November 11th

 

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 ‘Rain‘ by Ilya Kuvshinov; Source: Deviantart

 

This was a fine morning,

I woke up, and my brother

told me quick quick quick,

Get ready you gotta go,

Pray, thank and

ask now-something-new to get done, 

What else and why so inward-looking,

Selfish, I knew I was agreeing

that it wasn’t a good idea,

Asking for more, a hysterical laugh,

Someone under my skin really laughed out loud,

Still, why? it was inside me like fluid, the dubiety.

But never was so biased,

I’m a lost boy running around

the reality like a deranged scavenger,

That day was bright,

Bright as those smile of yours, oh darling!

I would sing for you, with you.

Our social day went more than it usually was,

It became pieces of the picture of our memory,

The day, lighter now better and calm,

Rooting to the soothing silent waves in one’s head,

I was happy, and this might be

the only piece I write

like a free-spirited tranquil self,

Those five whys don’t be any more,

But I would explore the cause-and-effect

Because all alone deep-damn-down,

I know it will be back,

But I embrace this moment of total summer,

Blissful and am blushing.

Because I cross the line here for you,

But I still love you,

And your blue jean.

triangle.

 

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The Line

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It is meant to be the way it is to be,

deeper it goes, better

cutting yourself with a butter knife, it hurts more,

I don’t want to breath up those things that i got wrong,

I turned on to the wrong pages,

and am stuck in that page itself looking,

somewhere in between the lines,

or the quotes,

or the verses,

that read, “I deserve not be hurt”.

I walked across those thousand pages,

for that line,

but never was it found in the paragraphs,

that never ended, continued with commas,

now i want to write it myself down, on it,

It is meant to be there.

maybe I’ll burn it, or let it go,

release the sickness, be free,

let it be what it is meant to be,

just let be, ride back home and sleep.

 

triangle

Am Fond of Him

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learning to control

the fondness for little things that i share

with people, strangers though,

i got no rules, i got no limits.

everything is the same,

i could recognize a pattern,

am on repeat, the same song on the radio,

a million times,

like am addicted to being fond about,

like i make a fool out me,

i try to bring in my territory,

deserted inside four walls, frequent sandstorms,

i rot, but my gut let ‘em in,

again,

am flooded, swept away with the ice cold water,

am wet now, wept off half of my face,

i bring it back again,

eerily out of reality, too much spaced-out,

am a fanatic for fondness, the madness,

and all that lavish fucks,

 

the time 23:23, fuck, it’s late,

late for my hands to please me,

my control is evicted, it’s ruined,

am in a drop, learning to be in my limits,

to bail out of this.. this…

 

triangle.

The Walk – II 

source: Instagram :: @sreejith_jayachandran :: ©

Empty beer bottles.                          

Blue Tees, and that friday

Beach side walk,

Heavily. 
I could feel the force of those dark clouds,

Above me, they they hurling,

I hear that small burst,

Randomly.                                         
Here I was and it’s different now.   

It’s okay, I feel the vibration in the shells,

The roar, the golden sound,

Infrequently.
Like always she is with me, Adaline.

The sense of shock between our skin,

It’s paralyzing, we smile with that numbness,

Sensually.