nightwriter_i

we cannot love what we fear.

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  • nightwriter_i 41w

    When I won't be able to write
    I'll write about not being able to write.

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    Coldplay.

    If I tell you that I admire, would you not use me to fight your demons?

    I don't know for how long my desires would boil down on a piece of paper
    Starting on a curve
    Ending with a dot.

    The city passes past my eyes
    in a whiff
    Just to stop and look at you
    but just to look at you
    and nothing more.

    For what is present
    Might be future too
    but who knows?

    Smile departs at the curve
    of this road.
    A step towards is a step away.

    If I tell you that I admire, and if you admire me too, would you not use me to fight yourself?

    I don't know for how long my desires
    would boil down as words
    And just as words.


    ©nightwriter_i

  • nightwriter_i 47w

    We will have a drink or two and we will go to your house.

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    Joyride.

    Once more it'd be right to seal illogic with a kiss,
    Hot hands in cool fingers
    Smooth legs striding on easy in linen and silk.

    Tongue leaves a trail
    For the eyes to follow
    I touch creases that hanks
    on either side of your mellow

    You open your bra and
    your nipples graze vaguely
    on the dry contours of my lips,
    turning them pale.

    I waded in and smooched your skin
    to look up and see what thrill was
    to look up and see your face.

    ©nightwriter_i

  • nightwriter_i 49w

    Fragments

    Today, an year ago, I hurried through three streets of chaos
    to jot down words
    to jot down my heart
    and after a few days I saw those words curl up and shrink
    into ashes

    Today, an year ago, a smile was enough,
    Today I realised it wasn't.

    ©nightwriter_i

  • nightwriter_i 49w

    I know this rage is going
    to die young
    So, as the world says just a look is not enough, even a touch is a small part of a big cause, what cuts through is what completes everything,
    A peck at your brows and one just behind the ears and above the neck,
    like the ploughing of a barren land and digging down the seeds in the middle of nowhere.

    ©nightwriter_i

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    Four lines

    I imagine you naked, always,
    staring at those brown leaves outside your window.
    As a drop of rain stays on the petals
    for a last look at the world.

    ©nightwriter_i

  • nightwriter_i 49w

    Note

    If you want to throw an ugly truth on someone's face but think that might make you sound plain rude, don't take a moment to think, just do it because they didn't commit that ugly truth while keeping you in mind.

    If you're ugly throw it on yourself.

    My boulders crack when I am reminded of the fact that I am an empath. I can hold a face, hug breasts, kiss the lips but still remind you what you made me feel.

    I can't be the condition for someone to be nice because conditions are subjective, when you remove one, you become the same old person.

    When you meet a fleeting moment you promise them zero upheavals but when you lose the moment your inner vice guides you to places you have left.

    If you say no, you win.

    ©nightwriter_i

  • nightwriter_i 59w

    There's an anguish I have left in each sentence I have written. And the reason is I don't have the power to be kind. I befriended a Psychologist and that's the only good decision I have made this year.

    Days are passing by, and I have been silent mostly.
    The ideal Kunal.

    There are people out there who want to be sexually desired by many to escape the feeling of being unlovable, I ain't one of them. I feel everyone deserves to be loved in one or the other way.

    The fear I had is going away, gradually. I am back with people who crave listening to me, who don't go away while I am speaking, and I feel I deserve this, for being the same, don't I?

    I am Kunal, I have never made anyone hate their body, I didn't destroy someone's self esteem by cheating and lying to them. I have been a very powerful person throughout my life, trying to help others and implement the changes on myself.

    And it's very liberating to know that every problem I faced wasn't my problem. I told someone that I wish I had cheated on them too and it's such a wrong thought. I never even tried to make her feel jealous. I could have but I didn't.

    It's very evident that people fall for me because of the way I talk, but believe me I don't use it as a weapon.
    I was cheesy, romantic, I sexted, shared sexual memes and replied to sexual memes that came from a single place.
    What if I wasn't this guy? Then I am sure half of the girls I would have flirted with would have been from Mirakee itself. But I never did.

    Now, there are no excuses for me being an asshole too, I was anxious because I never got what I deserved, I never got the same amount of attention I gave, can you believe it? It's the first time ever, was the person even worth it that I took back to back hits and still demand everything?

    The feeling of shame is natural. Your silence on actions gives other the consent.
    And Silence is not consent whether in matters of love or sex.

    My character isn't weak, it was made weak by throwing circumstances.

    You weaken your character by going back to someone who emotionally destroyed you.

    Don't ever cross oceans for someone who wouldn't jump in a puddle for you. And it makes sense.

    I am better when I speak less, ain't I?
    But I have no wish to be a mystery because I can talk about everything and still be a mystery.

    My voice is my saviour, it loves to love and it loves to hate.

    I can call out anyone on their bullshit, closest of friends, a prima donna or a king because a friend is someone who always wants to see you in a better place not in a shithole of self induced toxic habits.

    If your friends let you be, then they aren't better than foes.

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    Note.

    I am leaving places, everyday. Greeting doormats and going away.

    There's no hinge to put feelings and emotions on hold.

    There are some detours we didn't mean to take. Slowly, the faces fade in oblivion.

    It's not good to spread your spades and hearts on the blankets of secrecy. You will stop trusting yourself when you'll lose.

    I have been a patient listener to many who decided to peek inside this lodge.

    I speak well when I don't have multiple layers of sadness and a hidden plea to hold on.

    When I speak well, people crave for two more words, and I won't speak well from now onwards.

    There is an essence in leaving, there's always a presence you want to avoid, memories of whom won't make you smile at nights.

    I love flaws, the ones that spread their wings around your waist and hips, creased skin on your breasts, those notoriously cute pimples on your face and the inner thigh's maze.

    I would give small wet pecks on each of them and that's how I love.

    But
    I don't want to lent my lips anymore, my tongue is unwilling to make love to your body and my voice won't whisper in your ears.

    My kiss, my words, my letter
    They didn't stop you from walking the extra mile.

    Today, I give you back the memories, humdrums of which would still echo and spread around the sky of Park street.

    The poems and letters would be disposed off, preventing any permanence.

    My kisses and words never mattered.
    And now, my existence won't.

    The bird has flown.



    ©nightwriter_i

  • nightwriter_i 61w

    Note

    I am sitting like a stooping c on a chair and thinking about the number of times I have let motorcycles run over my spine.

    My eyes are moored at the sequence of water flowing from a faucet at the bent contour of a basin, drop by drop.

    It's quite strange how a thought comes whispering into your ears, how you have minds of all sorts speaking to your mouth.

    I fear that the bleakness that follows a breakdown will take my life one day, or I would burst my nerves thinking about what I could have done.

    I ain't a biased writer, I had spread my arms and loved immensely, wrote poems about it, irrespective of how society perceives such men as emotionally weak and irrational.

    Departure of love is a sad one and my toes turn cold thinking about how one day it'll just go away. Like a fleeting moment, ready to drop dead once you close your eyes.

    I went after what I felt passionate about, without hiccups or two thoughts, without being afraid of the closeness a bond demands.

    But never have I ever met a person who gulps down food and says I didn't eat anything, just two morsels of wrong doings dipped in Jalapeno sauce.

    And it makes me regret the poems and letters I had written while keeping in mind the false idea of a person I never met.

    ©nightwriter_i

  • nightwriter_i 62w

    Note

    I have seen faces and phases under a clear blue sky wrapped in a hot blanket, thinking about the tender feeling I had.

    The bathroom is now, generally dry like my eyes, and I shit twice during the whole day. Once early morning after waking up and once in the evening after thinking about incidents.

    The disposition between faces intrigues me a lot, how humans can change so rapidly, and how fear at the hindsight affects every bit of time their eyes decide to wander.

    I guess I am old at heart, what makes me say that? I think it's because when something bad happens I imagine myself sitting in the balcony, sipping tea with a shawl around and a tinge of grey in my beard of nonsense.

    I have been a verb for a long time now it's time to become a noun and be echoed in minds of people who don't know shit about Pronouns.

    It's not a dire need to be remembered for good, rather be remembered for something I had instilled within you.

    If an ending is happy, it's not an ending.

    I am a millennial but I don't think like one, I don't expect a picture perfect fairytale without commitment and hardwork, I don't use social media to flaunt and create jealousy, I don't act on convenience.

    My source of nourishment isn't just outside validation, because I don't want to stay hungry throughout my life.

    If you are stripped off the likes, comments, and attention you are nothing.
    I dig moral values, honesty, authenticity and people who know what they are talking about.
    I have no categories, nothing based on colours, physical attributes.

    What hurts me the most is when someone makes fun of my vulnerabilities that I had bestowed upon them with trust.

    People who have fallen for me know what I have to offer, I have craved intimacy that's why I prefer meeting.

    But all of this doesn't matter, does it? When the crowd is headed towards a cynical approach, and when every modern epitaph considers Love as a power struggle, is it possible to find the tender feeling?

    I have left people and places who were bad for me, that has always been my super power,
    But this one time I decided to fight my will to go away, and the very next day I was in a cage of my own lower impulses where a baseline "Hey" used to make me feel good.

    I want to shout out loud that I have been wronged but on the other hand I can't complain because I chose this life.

    Two women purported my destruction but I still feel that women are more compassionate than men, I had told the same thing to the same person once and she wanted me to believe otherwise.I just encountered the wrong ones. Maybe they are innocent too, I want to believe that they didn't know what they were doing because it makes me feel less shitty.

    I really leave people behind, and I am proud of it but this time it feels a little bad. I know it's just my emotions but still I don't want to name it.

    ©nightwriter_i

  • nightwriter_i 62w

    Iss diwali bass ghar nahi dil bhi saaf kare.
    Hope all of you are doing the inner work.

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    Happy Diwali, everyone.

  • nightwriter_i 65w

    My inner roar pertains to what some mouths speak or do. There are so many spatial rearrangements between two people who are sitting beside each other. I have a habit of reading minds, and it's a horrific one, some of the revelations don't harm me because it doesn't come with me losing my self esteem.

    Aforementioned past looks good if it remains there, you don't tie a leash to it and smile while looking back at it and wear a veil when you look infront. The present would only respect your past if you leave it. I have no other choice but to write what I felt and feel.

    From a stout shoulder that smiled at you from miles away to someone who doubts himself now. I used to believe that every decision we take is best, based on the knowledge and evaluation we have at that point of time and it does nurture you with maturity, but at what cost? At the cost of knowing a lot about someone.

    I have a knack of knowing things, I have a habit of reading minds, you see where am I getting? When you explore the contours of a mind, you come to know things, now either it cripples you down or gives you the clarity.

    Asking questions is natural for me. I am always interested in knowing, doesn't mean I am affirming that I am interested in someone, asking questions for me is just like asking myself what will happen next before turning the pages of a book.

    Reading comes natural to me, and a book is no different than a mind.

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    Spilled personality

    There are characters in a play and there are characters one display, on this well trodden path of trend.

    Crowd begets crowd.

    We don't desire what we want to, we desire what we are made to.

    Walking slowly on the pavements, looking at hoardings that pass by and change.

    Walking slowly on the pavements, looking at people who pass by and change.

    What ignites, you become
    What ignites, you chase
    If a hand resists to submit
    you stop if you care,
    if you don't you erase.

    Looks are liabilities if what you leave inside the vaults of secrecy is my destruction.

    A character is a liability if it sees ambits as hurdles to leap over and shout for freedom.

    For worm eaten skulls
    Freedom is in absence
    of something that binds,
    Freedom is in absence
    of a mind.


    ©nightwriter_i