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  • iamjass 15w

    Peculiar. Thanks if you survive till the end of this read.

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    2020

    “What are you gazing at?”, I asked Twenty.

    “Sunset”, he replied with a distant look in his eyes, “beautiful, no? probably the last one. Guess they are going to hate me a bit less now.”

    Yes. The sunset was beautiful and so was he.


    His name is Twenty. I don’t quite remember exactly how we met. One day suddenly, he was there. Casually. Like, when you are choosing the best pastry for yourself at the bakery and a stranger tiptoes beside you, complementing your taste. Or when you are taking pictures with your best friend in the hall after readjusting and redoing your hair and mascara 7355844 times and a stranger passes by, smiles at you. And on the other day he was there, vivid. In my room, on my bookshelf, on my windowpane, everywhere. Grey and sad. Like a kid who had been told that there would be no Santa this year.

    He never complained. He never talked about how much he suffered. There were nights when he would lie awake with a tug in his chest when thousands of humans found peace (or at least they say so) six feet under the soil in a single day. He would twist and turn on the bed because some actually created lives to destroy other lives. Most of the daytime he spent sleeping on the couch, never once complaining at my 98880554 times responding ‘yes’ to my professor when asked if he was audible on meet. Occasionally he would smile, seeing Sasha updating her insta wall with family time, hearing Emma playing her violin again, seeing me sitting with my journal. Again. I never corrected him that we were killing time. We were injuring him.

    The neighbour’s dog seemed more bearable with each passing day. The piled up files on my desk were gone. My computer couldn’t be on diet. It was getting full. The lipsticks that matched my dresses were replaced with masks that my roomie thought were cool for WhatsApp status. My TBR pile was actually happy with me. I was becoming a good cook(at least that’s what I thought). I finished listening to each and every song Taylor has ever sung. I educated myself on Kpop, Jpop and what not. Oh man I had been cool all this time until one day I noticed Twenty slipping away from me. From life.

    I caught him looking up the 2020 memes and monthly economical stats. His lips were pursed. His eyes were red as if he was about to cry. I wanted to embrace him and tell him that I chose not to hate him just because some hu(monsters)mans went crazy. And he skipped dinner when he saw Tara’s family moving out because they had a small business and they couldn’t be brave enough.

    I wanted to write him a song or a poem, hoping that would make him feel better. As that was all I could do. Scribble. A silent complainer. A negligent whiner. But things wouldn’t be same as before in any time soon. And we both knew that. He will have to say goodbye stepping onto graves and remnants. That there will be people who wouldn’t want to see him again.

    But I also wanted him to know that I didn’t hate him. And there were people like me out there. That he taught us value. Relativity of choices, preferences and priorities. That he helped some to find themselves. And along with the damages caused, that moment of finding oneself will also exist. And he will be remembered and cherished.

     

    -jasmine

    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 17w

    It has been long. So if you stop by, I hope you smile.

    Love,
    J

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    Lego

    I used to be a thief. Stealing clauses from everywhere and anywhere. Map of time passed, on the stones and walls, green sprouting out of them and I used to steal hope. Bury it with ink and cold fingertips.  I used to wake the unheard fall underneath the maples, told them that I had lost summers longing for spring. And we would hold hands, walk to my doorstep, I would keep them safe in a white bed.

    Some days I was a thief , sneaking into a battlefield, stealing love from the wallets of dead bodies on sunsets. Then I used to put words underneath my eyes and sleep.

    On paper, I am in love. I am a sophomore. I hold hands. I jump off the cliffs holding my lover’s hand, into the river, cold but I am warm. Then it is twilight and I come back to the place where people buy love, on warm beds and also by losing bets.

    I was a thief and I was blue and beautiful at my desk. The wounds used to bleed, once in a while like a red moon. It used to be storms, front line of world war 2, a house without roof and what not. It used to be my chest. I used to be beautiful at my desk. When I am done, my lips are crimson, like blood spilled on the sky of sunset. A sun sets. And it is just a moment or two. It is another monsoon and I see my pain ricochet.

    Then on a morning I woke up with a tug inside my chest. Dews on my forehead and my armpits, drenched earth. It was a Lego house with all the stolen goods pilled up beneath my bed. It was summer. But the house was empty with me in it, like a winter arrived too soon. So I burned that down and planted a tree on it. A word fell from my eye and I let it roll. A compensation for all the stealing I did and did not embrace my poor soul.

    Once in a while the tree smiles with a blossom and I save a part of me and not steal. Because it is okay if I don’t save myself daily like you pour tea from your favourite teapot. But when I sit at my desk once in a while with the bloom tucked in my braid, I want waves and thunder to stop and stare at my dancing hell.


     - jasmine

    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 23w

    Will be here. Soon. :)

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    And honey, neon lights are high
    but the blue sky will always tell you
    that it's a bad day to die.

    -jasmine

    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 30w

    ".. you can be kind to the one that you love.."

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    Single Bedroom

    Ian, I used to fear heights. I am phobiac, to fall, to ache. But yesterday pushed me towards terrace. And there I stood for long. The dusk was never that alluring to me. I stood there afar from the chaos. The chaos of my mind, my heart and among the walls of my house.

    That house never felt a home. Yet I never was a refugee, but a bird who sleeps in a cage and some butterflies
    who die inside the ribcage.

    I stood there facing the roaring breeze. The chaos from the drawing room seemed faded. It reminded me of my grandmother. How she used to hum. The rustic languages, parables and her fairies. She used to feed me happy endings and her characters always used to live happily ever after. But she was a liar 'cause I never saw my family living happily ever after. I miss her lies, Ian. I miss her. I miss how she used to feed me chicken soup after I used to come back from school. Mum used to be busy with her parties and gleaming ornaments. I remember dad bought me a fairy house once, telling me that that was a lucky charm. That would bring halcyon days. But it never did.

    Rather it made me stand before the harsh truth which I shouldn't have heard. I was too young to bear with so.

    Some nights granny used to fall asleep. Her hum ceased. And then I could hear mum and dad quarrelling, jolting each other. They, falling forth and back. I didn't know those harsh words, how they meant.
    But the fight always used to cease before 4am. Perhaps it was their flesh feasting time. I feared that 4am. I had a notebook too. But I never knew how to draw fear.

    In the morning, I used to see blue marks on mum's hand. Papa's cheek was aching someday. I used to ask and stare. I used to stare from the window of school bus but they never broke the icy mystery.

    They loved me together. They all alone loved me as whenever I used to wish to sleep with them, they never faught. I can't tell you Ian, how blissful dreams were those, how peacefully I used to sleep. But I couldn't wish for that everyday. But I know, they loved me.

    They used to ignore my tiny imperfections, my mistakes. I wish they would've done that for themselves too.

    Ian, we will sleep with our child. I don't want your eyes, eyebrows pounding against my elbows or mine against yours. I would smile with you. I would forgive you.
    I would love you more.

    Promise me, we would make a single bedroom.


    - jasmine

    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 40w

    Hello Mirakee.
    PS. Old draft.

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    Blitz Poetry : Syria

    Hello brotherhood
    Hello humanity
    Humanity is tired
    Humanity abandoned Syria
    Syria seems rusty
    Syria, castle of despair
    Despair engulfed hearts
    Despair, ruled by blood
    Blood, to and fro
    Blood beneath the homes
    Homes lost its roofs
    Homes are cursed with blue
    Blue was once the sky
    Blue was once the eyes
    Eyes are now teary
    Eyes, canvas of atrocities
    Atrocities are on high
    Atrocities make the tots cry
    Cry, an innocent act
    Cry, a heart wrenching impact
    Impact seems blurred
    Impact was trampled beneath feet
    Feet of weapon holding creatures
    Feet of heaps, dust and gunpowder
    Gunpowder serves the grave
    Gunpowder fills the air
    Air seems contaminated
    Air, abandoned with aroma
    Aroma of black aurora and frost
    Aroma of greedy dusk
    Dusk to the hope
    Dusk, invitation of darkness
    Darkness of paralysed brain
    Darkness blinds the sites
    Sites are misleaded
    Sites are lost
    Lost so are the hearts
    Lost are the smiles
    Smiles used to echo
    Smiles used to say hello
    Hello to the kind hearts
    Hello to the humane start
    Start had collapsed onto end now
    Start, some screams
    Screams, followed by blasts and firing
    Screams of losing humanity
    Humanity is praying to meet a pray
    Humanity, connecting the dots of need
    Need
    Pray


    - jasmine


    // a blitz poem by jasmine //
    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 42w

    Clearing my drafts. And also I don't use my backup acc anymore. So yeah. Here.

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    Sick Home

    Whenever you ask me whether I have reached Home safely, it makes me feel good, Ian. Somehow I feel we walked a step further, together.
    But would you believe me if I say Home scares me?

    The left pocket of my ripped jeans has always been heavy. You asked once. The sound whenever I run. The bunch of keys. They sing melody of aloneness, Ian.

    I reach home safely. I don't press the doorbell. Unlocking the front door, my feet meet the lilac carpet. I say "I am Home". But nobody shows up. I step forward quietly, pretending mum is asleep. But the note from her, sticked onto the upper door of refrigerator ;
    oh I remember, I'm alone.

    I love the vapour Ian. The vapour and fresh smell of dishes, your mum cooks. I envy you someday. I do. Mine is a cold story where every bite requires the touch of microwave oven. The refrigerator knows my story. It knows how much my mum loves me. How she cooks. When she does. How I cook. When I do. How much burnt the omlet is. And how much ancient the soup has been.

    The couch is cold. We barely have conversations. But it knows the warmth of love that a family shared once. I know love. Ian, you know love too. We haven't forgotten. But mum has. It seems. Mum and Dad now, love money, the gleaming words of strangers and deals. They call me. They apologise for being late. I hear them less. I hear the background music. The dinner plates pitty me. They don't ask me now. Now our fork, spoons and knives don't fight onto the plate, together.

    The walls are rough. They ceased cracking up. Dad and I, we don't hit the wall with football anymore. We used to love football, Ian. Hall room echoes silence. My imagination echoes. My aloneness does.

    I sniff into the cupboards. I sniff onto mum's baggy upper cloths, dad's sleeves. They smell good. They don't wear them. The cloths are a home that they abandoned. They don't smell the cloths now. They smell money. They smell pride. They smell success.

    But you know Ian, alovera tree and I, we see stars. We wish love. We wish togetherness. We want the lost to come home. I water the tree. Then I close the window.
    I leave the stars.

    I linger on my study table. I write.
    I water my memories. And I wait.

    I wait for the doorbell to be rung.



    - jasmine

    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 46w

    I want to remember Sadness as a child, lonely
    who wrote letters but never got a reply
    The paper boats he made, had holes
    The flowers he brought home, withered
    The piece of sky, seen
    from his open window
    always stayed cloudy
    And his room a bit more cold at night

    I want to remember Sadness as a child, lonely
    Who was born in Fall and fell in love in winter
    All he walked on were crumpled maple leaves
    and died alone on a rainy day
    giving a piece of him to everybody he loved

    I want to remember Sadness as a child, lonely
    So that when it comes to me
    I can be more kind to him
    As he loves like flowers
    who grow in dark



    -jasmine

    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 47w

    Writers

    I looked at a pair of red lips
    I gazed at beard
    They are different people
    But their hands are the same
    They scribble, a special name
    of love

    You claim
    they live in past
    So I too look at them
    the same way

    They seem afar
    wrapped with the petals of could've been(s)
    Souls, peripheral beauty
    still filling colours in others

    You claim they live in past
    I too see that way
    They seem
    inside the petals of bygone
    still painting the sky
    at sunset

    You claim they live in past
    I too see that way
    They seem afar
    like a moon, crescent
    But I wonder
    what would happen
    if they start living at present


    -jasmine

    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 48w

    Okay. I'm back. *grins*
    Oh btw. Hi.

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    Purple

    Sometimes I want to ask them, the wildflowers
    how it feels when breeze hit them, hard
    Like a human who plucks them too often
    and why they still chase those breeze
    what colour their tears are
    I want to know

    I want to ask some wallflowers
    how well they know History
    Is History a Man? or a Woman?
    I want to know his skin colour
    I want to know how he looks at women
    If it is a woman, I want to know
    why she had been crying all this time
    after making love, after offering her hand
    why she didn't offer the love to herself
    the love she offered to somebody else, easily


    Maybe I know these all
    I knew them that day,
    when it all didn't work the way it was supposed to

    I was supposed to have a place in your heart
    when I opened the temples in me, for you
    The temples, between my legs, between my lungs
    But a part of me that didn't enter you
    came back to me, refugee
    and turned the temples into graveyards
    The epitaphs have your names, very different
    And a broken mirror that only reflects me

    I want to ask someone why the agony is Blue
    and not Red, Crimson or Lilac
    A river comes to its ocean
    but when it's lost or just wants to stay for its valley
    Is it that time when the ocean turned blue
    Or reflecting the sky when the beloved
    raindrops fell and didn't go back
    I don't know where the ocean goes when it's in pain
    agonised as its river didn't come


    Maybe I know it all
    But I shut the windows and doors long ago
    And I don't let the wind in anymore



    -jasmine

    ©iamjass

  • iamjass 49w

    Dear Mirakee and Mirakeeans,
    Can I come home tonight?

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    On the sizzling sand I stood,
    stood like an arid land
    A lonely twilight whispered into my ear
    And I know not what made love to my tear
    Thousands of blue cascades,
    they held back no longer

    I ran towards the unnamed city
    where bygone still comes at night
    I thought I would live there until I die
    Growing thorns, healing cracks on wall
    Pretending I never met words
    Fighting swords with Swords

    But now
    when after thousand of eclipses
    it rains, it floods but still stays dry inside
    My tomorrow, can I come home tonight?

    -jasmine
    ©iamjass