your arms."
The other woman,mucho hipsta-Pastel striped scarf teamed up with black shorts and T-shirt,short cropped hair,thick black frames-meekly nodded in reply,as she took another giant bite off her sandwich.It usually so happens,when you notice a pair of people,it always appears as if one does the majority of the talking and the other listens.I wonder if strangers took me to be the listener,I wonder if strangers really notice.Yes,I'm a bit creepy like that,analyzing the prospect of strangers analyzing me exciting me and all that.
And when I heard this almost profound statement,in my warm,friendly idea of urban utopia-Home away from home-Subway,it took me to another place.
That's the thing about unintentionally eavesdropping on conversations out of sheer curiosity,there are snips and bits you catch on and they always take you back to a memory you din't know you'd created,and revisiting a memory while hearing a remark about memory-loop within a loop,close to déjà vu.
Conversations like these remind me of the estranged quiet of sunsets on apartment terraces,blowing bubbles,blowing away a childhood,the evening prayers-the perfect music to the muse of the breeze-I swear this memory could count as a painting.The memory of not wanting to leave.
The nostalgia entangled with excitement-the reluctance to grow up juxtaposed with the adventure that awaits,the hurt of being chosen over,the triumph of learning to say no,to stop,the cuts left from jagged goodbyes,the rush of power that only comes from learning not to stop,beating the odds.Beat,beat-like eggs for an omelette,like a heart reminding itself to beat.
"Subway reminds me of Friends" my sister quips in-Yes,I agree,always takes me back to happy places I forgot-times of sharing giant cookies,while over the small things,that adda you go to before and after-a movie,a birthday party,school,when your hungry and you're not,when you're fourteen and not,and everything you feel in between.
"No" she says "The show,friends.Brick walls,and it's emptiness,and the intimacy of it all.The 90's.The big red Open sign,an invitation to life's neverending reverie."
Yes,strange woman who I don't know,you don't need to keep reminding yourself of anything,no keepsakes required for flashes of all things best-and thanks for reminding me,that's why you're never alone.Not with all this beauty in the world,to be cherished.Even if you are,you have havens,homes away from home,where loneliness is a common syndrome.And just for a minute,all of it can give you beatific bliss.

Stop to smell that rose.

When was the last time a song made you feel?
The last time a smile warmed your heart?
A sentence made you smile?
The beauty of a word baffled you?
A child made you think?
A memory lit up your eyes?

Smells like summer love.

A childhood that seems so distant,I could have dreamed it all up,all the while.
So different were those summers,spent on rusty cots that creaked under the weight of innocence and ignorance.
Of swimming down streams,tickled by shoals of tiny fish,fear trickled by,feet planted firm underwater.
Old nails that stuck out of wooden beds,scraping knees clean of flesh,just one tetanus shot away from pain.

Is it the same? Is it even of any resemblance,the same life? So turned over by time,turncoat nature of thoughts.
I,who is love with boxes of preserved memories-believes that the past before the keepsakes was but a dream?
I still can barely hold up a conversation.And love is till the sight of a swimming pool.
But the little things,the longings of childish intricacy,the language that befuddles the older-
do they just die inside our walls,vanish,disappear into the acceptance of reality?

I press flowers into pages between books,like slices of forgotten dreams pressed into semi-sleep.
And the same sad song plays back at me,when I look into the sometimes green,sometimes amber eyes of my big,gentle dog.
Blowing candles out for someone else,like on a birthday cake,but wishing for something beyond possibility,a wish too late.
Invest in the bizzare.Invite the quiet inside me.The only answer there can be before the strength to grow up prevails. Being understood  is as hard as it is to understand.
And I'll be waiting again,counting drops of summer rain till the end.