How to fall in love with yourself? A fallen leaf from the autumn tree Drips of dew on frozen swings, A caterpillar cacoon now it's free With glitters of gold on fiery wings.
A cacophony of whispers, vivid dreams And a symphony of unsung syllables, Wrapped around my unheard screams And comforted my hushed fables.
A pen bleeding tired-void sonnets Spinning poignant melancholic galaxies, Tangled in twisted lies and fervent poets Were millions and millions of fantasies.
It reflected the deepest fears & desires That the wretched heart couldn't vocalise, A glance at the chevel glass And thousands of memories characterise.
The betrayed metaphors and roses, The broken and torn proses; The doubting suspicious thoughts, The endless fights we fought; All flooded into a hazy recollection as crimes, And I went back, back in time When I had quenched the thirst for infinite rhymes.
Hues and cries, Blacks and whites, All of that is you and I.
So embrace yourself in those lonely nights, And wipe your tears with a timid smile, Standup bright and blow the horn And drive yourself an extra mile.
Cause you're your own You can hear it, You know it, And that's how you fall in love, Fall in love with yourself.
I would pour down, washing you of those broken memories you're trying so hard to forget. I would quench the thirst of all those dying flowers, which died because of drought OR lack of care.
I would fall for all those lovers who wanted to dance under me, in the dark of the night. I would fall down and cleanse every creak and pore of those fantasy lanes which had turned to lonely streets, because of cruel reality.
I would allow those lonely dancers to dance and forget themselves in my embrace. I would wash away your tears of hurt and pain, and drench you with my own tears. As I would embrace you with my cold arms, and scream your frustration in the form of lightning and thunder.
I would let the whole world know what you're going through, as I'll beat down every window and shake every house. I would give you company when, you feel like there's no reason or hope. I would let you rant about your life, as I would drench you with my icy water.
I would listen to you, go on and on about all the things that went wrong. I would stay till, you rage. And then, when I would leave you, I'll leave behind a beautiful rainbow. To remind you that, there's hope after every time you feel like there's none. I would remind you that, it's OK to cry. I would remind you that, it's OK to not be OK. And that, I would always come back to remind you, I'm there for you.
A vine of rejection From the endless pit Wraps around my neck. Twisting, turning, Closing on me. I squirm under it's pressure As my feeble arms try To break free. As my eyes tear up, Why me? Can I be this? Can I do that? I ask With hope in my eyes. Getting a short "No" I crumble With muffled cries. I sit and look At the blank wall With unshed tears. Am I not trustworthy at all? Am I that careless? Ain't I deserve any happiness? Everytime joy knocks my door, They shackle me to sadness. Weighing me down Cutting my wings Suffocating to death. The cold rejections Make me shudder, And I drown In an endless cavern. Now, they've broken me so bad That I don't even ask My curiosity is dead. I shut up, Back up, Lock myself up, With a smile intact. As after every rejection, I swim in my tears And die singing lullabies.
One day you fell asleep to the sound of your dream shattering. Now every morning you wake up with your vulnerabilities gagging. Now every morning you have tea in your mother's favourite tea cups. When she says, "Careful! They shouldn't break", you scatter the pieces of your broken dream on the kitchen floor but she refuses to look at them. So you deliberately drop the cup. It breaks. You leave, 'cause you know your mother won't unsee it.
You start to run. You keep running. Running like all the floor in all the house, like all the ground in all the world is a treadmill. Running like everyone else. Running from a family who doesn't know how to love us enough. From the people and the promises we can't keep. From a dream that knows how to hurt but doesn't know how to finally kill. From a pain that is distant but close. From the emptiness that doesn't know a beginning or an end.
Sometimes you stop to watch a movie. There comes a moment when the protagonist stares blankly from the window, stares listlessly at the ceiling, the wall, the garden, the polaroids, the empty chairs. In that exact moment the protagonist is you and you are the protagonist. The silence begins to haunt you more. You look into the mirror until it cracks. You look at the clock, you look until it stops. Is it a broken clock or a broken time? You don't know.
You go to sleep. You fall in and out of love more quickly than you fall asleep. You look like a shiny little promise of forever to people. They don't see past your false gold glimmer of hope. But you are used to holding people like you hold your mother's favorite tea cups. Carelessly/deliberately, you break them. People don't come with the labels of 'fragile' or 'favourite' or 'please don't break me'. Or maybe you choose not to see.
Like you choose to unsee how time and promises moved at different paces. Promises moved slow time took the lead. Still you start running again to chase time, or promises or lies? You are not sure. You keep running from your naked inhibitions, from promises made but never kept, from happy memories that keep you on the edge of the abyss.
You don't realise that you are running in your own void, that unlike a tunnel your void has no end or beginning. You run faster until you realise what you have been running from is exactly what you have been carrying all along on your back. But you are used to carrying burdens or heavy school bags or broken dreams or broken mirrors or broken clocks or broken tea cups so you never noticed. ~mahnoor_
This is to you, yes you. You have been running in my head lately and that's not at all fair now. You cannot just come here and spill the things that I have been trying to organize daily. Running in my head is okay but the trouble begins when you start messing up with my heart ( of course in a good and gentle way) but I do not want that, I have other things to focus on and they are a hell lot important than the things I have spent my three years on. I do not want love i.e., you, even though I badly wish and need it but I do not want it because love at last destroys us gently and then brutally.
My heart's a barren land now, a desert where nothing grows, it's dry, unnourished, and unhappy. No, unhappy doesn't mean sad, I and my heart are a separate entity, so I am happy it's just my heart who just cannot stay happy, I am not saying that it doesn't try to stay happy, it tries and it fails but it then gets up again with a will to be happy. Nothing grows there, nothing comes there and nothing stays there. My heart's a desert and it needs love but I do not want it. I have got sunshine in my share and I am really happy with that but then I remember an Arab proverb that says "Sunshine all the time makes a desert". I love sunshine but I do not want my heart to be a desert, I want it to be a safe place for all that was, all that it holds, and most importantly for all that will come. I want to keep everything that entered there safely and securely as a memory.
Isn't it just wrong? When you try to forget the things, you fail and you remember them even more. But when they are right there when you don't make any effort to forget them, then you stay sane and somehow you start acting normal, you don't even realize how and when you did that impossible thing. Isn't it just wrong? Why the hell trying fails? I do not know if this happens with you, but it happens with me. Distance gives an enchantment to the view and distance has always been my biggest reason to love, when things are closer I seem to love them a lot less than when they are far away. But you see, people say that you must stay away from the things that don't serve you well, you must stay away from the person whom you loved once and who don''t love you anymore. So, I am doing the same, I am staying away from you and being what these millennials are, but I am not that and you know it well. I have always made peace and accepted the reality and moved on from you by staying there with you and watching you love someone else. I wish to be my kind of normal, to stay without even staying, to love without even wanting anything in return, and to leave without even leaving.
But now, I did the thing, I did what others usually do and I cannot go back now to my kind of normal, at least for now. The day you called, it was about 9:30 - 10:00 in the morning, I just sat to study but then I saw your call. As soon as I saw it, my heart rushed back to you but I didn't want to pick it up, I wanted to see it ringing just to see how many times it can ring but to your sad and to my bad, instead of keeping it aside, by mistake I disconnected the call. The blunders I do! Then neither you tried to call again and nor I and even why would I have called back? Anyways, leave the unimportant things aside, my point is from that day till now I am not able to focus, focus on the things that I need to focus on, I am just restless, tired and disappointed all the time, so I write. I write to find a focus but then I keep writing and writing and get involved in this and I get nothing.
My point is why do you stay in my heart and head when I don't stay in yours? Or is it that you stay here because I stay there in yours, is it so? I believe in all such things, so if it is so, then let me out of your heart, please? I need my focus, I need my calm, will you return it to me, will you?
P.S- I wrote this last night at 3:00 a.m, I am a different person now, but posting this still for the people who love reading me. (✷‿✷) @dusky_dawn <3
Numbness has taken over and the emptiness in heart is screaming to be filled, absolved or just heard for it has been ignored for quite a while now. This is an absurd feeling to have nothing to feel or to say to have forgotten to feel which is purely an excuse for not wanting to accept the whirlpool of emotions whirling inside the heart. It's easier, right? To just wave off an 'I don't know' as an answer to all the questions you know perfect, or crooked (yet) 'answers' to but you'll get drowned or say sinked (now that you feel less alive) if you reflect upon for answers.
The words and vision are obscure and you are upto a theoretical quest of solving this mystery of 'what to feel' but you are actually upto 'ways to save yourself' For that's what we do right? Ponder, wonder, think, overthink until we know we'll be doomed to go any further with our musing and just sit back halfway, lost in this eerie maze of thoughts too scared to cross and concluding 'I don't know how to move ahead' than to pull on our socks and reach for the end.
And why not, why would you muster courage to face yourself when you can just live the lie? You can choose to be a happy bean all day and behold the caelum at night and wonder why the moon conceals its darker side when it embraces its scars with pride. Perhaps it has a hard time accepting the darkness of its own and has chosen to reveal what it could 'accept' for itself or maybe it's the world deceiving itself with the brighter side it could comply to.
We have always been this way, haven't we? Trying to cling on to the positives and affirmatives to succeed neglecting the doubts and insecurities as distractions while they termitise* our mind.
But for once, can we try to reach out of the maze, to acknowledge the turmoil inside our brain and take the hit all at once to rebuild efficienctly than to get swayed by storm every now and then. Can we consider hearing the 'I'm not okay' behind the masquerade of zilch, of 'it's fine' and the clashing of emotions and pay heed to the obscurity and accept it for what it is and maybe, just maybe let the numb heal into whole? Please.
I want to write a poem. A poem, where these nights aren't so cold, where the lullabies are not overwhelmed by those battle cries inside my head. A poem where my dreams aren't yet dead.
I want to write a poem. A poem, where I won't be loved only when I am a dead leaf, where my mistakes would be forgiven and not frowned upon in disbelief. A poem where my share of love won't smell like grief.
I want to write a poem. A poem, where me and you aren't so unyoked, where despite all the difference, we stand together no matter how steep is the schuss. A poem, where even the mighty time cannot evade us.
I want to write a poem. A poem, where I can fall asleep without being needed to fight, where I am not battered by the voices in head which yell at me and haunt me every single night. I want to write a poem, a poem, where no matter what, I never fail to write.
I dipped a coconut cookie in a piping hot cup of tea, and texted my lover about how it's my favourite— to feel it melting in my mouth as the colours melt into the twilight sky, and she replied with her usual, "yes, you sure do!"
I read articles in the stale newspaper about the new epoch, and marvel what'd change, the roads, bridges, towers, habits? Will it metamorphose the faces and the feelings that their little hearts contain or makeshift the favourites that they proudly wear on their skin?
It scares me to think if one morning I woke up and didn't crave the desperation to text my lover, or the desperation to walk over the cobblestones of the streets that smelled of a zephyr I love, what will I do then, if not look at the mirror and wonder the number of times I've forgotten myself.
I've already lost a lot of things I once gazed fondly at; I've lost the eyes that my mother taught me to look at the world with, and the shoes that my father gifted me with aspirations that I'd walk with them leaving a mark; it's all a different sky, different time altogether, and I'm standing on the crossroads with no clue where to go next.
They say old habits die hard, and I hope mine die with me, not before me; I wish I could still call my old friends and trust them without questions because it's something that's in my blood; no flood nor tide could wash away the person that I am; and at last, even if it rains, bleak and cold, I hope I could still long for sunshine, sans settling for the dark clouds as my roof.
Even though you forget the person that I was once, and I don't remember myself as well, I hope you live on in my blood, like an old habit that dies hard.