Man of No Memory

I want to be a man of no memory.

So, I’m choosing to give you up now.

I want to be a man of no memory.

And I’m gonna fake it until I make it.

So if you comeback, please don’t be surprised,

if I act like I don’t know you.

Please don’t ask me questions & tempt my resolve.

Believe me when I ask- who are you?

Please do that much for me.

Only you know how much I suck at lying.

Don’t try to dig up the truth.

It’s only gonna hurt worse.

The truth is- I want to be a man of no memory; but I remember everything.

I might say I hate you; but I’m gonna keep on loving you.

I know I might always need you; but the truth is-

I just don’t want you anymore.

***

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Quote of the day

“The most sacred ritual a songwriter must honour is this daily offering to creativity. It can be five hours in a dedicated space or five minutes in a window seat on a plane, but it must be done. Write your heart and do it every day, first thing in the morning if you can. Everything else is icing on the proverbial cake.”

~Charlie Worsham

Poetic Overkill

You left and came back like the wind at night.
Quietly but with a different force.
You thought nobody would notice; but I did.
However subtle maybe the workings of your betrayals, I always end up knowing them.
And I wish I wasn’t cursed with such secrets.

There are some people who don’t understand trust or faithfulness.
They don’t,
and they never can.
And it’s unfair on them to expect otherwise.
Some people are born to live free,
Some people are born to die selfish.
Some things are as simple as that.

So I bury my expectations grudgingly.
I always do good deeds.
But I still can’t say I’m a good person.
I think and write bad, sad things.
I fear exile and judgement too much.
Maybe this is the curse of being understanding.
Maybe it is my inability of understanding deceit.

So, please don’t you lament now, my darling.
It’s not your fault.
This is the result of my devotion.
This is the result of my fury.
This is the fruit my love has borne.
And I’m often left all alone to swallow it.

I am okay, I really am.
I was meant to implode eventually.
My imagination is a painter who only likes black.
My love will be the death of me, you always used to say that.
Maybe I’m just here to fulfil that prophecy.

So, don’t you cry my darling.
You’ve done nothing wrong.
It’s not you.
It can never be you.
For it was you, who taught me how to live-
It‘s me who found the meaning of backstabs and bloodshed.
My thoughts, they are my death’s emissaries.
My feelings, they are the ones killing me.

***

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Blissfully Sinful

They told me-

Ignorance is a sin.

So, I left in search of the world and everything we’d done with it.

And all I saw was how we’d turned our home into a collapsing time bomb.

And when I raised questions of accountability and sustainability of our madness,

They told me to forget.

They said that I knew too much.

They started teaching me how blissful was ignorance.

But despite their best efforts, I couldn’t unsee the nightmares of my knowledge.

And each time I saw the mirror, all I could see was a sinner.

***

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The Old Man’s Watch

“What time is it?” The child asked.

“My watch seems to have stopped.” The old man said.

“Don’t you miss it? Don’t you get lonely stuck in the same time? Don’t you miss the idea of a future?” The child inquired.

“The past is my future.” The old man replied.

***

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The It

I don’t know how to make you understand, that I won’t ever leave you.
No matter how bad you act to test my faith,
No matter how hard you try to earn my hate,
No matter how hard you try to push me away,
It’s just not going to happen.
Like I have- a million times before- I’ll say it again.
In my life’s game of Tag
You have always been The It.
So you might as well just suck it up and enjoy the play.
Quit this nonsense of being unworthy and just let me do my job of loving you to death.

***

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Covid

Dying is not the curse of the Covid.

We were all dying anyhow.

It is the distance it has put between the living.

Humanity lives only after selfish survival is ensured.

We were all dying; but now we are doing it alone.

***

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A String of Epiphanies

It was here, 
I saw her first. 
My crooked-nosed fairy. 
A sun-kissed girl.
Encircled, consumed 
by her own brilliant light. 
It was here, 
she swam across the darkness to me.
It was here, 
I heard her first. 
My enigmatic siren. 
Oblivious of her own chaos, 
crooning, crying- 
she sang of a peaceful world. 
It was here, 
I found out what a lullaby did.
It was here, 
I saw the enchanted sky.
Her eyes black jewels.
Ignorant of their mischievous shine;
calm, composed
she spoke of love so seriously.
It was here,
the thunderbolt struck me first.
It was here, 
I tasted the stars. 
My favourite cigarette smoke. 
A temptress shimmering, 
talking, burning. 
Trapped by her devilish tongue- 
It was here, 
I wanted time to forever stop.
It was here, 
I found the iceberg’s depth. 
Endless ICU nights. 
A colourless fate. 
Shocked & shivering- 
It was here,
I learned to beg. 
It was here, 
I learned how prayers were made.
It was here, 
she danced in a sinking ship. 
Death simply felt too inconsequential 
for a being that alive. 
It was here, 
I ordered my desperate wishes on the universe. 
It was here, 
I confessed all that I did not deserve- 
all the life she gave me.
It was here, 
I learned how smiling angels wept. 
She promised me it was okay, 
but I was afraid to fall asleep in her arms.  
It was here,
her ruffling fingers and soothing songs 
broke me again.  
It was here, 
I woke up after the sun had set.

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