Turnings that make Circles.

Repeating what I say is a hobby, like writing; even if I suck at it. What are boundaries and fences and things that keep one thing apart from the other. Why must there be barriers. But if you don't love me, like I do you does that mean I am forbidden to speak of it too? It's a late night, and I suppose missing you is something that is not under my control rather than a hobby or a habit. I have begun loathing you, yet I doubt I do but not doubt the fact that I do not love you. Not now and not ever again , though my thoughts do wonder about you, because I am not soul less like you. I'm not anything like you and thank God for that. Insanity grows stronger as its antonym grows weaker. I was a little deranged before, now I am a little more. Everything hurts; A bruise, a fall, a broken heart when it breaks again and again and again and again. It will hurt each time because we are all just humans. Just to make sure I am not selfish , I will say that not only I but everyone gets h...

I spoke of circles and circles I go in. An attempt for a simple explanation, turned its way on me. Did the hoo haa screaming and the screaming and the screaming and no explanation, but just a sorry. What a hoo haa. Some wise words she said, some words of wisdom. She said why do you come back to me when your relationship is breaking. Don't come back here because you won't find anything. Or it was something like that. There was more she said, but I can't seem to remember. I can't help but blame you for my heart wreck. And anything that fixes my mess, leaves a little more than the last time. My heart is breaking and it's capacity to bare pain is being challenged. They say self destruction is wrong, but everything we do and every choice we make leads to what is wrong. It feels like I haven't slept, I have but I haven't. I can't blame every bad relationship on the past, and before anyone tells me that, I think I already know. So my head winds and unwinds but ...

Sun sets in the west. Above the horizon you'll see the dark blue band,beauty of the Venous Belt, shadow of the earth. A beautiful smile from her face and his sun would've risen. Reality mocked his passion and made motes out of his heart, he was utterly slivered. His world destroyed and dissected - he was in pain. Pain? Pain is relative term, like time and happiness. His anguished heart could not complain, after all he was just an outcast. Wondering and wandering, why did it happen to him, was it jealousy that gripped his whole existence and burnt into tiny little grey specks of ash? He didn't know anything but knew everything about Pain - and it was unbearable. "To live is to suffer, to suffer is to live" - Jon Stallworthy He accepted the truth the way it came, harsh and bitter. But silently waited, hoping that someday his sun would rise. Waited and counted, day after day. He wanted to believe he had those feelings escaped out of his entity; but deep down ins...

When you feel broken, is it possible to get a harder blow and fall down? I felt a blow strong enough to put me down for the rest of the coming year. When you get that vigorous blow, you might believe to forget why you were broken in the first place. I haven't. It's made everything a thousand times worse. Maybe the blow hadn't been so bad, had I not been broken. This isn't the time, I said. Perhaps had I dealt with it, right there and then I wouldn't have had the need to pay for the blow.

How many of us dream good dreams and how often? It happens so many times that you have something, that you can call yours, and lose it. Not lose it, in the literal sense of parting but rather not have something because its not good for you or because its not right; like drugs, they make you feel great and make you forget things on temporary basis, but that doesn't fit in the characteristics of being good for you. There are underlying consequences that you subconsciously become oblivious to. Even Newton said, " Every action has an equal and opposite reaction." Most of us like to think of it as a theory of Physics regarding laws of motion. Honestly, it makes me think that Newton was an ass of a smart Physicist and an un-apprehended philosopher. What if the action is bonding of breakable-unbreakable ties and the consequence is not of losing someone but of hope because in actual you've abandoned a more Divine Abstract. It's bewildering and what I write doesn't mak...

There's something about sleeping pills. Like there is something about weed and cigarettes. You begin taking them again, because of some certain reason and when the initial stimuli ends, you still feel like taking them; either because you can't get sleep after, a short addiction, or something new comes up. Eventually reasons build up and then you just want to take them, even if someone calls you insecure or paranoid. Let the urge surpass. Or perhaps, I should just take one.

Intolerance manifested deep into the layers of skin. Fury and jealousy just part of it. If you try to scratch the surface and the layers one by one you'll see the poison that gallops in her veins instead of the blood. So immaculately infected that you can't save her, neither can anyone else. A saddened, muffled cry. Fear of loss; losing all those that neutralise the poison and make her feel cured again. Afraid of losing, the one who matters the most. Because the one who matters the most, is the one who is most likely to get injured; hurt enough to build wide sky scrapers. High enough to distance you and become utterly unreachable. Don't do that. There is room to change. She is sorry and the most weighed reason is, because she is too darn scared of losing you. Not because she knows what it is like to have lost before, but because you're part of her being. Her house, her family, her hopes and feelings. And her everything else. So what if one day you decide, its not workin...

Your eyes are the world to me, and every time I look into them I wish that I could read them. I wish I had the ability to tell what you are thinking. Every-time I hold your hand, I feel that everything is going to be okay. Which is why I hold your hand, I know it doesn't change anything. Whenever I am around you, I feel that I haven't entirely lost the person I used to be. That there is a way I can be the person I was.

I like to sit and observe little things about you. I like to listen to what you have to say. About everyone and everything. I heard you last night so vividly. About your friends and the ones you love a little more. I sat there wishing, I could help you out. Help you with everything. I wish there was little something special about me. I miss you, mother. It's a little too quiet for my liking. My heart is sinking, I do not want to go back. This month that was supposed to be an escape, wasn't really one. Now I am just sitting here, missing you. My heart is settling at the bottom of the ocean, deep into the sea bed. Will someone please help it survive? Writer's block. This is as bad as it gets.

I have absolutely nothing to say. Past two days, I've never felt so empty. So powerless, so vulnerable. It sinks so low that it completely drowns. It's like hitting the concrete floor, after ages of falling; like a perfect heroine high and the predictable low, that devastates and abandons you. I miss my mother. I miss being somewhere I belong. Do I belong anywhere at all? Heavy in my heart. Heavy in your arms.

It is around the summer time when people begin to either get too distanced, like the space between the stars; or they become so close that they almost begin to be the same, no identity of their own. So I told you because there was a time you understood the intensity of the situation and knew how hard I was going to get struck by the bulldozer. Now I keeping striking into walls and concrete, which give me bruises and skinned knees. You and I were different, so very different. Belonging to unique worlds, far apart like Mercury from Neptune. Then we got so intimate and close that the only separation between you and me was that sheet of air, that always remains. Who knew this air, that unknowingly existed, could expand and blow us further away. There is that kindness of yours that I miss. The way you would find sorrow in my soul and make it disappear, by only accepting it as yours. There is something about that time, that seduces me into reliving the bygones. Let bygones be bygones? The ra...

It's becomes a funny thought, after a while, when it becomes recurring that you are shooting yourself. Your body and soul feel so vacant, that you keep imaging a black .45 mm gun on the right temporal bone. Barely pushing the trigger, till it is actually pulled and your brain is smeared with blood, right next to your lifeless body. It becomes funny, when you imagine it right before sleeping and the first thought to come into your head when you wake up. It's weird when you take two sleeping pills, hoping to be out for the night, but instead you are up at six am. It's a sad existence when you keep watching yourself shoot, with a crimson splattered brain or keep wanting to sleep because you don't have the urge to do anything else. I would cry for some help, but I keep believing I am fine on my own; only it makes me feel worse. Am I stronger than that? Why must I keep believing that shooting myself is an easier way out of these things..

If you think it isn't random, then I guess you should not look so closely. Objects in mirror are closer than they appear. Heh. Memories and pictures, when you look at them for too long, you feel like you are part of them. You were part of them. That's where the suffocating, nearly choking, nauseous nostalgia begins and it takes you far away from the present. "Picture perfect memories". We never had pictures. Every time your eyes become stagnant for even a second, a favourite part of the past begins playing and everything else is just an oblivion; till some one shakes you and says, "knock knock, time to be back?" Jealousy? Well it's a whole lot less now. It's what you become accustomed to; but no matter what , the heart does get silent when the beautiful melody of the flute ends and leaves you feeling and wishing there was more. Haha. Not the jealousy, but those moments that were beautiful. What if you really love love someone and they lay next to yo...

It's a funny phase that I've begun living in. Symphony with lyrics. Injections for wrong usage. Asking for time out's, 'cause that is what you think you need. You really don't need a time out from people M, you need a time out from yourself. Give your mind a rest. Yes, rest? Rest in peace. Waiting with anger. Waiting with pure jealousy. Jealousy and anger with sadness. You and me. You and me. Me and you? Eyes readers can't read eyes that are black full of nothingness. They can't read if they are blinded sometimes. Stitches and ache. Stitches and needles. A seeming attempt for something, but it's not the truth. It was anger. You calm me, yet you turn me into spires of fire. No smoke. No ashes. Hearts don't literally burn. Helping. Calling. Hiding. But even you stare hard into my eyes, you will find nothing. Perhaps tears that have yet to fall. Ring a ring o'roses pocket full of poises, atishu atihsu we all fall down. A pocket full of tragedies. Ce...

This is what it does to you. It breaks you, even though you are strong. It makes you lie, even though you aren't a liar. There are days, you hate; and it's so violent and fierce that it could kill. Don't test your patience, it can be quite devastating. Thank you.

Forgive me if you see me as you do not want to. Forgive me because I am going to change in unimaginable ways. I am apologising before the change comes around, so that you can expect what is to happen. Forgive me because I loved you more and because the home is burning in flames and it's aftermath is a million motes of ashes and dust, small and greyblack. Forgive me because I told you before hand. Forgive me because I fell and hit the ground, dived into the concrete floor and damaged my soul. Forgive me for my ravine behaviour. Forgive me because, although its an inadvertent action, it still is kind of intentional. Forgive me because I am slightly surly. Forgive me, if the stories are manipulated and become rumours. Rumours that are true but manipulated. Forgive me 'cause it hurts, not you but me.

Do you reckon the silence in her eyes will find a beautiful song to sing? Do you think the shining loneliness in her eyes will find a home and her lips will turn a different direction and she'll learn to smile? Her days passed, the dull grew into her skin and camouflaged as her own. You didn't turn around to save her dying soul. A still form it turned, you'll never see her smile like she means it. A beautiful story of red faded to black. You didn't catch her when she fell. She fell into the spires of steel and died bleeding, calling out your name . *You have the nerve to look me into the eyes and lie*

Neon stick ons in shapes of planets and stars are stuck on the ceiling. They glow bright at night. Underneath the ceiling, lying comfortably, under the warm quilts, on a winter night, she holds his hand. They talk of being planets and heart breaks. He tells her, he partially loves her. She says she doesn't want to be like the person who broke his heart before. They just can't be. Tears begin damming up in his eyes, but they aren't enough to make long pouring streams;the lump in his throat is heavy and his nose is blocked. He talks in whispers, she wonders why. She thinks he cried. Tears can't always be seen, one could be crying their heart out but you can't see it, cause you don't feel their pain. He shrugs the topic and brings it back. She.. Her feelings are scrambled, she doesn't want to hurt him, but the inevitable can't be ignored. She pulls him closer and holds him; a moment isn't forever. He wants to kiss her lips intensely, but his power is lo...

Missing the sneaky looks. The warmth that emitted from the sunshine smile. Compelling you to smile back, unconsciously. Nearly, having to be called out for, to divert your attention. How captivating your life was, even when you were sitting across. Wishing to be a prisoner forever...

I know when you are lying to me, but just because I don't voice it, doesn't mean that I don't know. The evident sadness. Lie to me, and just go. Same lines of story i've read before, i've seen before. I've loved before.

It's a break down of the kind I've known, I've felt before, The ache inside your chest grows and augments till it reaches the limit of explosion and asks for freedom;but there is no freedom. There is doom, eternal damnation. I know the beat it follows, very incoherent. Breaking and then shattered. In everyway you could've been mine, you're just not. Space that doesn't exist literally, but by souls we're as distant as two stars in the sky. Nothing and no one can bridge the gap. Because you are you and I am, me.

Her heart drowns like a wrecked ship; no other direction to go but downwards, the inevitable fall. Broken? A word too less to characterise the conniving events she suffered. Loss? It is all that she remembers, what was once her own; something or rather someone you hold in your arms and proudly say, 'it's mine or that person belongs to me,' all lost. Like a mother who loses her only 'love struck' son to a woman. Often she sits, resting her head high on her knees and wonders; ponders her reason for the awfully grown distance. How can one count all the reasons for the stretch, how is one to blame everything on one alone and not the other. Half and half.

Her heart sighs, when the wind blows against her face with tiny drops of rain. She thinks of how things are happening around her and how they affect her. Loneliness, with some more loneliness, sadness, vulnerability, fury, agony. If only she knew her own story she would speak of it, but she didn't have a story. It was all in her mind. She cried with and without reason. Small things that add up to be big things, that crush you. Some which she could tell, some which she couldn't and some she didn't realise herself. As the days got closer, more melancholy her heart became. Aggravated and agitated, bright but faded. She made her way through by keeping her mind asleep to things she didn't find out , but she would want to know, because she knew she couldn't handle them. So what if she knew her story, but couldn't speak of it. It's shattering, but she wouldn't let you find out; because she cares for you too much. She'll save you, please let her.

A particular person with a particular smile. She searched for forever in that person's eyes' but she knew she wouldn't find it. She yearned and longed, yet truth remained a standing barrier.

Something sad stirs her heart. She feels angry and helpless, like a volcanic eruption she would rage but frizzle out because she doesn't know why she feels this way. She wants to cry, but can't find a reason for it. Quietly she sits amongst her friends, watches them talk about their past; she silently nods when it requires, but in her tranquil daze, and erupting kind of fury her heart sings a sadder, melancholic tune. The guitar strums and her heart cries. 4.19. This delirium is unapproachable, fierce and steady. It has been a month.

Meet Musa, aka Dabu khan. He's the little man. Nearly five months old now. = ) Babies grow up so fast. Hmph. His innocent little eyes make my heart happy.

There is something destructive about weddings. It's an entire drama play. Where there is a stage, there are characters, siblings - beautiful siblings dressed in shades of green and on other days in coral red; there is synchronised dancing. There is a barbie and she sits on the sofa with her ken, underneath the yellow flowered setting. There is clamour and clatter, there are some more people under the facade of exotic variety of eye shadows and lip glosses. There is something utterly decimating about them. If you look closely, beneath that make up, there are emotions. Indeed, hidden so well under the gaudy lighting. You might see and feel the muffled sadness. To bid farewell to your sister, almost mother, is ridiculously desiccating. I saw, what I didn't want to see, the separation in the Coral lachrymose Beauty's eyes; inadvertently witnessed it in one of the parent's eyes, while taking a photograph. If I had to stand even a second longer to take the right picture, the...

Sometimes your words break me. Will you not let me pull you back close? Broken Dragonflies don't fly again.

There is no jealousy, yet I find traces of it in you. I never curve my fingers into yours, but you always do it and I can't help giving up. Don't do this, I might fall for you.

It's 5.40 am. They just left. 5.41 am silence has begun carpeting the crevices and the corridors. Only forms of silence walk through the doors. They shut the door before the left; no one is going to into that room, except for the servants who clean the house. I can hear my whisper being a roaring thunder. The tick tock of the alarm clock is making me go insane, it's too loud. Has silence really walked in? Or has insanity reached another level.