I Will Not Apologize.

The sun apologizing for burning too bright,
It has never been heard of;
The moon apologizing for days when it must hide away,
It has never been heard of;
The stars apologizing for their incessant twinkling,
It has never been heard of;
The clouds apologizing for veiling the sky’s blue with their cottony embrace,
It has never been heard of;
The mountains apologizing for marring the earth with their magnificence,
It has never been heard of;
The sea apologizing for churning too chaotically;
It has never been heard of;
Why then, my dear,
Must I apologize
For burning as bright as the sun,
And then hiding away like the moon,
For eyes that twinkle like the stars,
But are veiled the very next moment,
For standing tall and magnificent,
With tornadoes raging inside me,
Why must I apologize for my greatness,
When I was born with universes inside of me,
Bursting to be let out?
And if it is too much for you to take in,
I will not apologize for being who I am,
You can go waste your time away
You can go
Find another puppet.


Image taken from here.

Advertisements

Summer Love.

It was an early summer evening, I still remember, or twilight as she’d call it, with the sun burning up in blues, purples, rich goldens, all those pretty colors all at once as if it couldn’t decide on a single color to be, and she was laughing. No giggles, mind you, it was full blown, all out laughter, the kind that starts deep in your belly and travels up with the same feeling you get when you see your favorite person in the whole wide world, the feeling you get when you hug them, the feeling I got whenever she was around.
And I was looking at her, and I remember smiling so hard my cheeks felt they’d split open like pomegranates hitting concrete, but I didn’t care because she was so beautiful, I could hardly think of anything else.

How incredibly cliché, you must be thinking, but that was what we were, an incredibly cliché, heartbreakingly tragic summer love, that’s all we were. I realized I loved her in the summer, and almost exactly an year later, I had to let go of her, forever, but all the time we spent together, it was summer.
Even in the winters, it was summer.
Autumn, spring, rains and thunderstorms, they were all a never ending stretch of summer with her, because she was my sun, my moon, my thunder clouds and every particle of starlight, she was all of the universe and I was just boring old, physics-loving me, but I loved her with every atom and all of my force field.
With her, nothing made sense, and yet everything did. The world stopped working according to laws and algorithms, and physics and logic ceased to exist, but it all carried on fueled by the sheer power of her voice as she talked about the funniest things in the world, things I’d never believed in before her gypsy soul.

Sometimes I think the end shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to me, doesn’t logic say that nothing lasts forever? But I hoped, prayed even, that we would, because oh God, she felt like waking up from a coma I’d been in all my life, like the first sight of a rainbow after a lifetime of blindness. Nothing prepared me for the end, and nothing ever will, I guess, because every time I think of her it’s the same all over again, that feeling of being skinned and gutted alive and set on fire while someone keeps pouring vinegar all over you.
Oh, and you’re locked in a tiny closet.
I don’t regret anything though, I’d go over a million times this pain if I had to, but lord, I’d cut off both my arms, sell my goddamned soul even, anything to see her once again, hug her maybe.

I know it’s not possible, but I think about it all the time these days, you know, about meeting her again, about what if I do come across her. On an abandoned beach, or maybe on the swings of an old park late at night where it’s just us two, and we’ll look down on the stars and the moon for once, and they’ll envy us, eat their hearts out wishing for a love like ours, but that only happens once in infinity, doesn’t it?
And I was the lucky one.


Image taken from here.

 

The Search For Madness.

“It was a hot summer night, right in the middle of July, the day I decided to run away.
I’d had enough, you know? Didn’t want to be pushed around by anyone anymore.
I knew what I wanted in life, I knew I was different, and I was ready to go satiate my wanderlust, find my destiny.
And what was that?
It was to look for madness.
Pure madness.
The kind that is untouched by greed and untainted by grief.
The kind of madness that is alluring and heartbreaking at the same time, the madness that exists in the stars and in the stargazers, in the moon and it’s worshipers, the kind that only increases with the coming dawn, fueled by the golden of the morning.
The madness of the waves as they reach out to kiss the shore over and over again, of the ocean as it tries to caress the moon in vain.
Sweet madness, filled with melancholy.
I thought I had it all figured out, how I’d catch the morning bus out of that sleepy old town, off to big cities and adventures in the pursuit of madness. But the stars has their own plan for me, because sitting in the long green grass of the park I had played in all my life, I found you.
Eyes closed but facing upwards, you were the definition of peace; you looked as if you were a part of the grass and flowers itself, rooted to the ground and so, so still, but then you opened your eyes and I fell headfirst into their grey chaos. Your expression held such agony, it clenched at my heart, and yet I was mesmerized, enchanted, cursed, unable to look away.
That night, I went looking for madness and found it.
But what I didn’t realize was that madness could ever be so beautiful, so dangerous, that madness could ever be you.”


Image taken from here.

 

 

Night And Day.

It’s 2:22 AM, and it’s been an hour since she went to bed, but you’re still up, aren’t you, still sitting in front of that screen, bleary eyed and exhausted, listening to this band she never liked but you’ve fallen in love with?
You scroll through your Instagram feed, head bobbing to the tune, when you come across a post where someone has likened their beloved to both the sun and the moon. It is a beautiful piece of writing, one that makes your heart ache with the wish that it was you who had written something so filled with emotion, but then you stop, and you think about her again.
She cannot be the moon, you think.
No, she is entirely the sun.

Bright.

Fiery.

Forever. 

The moon waxes, and the moon wanes, you see, and some nights, when the darkness gets too much, it even disappears.
But the sun, my darling?
It’s permanent, and so is she, with her tempers and her flares; the sole point that anchors your universe, providing warmth on a chilly day and thawing your frozen heart.
She’s strawberries, and she is sunshine, and berries and unadulterated laughter and the smell of freshly cut grass.
You’re oranges and lemons, and the melancholy darkness of a crescent moon, when all is quiet, as if the leaves themselves mourn the disappearing of that sliver of silver in the night sky.
As different as night and day, as east and west, but don’t they say, opposites attract?


Image taken from Tumblr.

Some Nights.

Some nights you try to convince yourself that you never loved her, but that it was only the familiarity of her laughter in a room full of strangers which drew you in, that the twinkle in her eyes was only so endearing to you because it reminded you of the night sky, but then you get up to look out the window and all is dark, the moon has hidden behind a curtain of grey clouds and the stars seem to have dimmed and you laugh as you realize that even the universe doesn’t know what to do without her, how can you expect to be able to put yourself together ever again? And the moon peeks out guiltily from behind its veil at that moment, you start to miss her with a ferocity you never knew your tired bones held.


Image taken from here.
And Happy Valentines to ya’ll out there. 🙂

 

Cursed.

You always made

 All the blue go away

But now you’re gone

And everything is grey.

I hope you come back

I hope you come back soon.

Because nights are too dark

Without the moon.

I need you here.


I know I’ll be alright without you, and regardless of all that, I don’t want to be without you. You’re a part of me now, and if I’ve come off as too overbearing, I just want you to know that 10, 15, 20 years from now, I’ll have a lot of regrets on my deathbed. I don’t want you to be one of them.

So I’ll give you your time, and adore you from afar, like the sun does, the moon.

But I’ll never stop hoping for you to come back.

Because that is my curse.

Deprived Ramblings II

I’ve always wondered how the universe could be so cruel, pairing a dreamer with a realist, and as I look at the faint but clear moon at 3 PM on a sunny day, I realize, maybe the universe doesn’t know what it is doing at times either; the thought soothes my trampled heart, and maybe one day I will see prettier pictures in the eyes of people I would have never expected to be so vibrant, but for now your white and black grace is enough to make me reminisce of broken hopes and unfulfilled dreams through the haze of red-rimmed eyes and an aching heart.

 

The Fourth Piece.

It was late by the time I was picked up, but I didn’t mind. Today, you see, there was something special about the evening.

It wasn’t the clear tapestry of hues that it usually was, not at all, rather, today it was just blue, simple, plain, blue, but the color enhanced the beauty of the full moon all the more as it played hide-and-seek with the opaque grey dragon, the sky their playground. I was mesmerized by their game of chase, gazing at the sky enraptured when I realized, it didn’t really matter if you leave and never look back, if you never think of me ever again; what happens to us doesn’t really matter, for at the end of the day, I would always be alright as long as I had the night’s allure to share my melancholy with, and I realized with a start, I’d found another piece , the fourth one, within the grey veils of the moon.