And there was a girl..

The song played and some others followed. She knew they were meaningless. Real life didn't sound like that. In real life you couldn't say things that were meaningful and sounded beautiful, at the same time.

She looked up and saw him.She could see the blue sky as it was meant to be, the green leaves as the tree wanted them to be and the flowers, red and yellow as spring made them to be. But then he was there, smiling at her, lying to himself. She saw through him and was surprised at herself. She wondered how she could allow herself to be swept and taken away. She convinced herself that this was meant to be.And she let another song creep in and feed her fancies.

For a time that lasted months, almost melting into an year, she didn't want to think of anything else. It was a fever that burned and turned short bursts of passion into promises. She learned to flow along a wave that never settled on calm. There were ebbs of happiness and grief which only made her want more of it. It made her feel alive, or so she felt.

Before autumn could arrive, it was over. She didn't want to cry. She didn't need to. There was nothing left to cry over. And that's why she cried. She felt weak and ashamed. She let others walk away. She cried and let the world drown, let those abandoned float away.

Over those hours and days spent, there was an old box full of sharp, raw memories, discarded, once-exchanged belongings, a bottle of bitterness and a playlist of instances and associations. Every song had a memory to it. Every memory had a scent to it. Every scent had a sting, of a sharp dull ache that comes with missing.

Closure was a rigmarole of justifications, of surrender, of acceptance and of fighting hopes. It was a journey of extricating a meaning out of all said and done, of chopping of associations, of relegating meaninglessness to those songs again, of erasing a canvas smeared with past wishes and false impressions of the future.

As she looked into the mirror and saw herself, she knew she was already beginning to diminish. She could see her walls plastered with crumpling, faded posters and shelves lined with dusty relics and framed photographs. The mirror, like a murky gray ocean, was reluctant to part away with a reflection. The sun rays merely drowned, not surfacing.

The song that came on, came out slow, hushed and garbled in a way. She knew it meant nothing and thanked the time where she would let it slip by. Life had to allow for some things to go unnoticed, for tiny fallacies to be brushed away. She moved away from the mirror and fell back on her bed. Softly, with a noise that would come close to flump. Fingers curled and pointing skywards, eyelids closed, full with sleep or tears one couldn't know. She breathed with a calm and told herself that this didn't mean anything, that memories can be thrown away like an un-welcome guest. She smiled to herself, knowing she was getting good at lying to herself.

She tripped on denial and fell into her dreams. Again.

Tapestry

A crowded room,
an empty cup,
silence and its names.

A broken nail,
a forgotten lock,
blood and its traces.

A handful of sand,
a glint of sun,
fire and its embers.

A garland of flowers,
an album of uncles,
memory and its voices.

A string of silk,
a patch of sky,
rain and its scents.

A fallen leaf,
an open window,
time and its places.

Cold Fusion

The cursor kept blinking back at me, insistent, like a mother asking you to tidy up the room. I looked blankly at the screen, pained by the empty white space challenging me. It's not that I had nothing to say, it's just that I had too much and these creatures in my head were waging a war against the walls of my brain. If I didn't do anything about them now, they would start making noises and oozing out of my mouth and that would be a very dangerous thing.

I must tell you about this fear I have of said, uttered and spoken. If anything goes through these three, then the results can be overwhelming at times. What if what was said, uttered or spoken turned out to be true and ruptured that false sense of security you had wrapped around you? These creatures have very sharp claws, I must warn you and they are an unruly bunch. They won't care two hoots before cutting down your heart and hopes into pieces and proceeding to self-destruct.

I don't know where my brain picked these creatures from, from which crazy god-forsaken corner.

It is at such times, when I'm at the brink of a nuclear war in my head and my fingers freeze in their cold war with my brain, that I feel the need to go for a walk. A walk won't necessarily stop the churning within, but it would help me get away from the burden of controlling it. I can just let these creatures do their thing inside, while my feet trace and retrace steps in an aimless wandering about the house. This sometimes leads to more chaos. The walls start screaming and shoving another set of creatures into my head.

And those creatures are even worse. I don't know whether they are alive or dead. If you mention, think, imagine or just even bring them up, they become the past, gone, and yet just hanging there. It is as if their lifespan runs on a clock whose each tick overlaps with the next so that a tick begins and ends together leading to the next one's immediate and simultaneous birth and death. If you had the living, the dead and the ghosts amongst us humans, then those creatures would fittingly fall within the ghosts.Those creatures would infest you and lie low and suddenly sneak up on you and unsettle everything. They can and will plague your head and rouse all these sleeping creatures into a riot of expression.

At times I wish to purge myself of all the creatures within, these thriving and kicking ones, and those haunting and tormenting ones. But it's like the Stockholm syndrome.. the creatures have started liking my brain. They have started liking me, my self and everything about and around and they refuse to leave. They fill me up. Every time I open my eyes, breathe, smell, feel, sigh , utter, they multiply. The unborn ones are waiting for a flick of light within and they shall start their own universe within. Imagine the Big Bang occurring every living tick on your clock in your head. More the explosions in my head, the more I do things that will create more of such creatures.

It is a vicious circle. I am them!! I have become what they are, whatever they are at any given time. I become their rag, and their pen. They can write me down on my own self and leave me to erase the marks. And each wiped out impression joins the army of those creatures, ambles off to a dark recess within, only to creep out teasingly from time to time and madden me. With the frothing madness comes a wave of intoxication that sweeps these creatures into a blur of excitement. And out they come spilling..

The cursor's still annoying me with that blinking. The empty white spaces have shrunk and given away to inert black ants on the screen. They seem to be a handful. I don't know where my brain's picking up creatures from again, from which god-forsaken ruddy place now!!!

Undone

Songs that shall not be heard
for they bring a scent to mind.

Words that shall not be said
for fear the silence be stormed.

Sights that shall not be seen
for the memories that be piqued.

Eyes that shall not be closed
for fear they would dream.

All this, to not be reminded.
To face and turn things undone.

- The Un-Written Yet.