I have put on my lipstick
I have even back combed my hair
Now I must try to sleep
But I wont be able to
Getting excited for the trivial shit is stupid in itself
And I am a stupid girl
What do he do
He has got world to see
And attend
He is busy man
Its me only
Who is a hopeless romantic
Who is a stupid romantic
I missed a friend
I lost a friend
We were close
And then we were not
I mourn yet again
Like I always do
For missed opportunities
I always seek
And I missed
What was there
Do I have to keep knocking
At doors closed
Like always
And lament
Like I do
Just like now
Do you understand?
My loss?
My bad luck?
My karma?
Will I learn?
Ever?!
No human love can fill the void, that gnawing loneliness. I believed I knew it. May be I did not live it. Or I forgot. And may be that’s why it’s excruciatingly cruel. Expecting to be heard, more importantly to be understood. How much should I scream to make myself clear. I used to believe in transparency, voicing even the most useless information. My insecurities are all out there in open. But for what good?! Just to hear it back mockingly. Advices?! Our life revolves around it. Being reciprocated back. I told myself to be as much selfless as one can be. But it’s easier said than to practice it, to live it. Patience is a tough job. I ask and look for distractions, relations, family, marraige, motherhood, a job, pursuing higher degree, friendships, entertainment, chatterboxing, killing time and what not. Happiness is a charade. But I know for a fact that any other diversion is bound to disappoint and dismay as well. Voila! I have full baggage of bad fortune following me. I tell myself. I teach myself. But all in vain. What the solemn heart wills, it wills. A God in petty mortal human beings and human things.
Why is it so darn hard to get through the lover?! Oh, the things he would hide. And the things he would tell. My silly heart knows only asking. Shameless heart. The heart of a always nagging wife.
You love me my jaan
You do not understand me my jaan
I tell you my jaan
Follow woman’s heart and passion my jaan
Nevertheless, this is my love, my jaan
You are a free bird
I am so tame
You are laughing cracker
When I am lame
You say you love me the most
Still I am barely out of the frame
There is always someone lurking around
To lit my insecurities aflame
You talk so much
Tell me, ask me, as attention-seeker is my birth name
I don’t have stories or friends or ambitions
That’s why I misbecame
You are tornado of happenings
I am slow, so totally out of game
Baby, girl, match the pace
And, stop the rame
Oh, how i have started hating hearing cars from my window?! The building tension on approaching car, and the dejection and saddness and even frustation while it fades away. How the world is so depressingly quite and at some point i used to peep out of my window to look at the city sleeping and find it astonishingly calming. How the tables have turned. Why do i ask?! Why do i wait?
How lit my eyes are
How cold my feet are
What’s this that creeps in
Peeping out sometime
The calls call
To be pulverized away
It’s my baby too
The one mum likes to disown
How heavy headed my head is
How lame my heart is
Whats this that clucks away
Scrubbing the back
Clenching the eyes shut
Open up, enact, bring into being
Its me
Your mum
The one you unwant
Me too
I, too, disdain you
I too
I am
You too
The awful taste in mouth each time I realize how a man’s world out there is so different, biased and free-er. When will I learn to accept it and okay with it?! Any time soon?!
I have a lover
I have many beloveds
I have had too many friends too
But many a times
Lonliness still stings
But this time, I went to my old self, to seek comfort and company. A page dating five years back. How astonishingly I am relating to it even now! Oh, I haven’t aged. I thought I have grown up. I am way more emotionally matured and in control. But, no, there come bouts, when everything kept at bay, comes flooding in and then there is nothing to do then, except; suffering. Suffer. Make it pass. Then smile again. And laugh. Kid yourself. And others.
