Tag Archives: love

When Impatience Takes Space in a Relationship

Years back – this one evening, I furiously walked into my mother’s room and almost screamed at her for being too tolerant. As I was growing up, I started noticing how small needs of my father were crucially important and my mother gave up too much to fulfill what others wanted – too often. She would let my father let his anger out, for a reason or not for a reason, patiently. It felt so unfair that I once told myself, “Being patient in a relationship is such a crime, you can’t love yourself. This will not be I in any of my relationships.”

When a ship floats on the water, the bottom of the ship is the most important part – that is built in a manner so that the ship can float, so that it doesn’t sink. When an onlooker sees the ship, he/she can’t see what’s beneath the water. What I am trying to say is, that I learnt – this lesson that relationships are often like these ships. There’s so much under the water- it is a human heart always failing to dig a little deeper and realize that roots of any existence in this world are strong but hidden.


Patience is the root of a relationship. My mother did show her anger, she did keep her desires in front of my father, she did let her agitation out on occasions but unlike my father she was always considerate about ‘when’. She was always the binding energy, like a vastly spread moonlit sky and my father was just a lightening. She was the one who held the galaxies, the stars, the moon and he was temporary, who fed on the vastness of the sky.

How many times have you been in that moment when anger got the better of you?
When was the last time when your frenetic heart failed to see the goodness of the other in a relationship?
How many times we make decisions in a second, we judge in a second, we reach on a conclusion in a second – only to realize there was much more beyond the point of our patience.

Most of us are undoubtedly tied up with the times. There’s tiredness and there’s a sense of loss of time. We fail to stop by too often, to listen to stories, to look closely at people aching for a loved one, to look at our own homes and feel what has kept it growing or breaking since years.

Despite the restlessness, the hysterical breaking and blooming of our love for ourselves and the others, we have failed to keep our relationships intact – mostly because we were too frazzled, to stay on the brim and wait for a little longer, to let things settle down and give what we love, one more chance; only when we knew at the core of our hearts- that would have been the right choice.

I have been in these situations, where I blamed before I self-checked. Where I could have stopped at the point when I saw my relationships reducing to nothing but egoistic arguments. Where I could have looked beyond that hour, those words, that particular issue. Where I could have thought that self presumed conclusions often lead to wrong closures. Where despite of being correct, I could have thought, how my mother did, of the correct time to say certain things. Where I did have the ability to be patient but I chose not to.

There are certain things that can’t be taught and when they go wrong, one can’t be blamed for them. Nobody will ever tell you in this moment, to listen to your heart and choose the better version of you- because you can.

Patience can’t be taught downright as a mannerism. It can be observed and learnt when you do feel that impatience has broken small things in your life. When you are able to see that your anger, an impulsiveness in your temperament has blotted the affection of others towards you. When you are able to notice that people whom you dearly love are hesitant of speaking their heart out in front of you. When the small joys of a relationship change to a routine of you and me instead of ‘us’.

Advertisements

Life is a makeshift

There are these moments
when you’d want to pluck the earth off the universe
and put it somewhere in the junkyard, forgotten;
never get any of these lives back and find yourself anew
folding into layers and layers of unanswered qualms.

I once ran off places on earth and in my head with a wrong map
each time I was sure, I would take some pills and quit this.
Yes, once upon a time I wanted to die or maybe not
but I walked till here and
I’ve shed my own self, I got the path
and I’m an existence forever ‘becoming’.
I never reach a point where I look into myself
And feel where have I reached, where is the right map?

I do not arrive now, at places, in time, in situations, amidst people.
I roam in circles encountering my silent adventures,
I become a dandelion, a root, a leaf, a flickering bulb,
a freak, a wolf, a nest, a cocoon,
And from each life, I move towards another,
To never let the world see,
What have I made of myself.

I am not the noun, I’m a verb.
I change and I am a process,
Maybe like a feather of the bird that falls down
Swaying and shedding the weight of its broken wing.
Yes, I couldn’t once choose myself over my sorrows
But I’ve made museums with chandeliers
Out of each of my grief.

Magic chambers in my eyes,
I’ve left long back
What people made me think
I must learn to be,
I’ve let my eyes dream of plains, scrapes, slopes and mountains,
Instead of directions, seasons, goals and constructions,
I will be my tomorrow before tomorrow arrives,
It is I, who’s moving and maybe not the time.
You’ll not find me arranged in a single manner,
A concrete, a mere life
Till a breath tears me apart.

You’re the light: light of all lights

You’re a quintessential summer song
bittersweet, mixed with a soft humming.
How my heart beats, almost lonely,
without your hand in mine.

You’re that red wall with the window
from where the glitter seeps in
and turns me into a labyrinth of lights.
Forever the favourite one.

You’re that melodic old radio
that sometimes sings and
Sometimes makes noises like a hullabaloo
How do I love the noises and songs alike.

You’re an album of photographs.
If I open too much, I drown too much.
If I let it closed, my heart is closed.
When I speak to them, they sing back,
same way as you.

You’re like a secret box full of old books
that makes me a child
always running for you,
for the graves of your naive little poems
you saved from the world, dearly for me.

You’re like an evening walk.
I can blabber everything and not know
I spoke to another soul.
You wear my thoughts on your heart,
same way grass covers our harsh feet.

You’re like that swing I miss.
Every touch of you that I remember
swirls everything in my stomach,
like a pool full of fishes
embracing every drop of me.

You’re not you anymore
How joyously do I see us
A you and a me
running into the wild
with sky above us, infinite.
~P

Longings

Longings.
Of being able to say what I can’t hold anymore.
Of time.
Not running out of my hands like sand.
Creeping slowly when I want to halt and feel nothing.
Of being able to cry,
Oh cry!
Cry my bones out
and feel weightless.
To feel it sliding down my stomach
that wet, teary smelled, broken breath
that makes noise like death.

Longings.
Of a month after months,
a day when all the waiting
would be justified.
Of transformation.
When walls, smells, soaps, noises, faces, foods, colours, water, spaces, vacuums, fillers, rooms, ceilings, birds, roads, dust, seasons would change.
Of answers beyond the stories of transformations.
Would it be enough?
Or would I still wait for another story with a longer waiting?
And would this be my life?
Just this?

Longings.
Of being loved the way I want.
Of being able to drown into those moments that look like pauses,
like photographs still and deep.
And no matter how long you gaze at them,
nothing about them changes.
Of someone someday loving me
without telling the need to leave
for work, meetings and appointments.
Someone free
of the damages of this world.

Longings.
Of being able to cut off from these ideas
that I never chose but
they still surround me like daily soaps
running in some distant room.
Whom would you want to kill more?
The makers or the viewers?
The idea of settling down,
earning money,
getting up at 8 and sleeping at 10,
schedules,
using calendars and watches and setting alarms,
of being a people pleaser,
going to parties and wearing make up,
of not being moody, looking presentable,
following dress codes, hiding womanhood,
avoiding rebels, hating rovers, condemning hippies,
men and women and some other avoidable species,
hate the government, argue to look safe,
women’s respect is in her vagina, men have balls of steel,
live in hypocrisy and die full of regrets.
Of imagination.
Imagine a world without these ideas.
Of realisations such as these:
even imaginations
are nothing less than wars.

Longings.
Of rushing into now and now
and now in this next moment.
When anything can happen
Or maybe nothing would happen.
But at least it will be a newer now.
And in every now
I look a little more like nothingness.
Every now full of silence.
More peace and the world
more disappeared.

Longings.
Of someday being able to
write this again
another space, pen and paper
and putting an end to it.
No, not the poem,
the longings.
~P

Love of the ordinary

There’s so much love
in the patience of
ordinary things;
Paintings on the wall,
street light on a forgotten road,
old yellow papers in a file,
wires stretched over small houses all alike,
soaps dry and water drains everyday,
our hands, our feet go wherever
we take.
Curtains pulled off, hanged up like labels for decoration
decided merely for colors.
Books in a book shelf laid for life
decided merely for how our hearts feel.
Newspapers made, read, unread, wrapped around yellow stained things, thrown
and again
made, read, unread, wrapped
and thrown
for years unknown.
Smells, shapes, sizes
shoes, clothes in our closets.
And our skins
when do they change,
except for rot with our age?
How sky repeats through
every inch of this universe,
blue and vast.
And what’s more lovingly patient
than the birds that sing
the same song every dawn
on the same branch
of the same tree?
~P

Empty a little much more

Have you ever sat with books all around?
Words of her,
The airborne bird
Or the enveloped whirl,
All that she would whisper
And all that she spoke out so loud.
Things that she said to the world
And things that this world had told her
All her life
All her years.
In words that touch lives today
Product of many other lives,
Speaks to them straight on the face
The sunshine
And the moonlight
She questions it all.
Fires back at those who had once fired her.
Sent myriads of picturesque love
To those who made her the hurricane.
She didn’t apologize for any thing
Only for, she never felt it,
After all, hurricanes never are sorry.
There is no way she could find
Plain and sane.
In the realms of that which constrained her
She was drowned,
Because the way to carefree falls
Was in those conceited walls.
The story of her escaping
Is not for the meager souls
Its for the risers and saviors,
Who on the brim
Still search for the line so thin
That divides love from sin.
I belong to this story because
In her struggles and walks
Agonies and wraths
Talks and mocks
Thundering and throbs
I smile and cry,
And I sew the narrator
In my eyes, with my own heart.
I feel engraved in the words
Like a huge ocean
Blue waves all around
And I float and float and float
And float some more,
For a while or longer
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Have you ever sat around books?
He says he loved and broke.
Before the breeze of love
Had tangled him in her arms
He says he was like a diamond.
Rigid and glistening.
But then, oh then,
Who in the turf of love
Has remained how they had begun?
And he from diamond
Was found bruised to scraps.
And now he plays and plays
Like a toy with his self.
Oh yes, they still shine.
The little pieces,
But in each of that bit
Is a foul smell,
In each of it he finds
A dark and white rainbow.
The pieces still shine
And he still plays.
But he says to his readers
He says to me,
With voice choked with coal
Like a big lump,
Making him heavy.
Like he is not standing
But tumbling down to the ground
More and more.
Like the ground is now
Swallowing him.
Before he reaches the grave
Before he weeps and he says,
I have died not of life
But love.
Tender arms of my beloved
Easily could slay
The life of a man
Who thought every day
To make her happier
Than every yesterday.
He ends it at his grave.
And my thoughts have begin from there
To smile at how he could love
Or to mourn the death of love.
In his tears is their any salvation?
Did he succeed to still say in the end,
Oh you my reader!
Love more and more
Love better each day.
Or did he say to me
Love no more,
For the pieces will shine
But no one will ever again
Look at you the same.
No one will feel your charm
And say,
Oh wow! You are diamond!
In the glitter of the diamond
I lose myself tonight.
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Have you ever sat with books all around?
An old lady courted everything possible,
Her face wears all the lines
She wrote in her diary.
Her hands has a smell
Smell of the food she made.
Her legs still look like
They will begin again
Any journey she would ever want.
Her husband sitting beside her
On a small stool
Holding her hand.
After a century of the living
They made
They stand on the gate
Of their one life.
They didn’t call it two separate lives ever
Wept and swept all together
He whispers something in her ears
“Remember, the first kiss?”
“Remind me once more,
Make it also the last one.”
She said.
In each others arms
They slept together.
Together they went.
Together they were taken.
In the flight of love as this
Can I not just dance.
My footsteps won’t move,
They will sway
Because in will dance on the music
That only they could play
Oh in the light and in the dark
I after reading them
Still find a ray
I walk along this light
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more,
Have you ever gone through this?
This feeling of being taken away
Away in worlds too many
All together
So much
Feeling so breezy
Have you ever talked to dead people?
Oh, I have!
They tell me tales.
They tell me things
Essential.
They tell me things like
Reader, I married him.
When she said to me this.
I had felt she declared to me
The decision of her life.
The only treasure
The only blessing.
She shared with me her tears and heartbeats
That moment
She gave to me.
Has anyone from a world unknown told you
That you are beautiful?
And I?
I believed only when they had said.
They said to me
To live like no ordinary
They told me to fight
And never get reduced
To stay and yet flow
They had said.
You are strong
And that is enough.
Don’t go for pretty.
She won’t die in hearts.
She would die like everyone
In a grave of cement.

Have you ever felt those humans
They talk only if you feel.
Only if every time you lift them up
You give them birth
And you breathe with them.
This magic will then belong to you.
You will fly away
From all that you hate
Any second, like in those fairy tales.
Make it yours
And try it once,
Once.
And you will die never.
Because lives like these
Even after death are saviors.
With them I swirl, curl, whirl
Like a river
These oceans I seek
In the end I belong to these.
Because I want to drink too much
And I feel empty a little much more.

Because my mom once said..

Because my mom once said,
Life is a journey
And it won’t be that sturdy.
Crawl like a creeper
Or dance like a tapper,
It would let you decide
But still will push you over the tide.

There will be a day
It will hold you back,
Fight the tears
Dread the day
There is a light in you
Don’t see others fly away,
You are there to fight the grey.
Those who’ll go out of your sight
Could not make your home bright,

Don’t count on people
They are not for you,
Look up to those stars
That’s where you can hide your scars.
There will be days
When all you’ll sense would be darkness,
Don’t forget to look through it
Colors will be waiting
To fill your emptiness.
Feel the breeze
Open your arms,
Drink the rain,
Love the wind,
Let the smell of the flowers
Cover you,
Let the music of the birds
Be your language,
All you will learn is to smile
Because all days won’t be alike.
Because my mom once said,

Promises are like rivers
They don’t have any shape,
They begin from an end
And those ends seldom meet.
Don’t wait for any soul
Winds are born to be blown,
What they take
And what they leave
Is another story
Little told and so untold.

There will be days
When you’ll get tired
You’ll crave for love
You’ll wait for someone to hold you,
Breathe and begin again
Because some cries go in vain.
It won’t warn you before the fire
Not even when you will be half burnt.
It won’t collect the ashes
But that end
It will go in your name.

Because my mom once said,
Life is like a game.
You’ll never win
But you won’t mind losing in the end,
This loss would bear what you are
Like a mirror to your sabotage.
It won’t flow with happiness
You’ll be the struggler
And you’ll have to be the believer.
Because those who don’t believe
Throughout they bleed.

Even when you don’t find the reasons
Remember, autumn is also a season.
Beauty is not in fulfillment
It’s in half said quotes
Musical notes
Unsung melodies
Quite soliloquies.
Happiness is not in the balloon that flies high
It’s in the wings of those nestlings
Who so adamantly try,
It is not in victories
But joyful histories
Curious mysteries
Unexplained madness
Self created sadness.

Because my mom once said
This life is your creation
A battle without destination.
Catch all the butterflies
Live all your cries
Rise like someone will catch you,
Fall like someone will push you.
Because one day you’ll start this journey
All over again
Not because this won’t be enough
Enough is never the word
It’s always more and even more
But because you’ll once again become my sword
And I’ll not hold you ever
I’ll let you sway.

Because my mom once said,
I am born the brightest sunray
Life is just a child’s play.
~P