Old Times’ Sake.

If you must act so insolently

Just because my blue skies

Are now grey thunderstorms

You cannot bear the sound of,

Please continue,

Only remember that even today,

If you were to hand me a cup of poison,

I would gladly drink it for old times’ sake.

Painting: “Sophonisba Receiving the Poisoned Cup” by Rembrandt.


Blood, Tears and Sweat.

Blood and tears and sweat mix again tonight, even though it’s January, even though it’s cold out here, or so they say; I cannot feel the chilly night blanketing me in its embrace, I cannot feel the moonbeams as they dance across everything they fall on, today, all I can do is sit here with blood and tears and sweat mixing together, I have no control over myself anymore. It feels as if my mind is turning off, and maybe it is, maybe it should.

It might be my only chance at peace anymore.

Oh, how I long for oblivion, to be forgotten, or remembered forever, to get away from all of this, and most importantly you, the demon who only plays with my sanity, leading me on ruthlessly.

Every minute I spend with you is like playing Russian Roulette with myself; you whisper sweet nothings and alleviate my fears one second, and the very next, you pull away, leaving me clutching at empty air. You do this, all the while telling me you’re only a demon, and I refuse to believe that adamantly, I close my eyes and turn blind to you as you cut through my mind and my soul, I turn blind to you as you feed, because in my heart, I do not feel demons could be ever so grey, and yet so colorful. You remind me of a kaleidoscope in those few moments you let me in.

I know it is but an illusion, I know my heart is but a fool, but then when has someone ever willingly opened their eyes to the reality around them, and when have I been an exception to the world?

So I sit here in these few moments when I’m jerked back to reality, but soon I will fall asleep, I can already feel the pills slowing the blood from racing in my veins so loudly it keeps me up at night, soon I will sleep, and tomorrow I will turn a blind eye to your games again, because my dear, when have I ever missed a chance to hurt myself?

When have I ever lost faith in you as you stand in front of me?

Image taken from here.


The Hunted.

کوئ مرے دل سے پوچهے ترے تیر نیم کش کو -“

“- یہ خلش کہاں سے هوتی جو جگر کے پار ہوتا

Someone should ask my heart about your half drawn arrow
Where would this pain be, if it had gone through my liver!

As we sat on the roof today, the cold slaves of Boreas leaving cruel, stinging kisses on our cheeks and blowing away our hair and coats, a friend mentioned these verses of poetry, and you laughed loudly, dismissing the whole idea as ridiculous, you never did get poetry or any form of literature really, you said, all the while I looked on, wondering how you’d react if you knew the amount of ballads I’d written for you, about you, and in that moment I screamed in my head, begging you to realize how much you meant to me, how much I loved you, I screamed with an intensity that moved the heavens themselves to tears, and yet you remained oblivious to my plight, laughing the poetry away.

For people not familiar with the Urdu language, this verse of poetry by Mirza Ghalib may not make any sense without context. He basically alludes to the concept of Cupid’s arrows as well as hunting; the arrow of love is shot towards him, and it has hit his heart, referring to unrequited love possibly, because he is in a state of pain. This idea of one-sided affection is further strengthened in the next line, because olden times, when animals were hunted with arrows, an arrow that went through the liver meant a painless and quick death for the animal, so therefore the poet, in a height of emotional suffering, wishes the arrow might have gone through his liver, leading to a quick death. *

*This is written according to my own understanding of poetry, so I beg pardon for any mistakes.

Fire and Ice.

“You are ice and I burn, I guess I’ll never learn.”

I heard a song today, and it reminded me of us, but then its not like everything nowadays doesn’t remind me of how you were not mine to keep.I wonder how long I’ll take to accept the fact that we were cursed from the start, a ship doomed to crash against the jagged cliffs of Fate.