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Friday, 05 June 2009

Why I write

I write because I must.

I write to free myself from the entrapment of words.

I write because under my skin, words wait to break out, one letter at a time.

I write so that amorphous fleeting ideas could be given form, so that they may be alive, for left to themselves they would fade into oblivion as unknown unsung martyrs.

I write because this is the greatest form of expression I have known. This freedom of not having to hide, this bravado of uncovering the lid, this insanity of losing control. This is what I need.

I write so that, in some manner, my words would seep into your soul. Sometimes they might come with the silence of a stealthy cat, so that I could enter your mind and catch you by surprise when I stare right back at you. Sometimes they might march on with the strident sounds of a chainsaw ruthlessly cutting through stubborn trees, quashing all opposition. Sometimes they may hold you by your hand, and take you on a trip to a fantastic land where thoughts have crystallized into life.

I write, in the hope that my words may spur you on to take a trip to nowhere, immerse yourself in obscurity and find yourself back again.

I write, because some day, I would like to be remembered for my words. Just my words.

Thursday, 04 June 2009

Let the silence play

Let’s not talk tonight. Let silence play out until morning comes back, waking us out of our sleepless reverie. Let it untie the knots that time has thrown between us.

Silence, oh this silence. It has torn me and you; torn us into shreds that left to themselves could have grown into different versions of the same person. Silence, that was once the language we spoke fluently, has now morphed into a cacophony interspersed with discordant voices. Yet, I want it to be the healer again.

For silence is the best healer I have known. Better than questions whose answers create more questions. We have always loved questions. Questions that opened me to you and you to me, with answers that we needed to hear. Questions, some of which were answered not by words, but by hands that met leisurely while the city sped past every evening on its buses and its bikes. Some others were answered by glances that could not notice people rushing back to their homes, oblivious of the coffee shop that enveloped us in a dream. Some questions we just chose to leave at the river while we went out bathing in the hope that they would get washed away like the sands on the shore.

Tonight, I leave the questions behind us. For even the river has now broken; its flow was never strong enough to cut through the rock. In spite of its fury, its frothing passion, there was only so much it could do. So there we were, between the rock and the river, gnawing, stabbing at stone that refused to break. The river complied.

Silence will heal it all. Erase the questions that need not be answered. Some day, the sun will walk to the other end of the earth, and come back redressed in a new shade of crimson. The pervasive silence will have wiped the slate clean. Questions will have melted away. Perhaps you and I will have melted too, and reformed ourselves.

For that someday, I want to be silent tonight.

Monday, 25 May 2009

The tipping point

When the shadows have vanished,
And the sun is out again,
When memories have faded
And we are on even ground,
When heads turn back
And try to find
Where the fabric gave way,
Where the skies turned
From soothing blue to an indifferent grey,
When lines were drawn,
When smiles morphed into blank sheets,
When silence became the all-pervasive ether
In our world,
Would we be able to point the moment in time
When the door came off the hinge?

Wednesday, 29 April 2009

Finding ourselves

In smiles
That met before we did,
In kisses
When your scent mingled with mine,
In touches
When I explored you,
And discovered that there was so much to discover,
In words
That we coined for each other,
In gazes
Whose intent I’d know by the upturned corner of your lips
Or by the rolling of your ‘Ask me’ eyes,
In the little surprises we threw
And all the little secrets we knew,
In thoughts
That bounced off you and me,
Naked and unbounded,
Delicate and fearless;
In your eloquent fingers,
Which made up words with every touch,
In my still, silent eyes,
In your slow measured walk,
That hastened to keep pace with my stride,
In all the times
When we were uncovering each other,
I think we found ourselves.

Thursday, 09 April 2009

From smiles to knives

Tear me, from head to toe,
Dissect my limbs,
And let my blood gush on to the streets
I won’t say a word, I can’t,
For what can one say
When hugs and high fives
Are exchanged for swords and knives?

Accuse me of crimes I have not committed,
Colour my name with slander,
Hammer my tongue
Until it seems
Like it would say manipulative words;
Words that I haven’t spoken,
Words that the wind hasn’t heard,
Words that ring in your head,
While memories of smiles and laughs
Fade behind speeding jibes and barbs.

Strip me,
Deepen my scars,
Throw missiles at me that I can’t defend,
Not once, but several times over and over again,
Attack me with enemies I can’t see,
Perhaps enemies that exist in no world but yours,
Blame me for having weapons I have never known,
Maybe handshakes are now turning into stone.

Do whatever you can,
Try to break my spirit,
Try to douse me in malice,
I would dust the specks off my collar,
I would take your blows on the chin,
And when you are done with the final punch,
I would look you in the eye, and say
“Is this all you can throw at me?”
I hope your eyes will then meet mine.

My friend,
I hope I helped you live.
I hope you remain, just as I do,
Indefatigable.