Call me once you're done with your hoes, Because I'm a sleepyhead who sleeps in sins Of thy, but I'm selfish, and the grand prize Of it, is to my body and sweat i shed At the sight of you, not butterflies, but my stomach now frets, Even so, I'm willing to summon numbness in my core If not a lover, I'll be a whore.
Simple clouds, Not trying to blend in With voguish whereabouts, My grandma sits camouflaged Under until a drop hits And marks the territory For her grave.
She irks at the sight of me When i say of the new me, Too bad she's become stagnant with bad hearing, But she wakes up at the first chirp. Blending in yet again.
She merges with grey, A little more each day. And I'm afraid she'll fade With the blue emerging from edges But she's so peaceful Under what seems grey enough To not be called a bad omen.
What is to be done, Only if i could undone, Those cold stares, And bare gray could i sewed Above my head for you But i know very well, it's just The dead's immoral remains. Memories my heart contains Truth and a dream which I'll wake up to.
Sun, Aaj sham aasaman se wo gulabi rang churaya hai, Tere galo par sajaya hai, Tu muskura to sahi Ek pal ko nazre jhuka to sahi Baate hazar ho jayegi un sharmili palko tale, Jo baat reh gayi thi adhuri, Kyuki jana bhi mera hai zaruri.
Sun, Kabhi socha hai Kaha jati sari dua hai? Ishq mai kurban hue jo Wo aakhir milte kaha hai? Kuch bate adhuri reh hi jati hai, Jo kai unkahi kahaniyan sunati hai, Kahi to milte hi hoge wo do dil, Yaha nhi to taro mai hi sahi.
Tu bhi yhi hai, Or mai bhi, Par mera jana bhi hai zaruri. Sawan ki hawayein, Jab bhi chu kar nikalegi mujhe Tujhe aasaman ke us aur dhunduga mai, Tu hogi waha, murad si Par fir bhi, mai akela yaha, chidiya sa, ek yaad sa.
You had promised- To meet under this falling bridge, To gather what remains, The last of you and me and flee, Since, the Alchemist you were/are, The traces of gold and perfectness disguised, Is all I would ever find. Neither you or me, Or something we could ever be, Something we'll never be.
I was foolish enough To try and spruce up my locks with stars Enjoy a walk down the street And grab a drink or two And meet you -- Forgetting, that nights could be nothing more Than a devil's dark hour. But only for ofcourse, a women like me, Fragile and stagnant, Nights are a curse, and respect just another belonging in our purse, Which would eventually be stolen, darkened, So that I won't ever be able to face myself Or mom and niece probably waiting, By the door, which I'll never come back to again, With the icecream i had promised- Now under this bridge, I lie numb and in anguish.
In anguish, Of not being able to see them and you for the Last Time, The sky is getting lighter around the edge, And these beautiful stars Have started to fade in the direction You would come from, because you had promised- To be a perfect family, But of which the imperfect me, Can no longer be a part of, You are late, but Maybe I'll wait just another second, A second too long.
*The person you are trying to call is not answering. Please try again later or leave a message at the tone-*
//Where are you! I feel something..someone. I need you-//
This too shall pass- Along the drizzle and Monotonous winds The hymns i sing, With the clouds darker than The black eye, i would cook Another ritual and conceal The bruised, above the stove I was burnt upon, i will cook Meals, and apologize for the sin I've committed by being a useless Mother and a wife to the male, And burn dreams, flushing them into the sea, The only one I've seen so far- Inside these four walls, of my tears, Which i collect to nurture The being I've birthed. Because I have to be useful, But I'm just a maid He sleeps with. Because I'm just a maid To make his child sleep.
Now I shall pass this onto my daughter- She should glow pristine With the halo of perfection, And haya under the veil, above her head. she should not complain, When her brother's friends Touch her and blame her For being a women. 16, is when she will be his, Yes, is what she'll say When asked if she's happy- To make her father proud, Of how he's never wrong, And she would not cry but cook For her husband who's out drinking With his girlfriends. She will be a maid, he will sleep with She will be a maid, Just that.
What do you wanna become when you'll be a grown up? For a guy answer to this question may be what career one would choose or he would simply say i wanna become a man just like my dad is but not for me as I'm not really sure what career i wanna choose and I'm pretty sure i don't want to become a man like my dad is, everyone no matter girl or a boy looks up to their dad whole growing up but i couldn't even look straight into his eyes, always having my head down in disappointment, with eyes filled with tears, i've seen things growing up things which messed me up from a very young age, i have to be on my own at the stages of life when one use to learn from their father about how to tackle problems in life, they say that with age your father becomes just like your friend but my father couldn't even be a father, let alone be my friend, when i should habe been going out on family vacations, celebrating festivals and small things, i've literally cried on every day when i was supposed to be happy, at the young age when im supposed to discuss about the manly problems with him i was talking to him lile an adult thay what's wrong, why isn't everything okay with us why can't we be like a normal family but that man didn't utter a word while his 14 years old son spent hours crying sitting down right beside his bed as he falls asleep
it's past the visiting hours, but, can I still see the pastor ? let me in, kindly, before it's too late to leave; I've to get some flowers on the way back to my grandmother; they won't let me through, the things that I had to confess, stayed back in the corner of my mind; oh, doctor you're too kind — it's going to hurt her more, but the anaesthetic is no good for her heart, my grandmother would rather float through the ceiling, than sit inside the golden chariot of a drug-induced seizure.
and, in the meantime, I will just hope that I make it in time, with the flowers that she asked me to bring for her last rites. her body is swollen and plugged into a spectrum of machines, deep inside, we are all just trying — I'm trying to prepare myself for the moment when that little machine by her bedside would stop beeping; the nurses are constantly trying to keep me out of the emergency room, they claim, my grandmother's blood pressure increases everytime, I barge through that door to check if she's fine.
and even though she is asleep, I know she is smiling, as she hears me, stifling my cries — just like she used to, when I was a newborn and my mother wasn't around, so, she would put on a motherly smile to keep me from crying; amidst all the smiles, and the lines between life and death, the doctors are praying that they are hopefully not out of time.
time, time, time, it is of the essence; because, the bills are steadily on the rise along with the medicines, timely syringes, oxygen cylinders, blood and food; and, on the other hand, I was fired from that sickening nine-to-five slavery, for using up my entire sick-leave allowance; now, my pocket is as broken as the promises I gave to my grandmother, about the flowers, that I never brought her.
the roses in the vase by her bedside, are now starting to wilt; but, the nurses couldn't care enough to change them, probably because, they know that it's a lost war, they know, that I'm running out of finances; what do you do, when the mediclaim fails to mitigate your monetary risks, when you've nothing left, but an empty bank account, a decaying head and a dying grandmother ? do you look back, to those instances, whenever you had missed calls from that same old insurance company, or, do you look back to those days, when you took your frustrations out on that tedious and dull insurance guy, just because you had a bad night with your girlfriend the other day ?
lately, my life has been an euphemism for my demise; now, is that euphuism ? probably not, because, I didn't know the correct definitions for metaphors and alliterations until the elementary school skinned me of my innocence. what's there to figure out, ever since my birth — the doctors made sure that I'm used to decimated figures, recalculate my life expectancy and, most certainly it's as low as the pulse in my body.
the ingenuity involved passed away, my inspirations, they did strike the wrong nerve and the rock bottom, here's a display of raw banality, for, it only takes me a second and one-third of the prescription, to write something tragic, ordinary and orthodox — yet, I won't budge unless everyone gives me an ovation, maybe, I was better off without a device that tries to make me breathe from my mouth; maybe, I was better off using that burnt celly, the one that came along with a keypad, atleast, I wouldn't have to watch my step, just to walk backwards, all over again — in a world of mouth-breathers, can you ever indentify the ones with their eyes open ?
there's barely any form of thought, logic or concept implemented to this piece; except the fact that, every word is a piece of my dwindling sanity; and, isn't it funny when sanity and sobriety oftentimes go hand-in-hand as you try to turn them into your full-time hobby ? and, as I draw this line, promising myself that I would not cross it again, when, I am well aware that I will do it, the very second my head falls off from the excessive laughing; and, once that happens — do not remind me of the days to come, you cannot afford to think about tomorrow, when you're starting to live on borrowed time.
people will love me more they will bring me flowers and haters, yes, even haters will show remorse
the day I die
people will love me more they will cry over me some truely shaken (not sure:) some just showing fake rapport
the day I die
people will love me more all my kith and kin will shed tears, even those to whom I'm just a joke I'll receive flower like a lover sympathy like a pup on the road and after a few days I'll be forgotten by the most and they will go on with their everyday lives until another death knockson their doors and invites them to another make-believe remorse
some who are faithful will keep living with memory for them I breath today for them my soul will keep living forever. EVERMORE.