Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

  I've been watching 'Baby Reindeer' on Netflix, and even though I haven't completed it, I'm all kinds of triggered. It is based on a true story, of a man being stalked by a disturbed woman. But this is no 'Fatal Attraction' where you sympathise with the man who is being stalked. Neither do you completely empathise with the stalker, a middle-aged, delusional almost likeable Martha.  I like the way the narrative shifts between showing both the stalker and stalked as flawed, both survivors of some deep trauma that freezes them in their chosen roles.  Is the enabler equally responsible as the enabled because they just couldn't set up their boundaries, henceforth giving mixed signals to someone who imagines every interaction or smile as a sign of interest?  It's after we delve deeper into their pasts do we understand why they are the way they are. The triggers are many. For me, personally it reminded me of the number of times I have deluded myself into b

"Why are your knees bruised? " "I was praying... " "In the middle of the night? " "Yes." "Which God listens to your prayers so late in the night? " "My God. " "What's his name? " "Maybe it's a her. But no, actually it is a he. He comes to me every night. He touches my head and fondles it. He holds my face in his hands and comforts me. " "Why your knees? " "I kneel for him. To make him happy. So that he never doubts how dutiful I am towards him. " "Dutiful? God doesn't want that. God loves all his children, irrespective of how they are" "I'm special to him. He kneels for me too. In the night. I make him happy, and he makes me happy. " "How does he make you happy? " "By reaching the core of me. He touches me with his hands and his mouth. " "What core?" "The one only he is allowed to see. " "You mean the real y

  Out on the sea we'd be forgiven Our bodies stopped the spirit leaving Wouldn't you like to know how far you've got left to go Somebody's child Nobody made you It's not what you stole, it's what they gave you In or out, you go In your silence, your soul Would you rather go unwilling? The heart is full and now it's spilling Barreling down the steps Only a moment left In hind of sight no peace of mind Where you begin and I'm defined Daughter of unconscious fate Time will tell, in spite of me In hind of sight no peace of mind Where it begins and we'll be fine Shadows bend and suddenly The world becomes And swallows me in, me in Whistle to a friend Gentle 'til the end Any way in a name She takes shape just the same.  - On the sea, Beach House

I'm not a poet anymore.  These days, I can't seem To find a box of emotions,  Filled up enough to pack,  What I think or feel.  There's always something missing,  Like a meal without ice cream,  Or the gentle announcement Of an electric train to get off,  So unlike the loud horns,  That declare with unabashed Restraint what really must be done.  I have felt all my feels,  And sang all my songs.  Alas, it is the end  Of a journey of a lifetime.  To bid adieu to my all-weather friend.  I try to fill up the emptiness In my heart each day,  With wine, motivation,  Discipline and forgiveness.  At this rate, I might grow old,  A fading shadow of a tired tree.  But there is almost always,  Something missing,  And I suspect it's you.  Cold-hearted, ironic,  Silent and dull you.  What a ridiculous farce,  This poem has turned to be.  Like all the others where,  I never say what  I really meant to say.  I'm not a poet anymore,  Now that you're gone.  But I am still trying

Kuch to kaho,  Kabhi, kahin, kissi se.  Iss khamoshi se mohabbat Na ho jaye tumhe kahin.  Aur ho gayi to phir,  Mujhse kya kahoge?  Kayi saal beet gaye abhi,  Tumhari khamoshi chah kar.  Aisa nahin hai ki mujhe  Tumhari tanhai kaat ti hai.  Tum kuch kahon ya nahin,  Sun leti hoon sab kuch main.  Bas, tumhari awaaz yaad aati hai.  Kya maine tumhe kabhi bataya,  Ki mujhe tum kyun itna bhaate ho?  Bahut socha maine, par koi jawaab Samajh main hi nahin aaya.  Tumhari aankhen mujhe bahut pasand hain,  Aur tumhari muskaan, jo aaj kal Kaafi kam ubhar kar aati hai,  Woh mere har purane zakhm ko sehla kar,  Mujhe phir se mujhse milati hai.  Phir bhi, waise to mujhe tumhara Sab kuch hi bhaa jata hai.  Par tumhare andekhe panne,  Moh kar bula lete hain meri kalam ko.  Issi liye to binti kar rahi hoon,  Kuch to kaho, Kabhi, kahin, kissi se nahin,  Sirf mujhse, main hi to hoon tumhari.  Phir se ek kavita likh sakun,  Tumhare baare main.  Aashiq to kayi the pehle mere,  Par mujhe aashiqi nahin aati

  "I saw this old couple on Instagram. They were talking about the five stages of a marriage. They seemed very cute. Happily married for a long time. " "Yeah? Old people have lots of patience. Besides, in the older generation, giving up on marriage was never a consideration. Do you think they never fell for someone else or got attracted to another person? " "Actually, they had another video where they spoke about that too." "Let me guess. They must have said, it is normal but it should never affect a marriage, right? That you need to work on the marriage and never give up? " "Yes, exactly. They suggested to communicate with your partner to forge a stronger bond. To put in effort and fill up the gaps. " "Just as I thought. What about intimacy and sex or the lack of it? " "I suppose that needs work too. If two people are not having sex, it boils down to communication again. Spice up the bedroom, as they say. " "Ca

  I don't know how  To let you go.  I don't know how To be alone.  In this carousel Of red and blue horses,  You left me behind,  Watching empty chairs,  Wondering if you would  Come back or remember,  You promised to return,  When it was time.  Ohh, I don't know how,  To let you go,  I don't know how,  To be alone.  You said, babe, would you like Some corn or candy?  I'll just hop off for a minute,  While you finish.  But then you vanished,  Into a crowd so expansive,  Faces blurred by faces That took you in it.  But, I don't know how  To let you go.  I don't know how To be alone.  You're not coming back,  I think I understand it.  I'm still waiting For the carousel to stop.  It's making me sick,  And you're making me sad.  I wish I never sat here  I wish I quit long back.  But, I don't know how, To let you go.  I don't know how To be alone.  I don't know, I don't know,  How to let you go,  I don't know, I don't know,

Heat, it rises burning skin.  Sweat, tears, tempers cooled down,  To drink sweet water of anticipation.  Watch the dust storm coming in,  Waves of glittery diamond sand.  To cleanse you of your everyday sadness,  Wash away the sins of the past.  You are buried underground, you think,  You believe so dearly there is no way out.  It takes a hero to soar, my sweet boy,  It takes a man to want to try to win.  All stories begin and end this way.  It isn't life, if you haven't really changed.  There's always a girl who has faith,  And always a boy who is too late.  But somewhere, at last they meet,  Because that's how tales are told,  Of passion, valour, victory, death and deceit,  They must always follow a road.  From the clouds, the planes come down,  Some to destroy, some to resuscitate.  There is always an epiphany,  That makes for a great story.  Don't you think it's time you had yours too?  Of course, some end in tragedy,  Like the man who died with regrets,  Ab

The garden was watered today, by an unexpected thunderstorm. The leaves shook and fell, gathered near the gate. Rivulets of water carried them, swirling from the ground into the nearby pond.  The flowers glistened and shone, their buds, orange and pink, grateful for the drops of water falling on their mouths, drinking the thirst away. The branches, like hair underwater, danced in the wind. It had been a while someone pulled at them to swing them around. The hot, parched bodies of fruits now lay in the muddy ground, cooled down.  The gardener has been missing for a while. He has been sick lately. He feels guilty about not coming in every morning to check on his precious plants. His long fingers miss touching the soft petals of the roses, slowly unpeeling them, as the fragrance of their juices linger on his fingertips. He smells them to remind himself that he's been doing a good job. He is a diligent worker, and there's nothing that gives him more satisfaction than taking care of

I'm never fully present anywhere. When I'm walking under a tree, looking up at its branches, I'm on the branches. I see leaves falling down, but what I really see is snow. Cold, white stars falling down on my hands.  I'm talking to you, I hear an air conditioner, but what I really hear is the sea. I'm sitting on a cliff, looking down at the waves. I'm never really there anywhere. When I'm there, I'm also somewhere else. I don't know how I became like that. I suppose I was lonely as a child, I was invisible and misunderstood. I could not explain myself to anyone. I could not understand anyone. It was easier this way. To live where you choose.  My son told me yesterday how he feels he belongs nowhere, that he must have lived on some other planet because nothing seems real. It didn't raise any alarm bells for me. All I told him was that I understood how that felt. I'm sure there are more of us out there. The ones who are never really there. I su

 "I actually saw you on TV at the football match in London. I could recognise you in an instant. " He smiles, his eyes gleaming up at the mention of football. His teeth seem perfectly okay, unlike the rather unflattering stereotype surrounding British men. But I'm not looking at his teeth this time. It's his eyes, a perfect blue, the sorts you only see in a swimming pool, never the ocean. I secretly envy him. Here I am, stuck with the most boring pair of dark brown eyes. His hair is the colour of my eyes, a dusty dull mud melange of summer rain.  "I told you I would be going for the match. Were you looking out for me? " I don't admit to him that I hate football. My ex was a Man U fan, yelling profanities in bars, walking up chest to chest towards Arsenal fans in hordes, asking them to meet him outside, man to man. Just toxic masculinity. I never understood the big deal about any sport, unless it was gymnastics or figure skating or diving, the kind that r

  I want to see you again,  The way a branch  Anticipates the wind.  Furiously holding on,  First to be rattled  By the one it mistrusts,  Relentless battling With arms and thorns,  Words and complaints.  How dare you break me each time?  Wanting you, but not bending,  While you persistently,  Keep pushing to make me believe,  I am not your enemy,  I am not the one you must fight.  Tears, old bark, salty leaves,  Struggling to deny their realness.  Giving up the unworthy fight,  Thrashing stones, walls,  Breaking dust, water,  Till all of the desire subsides.  Resisting again,  Submitting again.  Odd hours of working days,  Midnight callings, restless daze,  In cold cloud and harsh sun.  Till there's nothing Left to reject, dispel,  Accept, regret, admit.  Silently swaying tender arms,  A gentle song of tired bodies Under a peaceful moon,  Leaves falling on bosoms,  Like lost kisses on sleepy faces.  I want to see you, again.  I want you, to see me too.  Eyes within eyes,  Over a d

  Do you think I'd give up That this might've shook the love from me Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily? Now that it's done There's not one thing that I would change My life was a storm, since I was born How could I fear any hurricane? If someone asked me at the end I'll tell them put me back in it Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah I would still be surprised I could find you, darling In any life If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah For all that was said Of where we'd end up at the end of it When the heart would cease Ours never knew peace What good would it be on the far side of things? It was too soon When that part of you was ripped away A grip taking hold Like a cancer that grows Each piece of your body that it takes Though I know my heart would break I'll tell them put me back in it Darling, I wo

I've been busy, Pouring myself Into cups of words,  Hidden identities On social media,  Where no one knows,  Who I am or what I look like.  Tumblers of songs,  Carved out of forgotten  Days and eyes where I once drowned.  Bright screens of laptops,  Vast vessels of a tale untold,  To be bound into a book,  For thirsty souls like me,  Who should never feel alone.  I have emptied myself Of your dreams, your fears.  Once, I always knew  What you were thinking,  But now I don't find you near.  I have poured myself into you,  Till there was nothing left of me.  I drank from your silences,  Till I was filled to be free.  I chatted with a stranger today,  Telling him if my life was a movie,  It would always have a background score.  I didn't tell anyone about you,  The one who stole my words away.  Besides, I don't think they should know.  I have poured myself,  Into years of wanting you.  If I have no words left anymore,  For you or the parched world,  Would you still find me

Reveal Won't you let me be,  Who I want to be?  Won't you find my face,  Remember it with grace. Won't you see my pain?  Covered in a place,  Where no one can ever see Who's hidden inside of me.  Won't you come to me,  As if I were your own?  Not torn by words unsaid,  Swallowed in defence.  I am the eyes exposed,  In the mirror that you chose.  Laughing at yourself,  For finding someone else.  The moon is high tonight,  It's time to start a fight,  Follow your own dreams,  Dont you worry about me.  Won't you find my face,  Remember it with love. Won't you look behind,  To see me stand in line?  As the past turns on ahead,  And the future's still unseen.  Won't you search for me?  Just like I did before.  Covered in a place,  Where no one can ever see,  Hidden inside of you,  The one you can't reveal.  ( First came the tune and then the words. Hopefully this will be the first song I sing that's written by me) 

  I.  He finds himself locked out,  The key is in his pocket,  But he doesn't want to go home.  Going there means remembering All the old moth wings turned to powder,  He's not ready to forgive anyone yet.  He stands sulking in a corner of the street,  Sometimes at work till it's late enough,  For everyone to sleep soundly.  So that when he returns, he's still alone.  II.  His mouth is closed shut,  Lips stitched by the evil Queen,  Who warns him not to tell anyone,  Of how she whips him with words,  Pushes him down the swing of worthlessness,  If he speaks a word, he will be an orphan.  He is frozen like a broken sculpture,  That no one can bear to look at.  His eyes still reveal everything,  But his hands tied with burning rope,  Tear into his flesh without a sound.  There's nothing but despair for him,  Forgotten like a stone buried underground.  III.  Upside down for years on a tree,  He looks up to see there's still a sky.  At night, a star descends like Go

I dreamt of you last night,  With long hair tied in a ponytail.  You followed me around On a dark forest road,  Watching me like a hawk.  And when I fell down  In a muddy ditch,  My clothes sullied and brown,  You offered me your hand,  Asking me if I was okay.  "What are you doing here?" I demanded, knowing very well That you had been protecting me All along under the garb of being aloof.  "I told you, I'm always right behind you," You said, as I held your hand to climb out.  I looked at your hair again.  It was much longer than I've ever seen.  You looked so different now,  Not the shy man I had known before.  "Where's your hairband now? " I asked, remembering the only time I had seen you in it, when my heart Had stopped to find you so beautiful,  Like a hushed breath that never makes a sound.  "Do you still think I'm sexy?" you asked.  "I think you are even more sexier than before, " I answered coquettishly with a lau

I haven't really understood shame. I haven't begun to understand what feeds and empowers it. After building up a lot of courage, I had finally put up a video of me singing a song. I generally don't put videos of myself anywhere because I can't control my expressions or flaws in a video. It's easy to choose a photo and put up the best version of yourself online. But you can't do that in a video. It is an unfiltered version that captures everything you've wanted to hide.  I'm used to my closest friends not encouraging my singing at all. Throughout my one year journey since I began, all I was told was, you stick to writing, please for God's sake, don't sing. I knew I was bad, but I wasn't ready to give up. I stopped sharing my singing videos with anyone. The only person who said good things about my voice was my son. In his eyes, I was perfect no matter what I did. Yes, he was biased because this was the voice that sang lullabies to him to put h

Far beyond the fields of the village, where the long grass grows, there is a patch of trees. They rise up above the green grass, covering the sky. If you stand underneath them, your skin looks green, as if you were swimming under a mossy lake, where sunlight finds it hard to penetrate.  Under the giant tree which has a trunk with a chipped out burrow, lies my home. To access this place, one has to dig with one's hands. Of course, not everyone likes to get their hands soiled, especially the fingernails. But if you do dig hard enough, you find a trap door.  It is a beautiful trap door, made like an antique with bars of black iron marking a solid design. The handle is the face of a lion, an almost long forgotten warrior's emblem. It is also a warning for weak willed people and intruders to keep out. If you trespass, I could come after you with a sword.  Upon pulling open the creaky door, you will find a ladder that goes down. It lands up in a tunnel that stretches further under th

The words they say, I have nothing left to say.  No thank yous, I'm well,  How are you?  So kind, all of you.  I'm not going to pretend,  To be blissful and divine.  No photographs on land,  Not this time.  I'm dissolving  In self loathing and regret,  Burning skin in formaldehyde.  This lake of hell,  Seeming so icy, so forlorn.  Underneath the needles,  They puncture everything.  Don't come close or you'll slip Far down into this mystery,  That not even hunters can spot,  Nor sailors far away at sea.  Underneath the lake,  Is a whirlpool of hate,  Of sin, of calling out names,  To the ones who have died,  To the ones never lived,  The deaf who stay in towers,  Where black ash faced maidens sing.  The fearful and the hated, They left before winter came.  The fish shrunk in misery,  Before they could be saved.  But me, I am not scared, I will write names in silence,  For the ones who are scared.  Just so that they feel ecstatic They feel overwhelmed and proud.  I am

Breathe this air,  Sweet concoction Of pine and sun.  In this forest Fires burn Dark riding  Waves in the light of the moon The waters flow And my feet grow,  Traversing miles Of old dirt roads I see the green Moss over stone,  Clouds coming down,  From a place in the mind.  I stop running,  Here I know no fear,  Of love or pain.  Humming birds Sing silently Prayers like wind chimes Rise up to my head The cloud floats Inside me now,  Engulfs me gently,  Without a sound.  Life or death,  It doesn't matter anymore.  If living is for the brave, Then dying must be too. Somewhere in this forest,  There is a magic tree,  I find it at last, And it sets me free.  Once I am free,  I want no escape.  I close my eyes,  I open my eyes.  I'm home, I'm here,  I'm already free.  There's no other place To go, no place I'd rather be.  Breathe this air,  Breathe it out again.  I'm the cloud now,  Rising above the forest floor. 

  Dig deeper, Nail treasure chest,  Hope, faith, serendipity,  Wipe away blood,  On stormy sea floors,  Turn over the books,  Tear them apart.  This is not a game.  Fear of losing, Is your weakness.  Throw out the rule book.  Scrounge the last drawer,  On your knees,  Because prayers Cannot be heard,  When you shout.  Hear that voice?  Small, silent, ignorant Of knowing  The taste of victory?  Catch that voice, Before it retreats,  Truth barrels Resounding,  But you cannot hear.  A gentle humming,  Like birds in black Forests huddled tired,  To take flight.  You hide from who?  Your own face Or is it mine?  I don't need to see Or hear you.  I'm on the floor,  Scratching nails Underground,  Holding on tightly To the love You can't find.  This is not a game, This is not a grave.  In the remains Of what could not stay,  I hold your bones,  I quietly pray.  Sometimes,  You are beneath  The soil,  Dragging me down.  I let go,  I do not wish to drown.  Look again,  The bottom mos

There is a flower,  Where once,  My heart used to weep.  It is a bright sunflower,  Looking up to smile.  For years,  I thought it Would not bloom,  Amidst incessant Torrents splashed,  Barraged by ice Harsh buckets of snow.  Every time,  A bud sprouted, Running feet Trampled it Before it could grow.  But my heart Was not just resilient,  It was observant too.  It realised over time,  That it needed to wait,  For the sun to arrive again.  Huddled in the dark,  It imagined the warmth,  That spring would bring.  Golden rays magnified By cloud colour lens,  Scattered across fields,  In hot, summer days.  When the dreams  Were nothing But deafening nightmares,  It heard a voice,  Asking it to believe,  You are pretty,  You are brave,  If only you could see,  What others see,  When they see you,  You would know,  How happy you could be.  Winter perished,  Just like all dark things do.  I found my heart,  Reaching out Every morning,  To stretch outside  A little more each day.  There is a fl

I have crossed another milestone in my healing journey. Of finally stopping my people pleasing behaviour. It started when I finally understood the concept of boundaries, something that was lacking in me all this while. For the life of me, I didn't know where to stop. I would continue to shower the other person with attention and affection, hoping they would feel better about themselves. Maybe if I tried harder, they would realise their worth and in turn my worth.  The problem was I did not know my worth. My therapist had suggested last year that most survivors of sexual molestation and abuse do not understand the concept of boundaries. It takes a very long time for them to learn to stop their repetitive patterns. Blurring of boundaries also leads them to not understand the boundaries of other people. Hence the constant love bombing, anxious attachment, codependency and not picking up on subtle cues that the other person is uncomfortable.  My lesson now is that I will only invest wh

He took a deep breath and attempted to stand up. He stumbled on the wet rocks, but slowly reclaimed his balance. It had been ten months inside this cave. It no longer scared him anymore. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and his body had learnt to survive on the light emitted by the crystals in the stalactites that hung from the roof of the cave.  The yellow-eyed demons that used to provoke him, calling him deprecating names and showering him with abuses had disappeared. In his time here, he had realised that they were not real. They looked real because he had allowed them to feed off on his negative thoughts.  Every time he lost his temper or believed that he has not deserving of happiness, they hovered around his head to take advantage of his weaknesses. He could see their red tongues sucking out the goodness from his soul. But time had taught him how to block them out. Their acerbic words meant nothing to him.  He remembered her words before she left. She had told him to