Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

 

  See what you're missing, my love.  The view from Earth is always heavenly.  Hills, clouds, trees, flowers and bees.  But what you're really missing is me.  You have traversed the red soil,  The dry, arid deserts of Mars,  Where poison laden winds,  Choke your lungs and burn your eyes.  Your skin peels a little more each day,  Your hair breaks and turns grey.  No kind words to remind you,  You're loved and protected and safe.  But you wanted to go, far away from home.  You wanted to live like this, didn't you?  This is the world you chose, to escape.  From down below here at home,  I see you so far away, so alone.  You try each day to stay alive, to remain free,  A wandering spaceman in search of truths,  But what you're really searching for is me.  You can't sleep in your new home,  You can't find a room warm enough.  The hands that reached for you,  Have now long disappeared in years.  You have conquered all of infinity,  And yet it isn't fully comple

  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