If we were lovers
we would be both fearless and fragile
holding each other tight,
cuddling in one of those nights,
when one of us is going through pain.
that comes once in a month.
We would both be strong and weak
exchanging our clothes
coz we fit in perfectly
making each other’s hair,
and face and nails.
I miss you so bad,
come back to fb soon.
Taken by Mr. AS
And we would be crazier than
those crazy lovers out there,
for we would understand each other perfectly,
my words would be out of your mouth,
your thoughts would be out from mine,
you would know exactly,
how to calm me down
and how to make me feel loved
and I would know
which dish would make you happy,
which line from which poem would make you cry
and which song would make you just you.
If we were lovers,
we both would write
poems and stories
for each other,
about each other
whether we would be fighting or making love
and our battles wouldn’t last much longer
because we are soul-mates
our souls entangled with each others.
If we were lovers,
we would be perfect,
no assholes and no stupid fellas,
and definitely no heart-breaks.
After reading my last post about him,
The Devil replied that it was okay.
Even the sun sets at the end of the day.
I still hold on to that thought every time I let people down.
Yesterday as I laid in my bed
I wondered if you loved me for real,
or is it just some game our mind is playing with us.
We both think that you love me,
but actually or may be,
it’s not love its something else,
something above the cloud.
Because you never tell me what I mean to you
or how much I mean to you
you only say that you love me in letters and mails
and not in a public place
when I ask you
because what’s there to love me,
I ain’t pretty or smart or creative,
I ain’t that girl from your dreams
all I do is build a wall around me with words and verses.
But today as I checked your desktop while you went to make tea (the third cup in a row) for me,
I came across few lines I had read before.
The poem I had written sometimes ago now sits as your desktop wallpaper.
Right now I wish so many things. But almost all of those wishes are impossible. The day has already almost turned to dusk and all my wishes includes how I could have spend the day. Thus to console my broken heart, hurt and heavy after lots of over thinking followed by throwing tantrums crazily in my room to myself, I surf internet and try to go through my favourite blogs. Almost all but one hasn’t been updated sadly. And I try to read a new blog – of my boss (I joined a new place this July).
And as I try to write, nothing comes to my mind. It seems like I haven’t updated the blog for a long time as well. And I haven’t written a poem ever since I went to this competition which now seems like a lifetime back. This saddens me a lot and I wish I could write few stanzas if not a complete poem. It doesn’t have to be performable (this reminds me that lately all the poems I have written is spoken-word and not written one).
I wish not to cook and clean. But I do, slowly as I wander off thinking I could have been doing something far more better (but I always end up on Facebook) than cooking and cleaning. But I do, because I look at how tired my mom is and I wish to make it easy for her. I am becoming everything I despise and I can do nothing about it. I wish I could though. Only if I was living alone, I would eat out every time or stay hungry than cook and clean. I wish that my brother decides to cook one day or at least one night. But he doesn’t. And because I feel guilty, I end up cooking at nights some times; end up doing things I do not want to at all.
I wish I could stop waiting. For people. To come online. Because all we do is talk about how our days went by which are always almost similar. Also because when I have some really big news like how I fell down the stairs and killed my skin cells or how I made a stranger smile or how I went somewhere and did something that made me feel awesome, these people say they are busy to talk. They feel sleepy. And all those waiting I do for them goes to waste.
I wish I was globetrotting right now. With no one but books, diary and music to accompany me. I would be telling stories of fathers and mothers, grandchildren and grandparents. Of teachers and preachers, of best-friends and lovers. Of poets and politicians. Of ordinary people like you and me. In poetry and in short-fiction. And I would be writing letters everyday. To the one who waits for me to come home.
But today most importantly, I wish that when I was young, my parents didn’t buy me more chocolates every time I threw tantrums because they didn’t bring one home as they had promised. Instead, I wish they had told to straighten up my face because in life people are going to break their words and promises.
I lay on my bed closing my eyes, counting 1..2..3.. “Any seconds now,” I tell myself waiting to fall asleep. But I fail. Another day, as I fail again. To fall asleep, to write. My insomnia and writer’s stuck moment is back on track and I don’t know if I’m to be happy about being normal again or sad that I don’t have that I need to write vs I need to sleep moment anymore. It’s going to be like this for another few days to weeks, so I guess I better get hang of it.
What I wish right now to have is Caffeine. I would prefer milk tea but that’s not possible. I’m on my tea limit so I have to be okay with a cup of mango juice. I wish I was not though. I wish I could gulp down cups of tea or rather enjoy each cup with precise moments cherishing on the drink. The juice ain’t that bad but I would rather have what I wish. But I’m sure that won’t help me either given the situation.
And it gets worse you know. When you are being an insomniac and not being able to write, these ideas and stories come to your mind. The images of a girl with plaited hair and white dress walking down the damp, small , spooky gullies of Kathmandu Valley comes in front of your eyes but you can’t seem to do anything about it. You can’t get up and write because you have no idea what to write about. Nor can you go back to sleep.
And now I can’t think of stuffs to write about. I still wish to have tea though. But I will have to be back in my bed because tomorrow, I need to be an early bird. And tomorrow hopefully, words will find their way back to me.