Sigh

For years,
I fought recklessly
to fit my bones into the skeleton
that will tempt you the most.

Those summer afternoons spent,
Struggling in front of the mirror
rubbing my mascara & blush
drawing the image you wanted to see.

Through springs & winters,
Fighting depression, tears
relapses, anxiety and more –
dangling in a vicious cycle.

All this labour, facade & pain,
Just to be liked by you
so the false wave of acceptance
from your gaze,
surging down my empty spine
could comfort me to the core.

And even though I beg you,
For your love & touch
my insecure parts are still aching
in the same bony cage,
unfed & despised – the scars shine brightly.

So, do I collect myself?
Gather all these pieces
jot into one whole human
stand tall on my own.

Or do I return back?
To the same misery
that connects me to you
feeds my doubts
leaves me crippled for days
my limbs numb & feelings dead.

The night is dark
heart – broken
spark – crimson
waves – silent
but somebody whispers,
so much to endure just in the name of love.

Guest post by Aroosa Mushtaq.

Tap, tap, and tap!
It resounds into my ears
the water in the bathroom
the faucet leaking
spilling onto the floor,
Slithering – gently and slowly,
sifting away.
I ignore the sound
the disturbing noise,
but it continues.
Seething, slinking
it perturbs my conscious,
slowly sinking,
it invades my mind.
Exasperated, I open my eyes,
and rub sleep goodbye.
My hands sneak out
testing the outside temperature
it is cold, so cold
but the water’s dripping.
“Oh! For Pete’s sake,”
I grumble and turn
pushing the covers off
I make for the bathroom
and there, that menace!
The water drips into a pool
I make my way over
and with one swift motion
make the faucet run dry.

 

Sleep doesn’t come back
and there’s little else to do
maybe a shower then
maybe a nice little hairdo.

So I clean up and dry
I tie my hair into a pretty bun
I take out the red heels mama bought me
and I wear them with my tutu.
I sit on my bed
all made up like a prima ballerina,
I make sure to wear that new lipstick
And I’ve painted my nails red.

 

Thud, thud, thud!
It blasts into my ears
my dreamy conscious asks
“Oh! What the devil now?”
It’s my upstairs neighbour
that stinky old retard
always fixing things
always hammering nails.
He runs up above
as if it’s his little playground,
He’ll rupture a bone, I’m sure now.
The blasting continues
loud bangs on the floor
Impossible to ignore
I take a long rod,
longest I can find
But it doesn’t reach up.
So I climb up on the bed
I jump to reach the ceiling.
One, two, three!
“Jump”

The rod pierces first, taking me along
through a bit of plaster and dust
towards a very shocked neighbour.

Guest post by Nishat Shuja.

The Dream

A crazy dream

of an admirer, so serene,

He came to me while

I fell to the ground underneath.

 

He was my fantasy,

A person with such charm

Alas! I was nothing but

a lady with much fatuity

 

He was a magnet,

and I, the metal.

My heart burgeoned to him

As he looked at me.

 

While I was still noting

But,

A colourful clown

Sucked up by the ground

Half way up, half way down.

 

He was becoming blur

and I was waking up

I did not want to open my eyes

But the sun and the birds;

they revolted against me

 

I felt grumpy and

I woke up to see

the clown shoes of my dream

lying in front of me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First love.

A shooting star over her head,
Those shiny, twinkling street lamps,
Empty pathways and silent longings;
11:11, make a prayer!

She stayed quiet and slowly uttered,
“Him”.
Instantly then,
The aching heart whispered;
“First love never dies”.

Just a fraction of second,
Shuddering the shoulders,
She continued walking,
“Some hopes always remain unfed.”

Hurt.

The crispy sound echoed around

as he turned the pages,

walking slowly along the shore,

Far away the horizons met,

colors merging, waves meeting and then, leaving again.

“Didn’t it all splash just in a second?”

He felt like the roaring waves would question,

everytime he looked at them.

 

So, it is true,

He thought to himself,

Sunsets are not forever gloomy

but they always speak of parting.

“Sigh! What an irony”,

“Some find happiness in their going away”, a calm wave touched his feet,

a cold memory surged down his spine,

 

“Patience, dear heart”

Untold.

Have you ever wondered
what does the back tell?
That every little thing the mouth
is reluctant to speak about.
All the moments witnessed
by the eyes but untold,
the unopened aches of the heart,
the darkness of night,
the silently endured miseries.
This is why,
in this little dangling life,
the other day
when I stepped over a hurdle and
stumbled,
I realized, my spine weighed so heavy,
for it actually carried all the burden singly
and never complained,
telling about each gust and every gaze
fallen upon it, to the one who listened.

Realization.

And how many more
silent nights and dead mornings
would it take, till you finally realize
this aching pang in your chest,
that surges, with every sip of coffee
pouring down into your soul, telling secretly;
it has ended,
that sacred love of yours
which once started on the same table 3
of this empty cafè, with a steaming cup of coffee,
and struggled through the same long night,
to ultimately, dissolve in the very darkness;
my sweet luck,
always so melodramatic.
– H