Soul Intoxicated...in this thing called Love.

What's Up

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 23:41:00 +0000

I know I've been ignoring this place for a while and maybe some of you miss reading me here. Some of you have been following me for years and even though we have never met, I consider you all some of my best friends. The reason Soul Intoxicated has been 'ignored' for a while is because I recently took up photography as a career and have been crazy busy with shoots. I have had a chance to work with some great models and I'm loving every bit of it. What's scary is that even in a small city like Halifax, I have an overwhelming amount of competition. My strategy has been to start off with doing lots of TFPs while doing paid shoots once in a while. Hopefully I'll save enough to upgrade my gear and can then afford to charge a little more than what I am right now. Until then, I'm going to do lots of TFPs and stack up a pretty good portfolio.

I started working on my official website last night and it's harder than I expected. I managed to set everything up and I should be done by next week. You can see it here : http://www.moratemporisphotography.com/ Meanwhile, for those of you into photography, find me on Facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/Mora.Temporis Like it only if you like it. ;)

P.S. In case you are wondering what Mora Temporis means, it's Latin for "I Pause Time" coz that's what I do. :D

Peace out!

Me

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 02:34:00 +0000

They say that when dusk falls
it’s a dreamer’s paradise.
But dreams always fade away when the day breaks.
I don’t want to be a dream.

They say that when a storm rises,
it can kill a million waves.
But even a storm gives way to silence.
I don’t want to be a storm.

They say that fire runs blind
reducing the mightiest structures to ashes.
But even fire can be pacified.
I don’t want to be a fire.

They say that a golden thought
can change the world.
But even thoughts give way to new ones.
I don’t want to be a thought.

They say that love has the power
to transform demons into angels.
But even love can be suppressed.
I don’t want to be love.

But the only thing invincible
that nothing and no one can change
is what I want to be…
ME.

Rebirth

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 11:13:00 +0000

Sometimes life brings you to a certain point where you don't know what to do. You can't even find the reasons behind your confusion and sometimes you feel like crying for nothing and yet you can't cry, or shout out loud but you can't. It is really irritating when this happens because even if you are around people, or hanging out with your friends, your mind seems to drift away, trying to search and pinpoint the reasons behind this restlessness.

I was restless that day. I made some tea and went to the rooftop along with my radio. It was dusk and the lights from the vast cityscape shimmered like stars. I slowly sipped my tea, smoked a cigarette while listening to the random songs playing on the radio. Something had been bothering me all day. I couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was. I really needed to get high, to keep my mind off of this for a while. I decided to call her. I remembered the last time we smoked pot, we ended up getting philosophical. Maybe this time too, I might be able to find an answer.

"Hey..."

"Hey..."

"I need to talk to you...come to the rooftop...and bring some."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing...just some shit I need to figure out...I'm already there.."

"Okay...see you in five."

I was lying on my side on the cool cement floor staring into oblivion when I heard her footsteps. She promptly came and sat next to me. None of us spoke for a while. She took out a joint, lit it up and passed it to me. I took a deep drag and felt relief as I felt the smoke in the back of my throat. I then passed it back to her. We had our silent conversation for a while while passing it back and forth. We sat there listening to random people calling up the RJ and talking to him about their problems. I wondered why they did that.

"These people share their shit with the RJ because they don't have many people they can trust." She looked at me. Could she read my thoughts? Maybe she said it randomly. She passed me the last bit of the joint but I refused.

"Now...tell me what happened?" she asked putting her right hand over my shoulders.

"I've been getting restless about a lot of things but I can't figure out what those things are...you know what I mean?" I looked at her to see if it made any sense to her. She was staring at her feet. I continued anyway. "And it is eating up my head. That is why I thought of smoking weed because then we talk and it clears my head."

"So did it?" she asked.

"No."

"Well it's simple..." she said suddenly shifting her position, now facing me, a weird glow on her face. I knew answers were coming, the weed was having it's effect.

"....do you believe in rebirth?"

"What has that got to do with what I am feeling? No, I don't. I think it is all crap."

"Hmm. You feel as if there is no fun in life anymore and you just can't figure out what to do next?"

It was more of an answer than a question but she was right. I felt exactly like that.

"But why? I mean...I've had fun, I've done amazing crazy things, I've had good friends...though most of them are not there anymore...but.."

"You're dead."

It felt like a punch on my chest and my heart almost stopped for a moment. There was so much conviction in her voice that for a second I really thought I was dead.

"What do you mean I am dead? Can't you see me sitting here? Now don't tell me I am a ghost." I lit up the second joint she had brought.

"You have finished a life...see, a lifetime is divided into parts called life. You've finished one."

I passed the joint to her. "You don't make any sense."

"Well...since you have finished a life, you're dead...and it's time to take a rebirth and start a new life. Throw away the leftovers of your past life...live this new life in a different way. Stop thinking about why you can't get back your old days and start thinking about what to do next."

And then it struck me. I realized I was irritated by the fact that I was stuck in the past for too long. I didn't want to move on in life. I had to die and be born again, start a new life in a new way. She was right. She always is. Somehow she managed to hit me hard with facts every time in her own weird way and I loved it. Maybe I should never have left her, but it's too late, and we are better off like this.

"You're right." I said, and she smiled at me. She got up and pointed to the front of her T-shirt. It said "I Am Always Right".

"But what if I don't want to die? Maybe just fall asleep for a while? Won't that work too?" I felt like a fool asking her this after everything she explained but I wasn't ready to die just yet. This time she laughed and turned around. The back of her T-shirt said, "You Are Right Too."

I smiled.

Your Smell

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 04:21:00 +0000

I love the way I smell of you when I'm on my way back. The metro is almost empty this time of night and the few people there seem to be lost in their own thoughts; slowly moving, almost dancing with the train as it moves on the rail. The air outside is warm; it's cool in here. I'm smelling my hands, my shoulders. I smell of you.

A smile on my face seems to bother a girl sitting in front of me. 'No lady, I'm not hitting on you. I'm just lost in my thoughts. I'm missing someone I saw just fourteen minutes ago. Why don't you let me smile and miss her? Why don't you find something or someone to think about as well and get lost in your thoughts like everyone else?'

I walked the rest of the way home and took a shower. Then I closed my eyes and I could still smell you in my head and I smiled. I wanted to meet you again. But then you called me up and said things I didn't want to hear. When will you understand that I cannot give you those things? I'm not like that. Suddenly your smell becomes too much to bear and I can't breathe. I'm choking. I'll die.

Then I put the phone down, I leave you and walk away. You blame me and I blame you back. We try to get back again and I try to get used to your smell again. I can't. And soon, I find a new smell and I start loving that smell like I loved yours once.

I'm sitting alone waiting for my train, smiling.

I'm walking home alone, smiling.

It's been so many years since you, your smell. There have been so many smells now, and today, I can't smell anymore. Maybe I shouldn't have let your smell go. Today I don't even remember how you smelled like.

Meeting You Again

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 17:55:00 +0000

I meet you over and over again. Just when I think I am over you, I meet you again and though you pretend to be different, I know you are still the same. So when will I stop meeting you and when will we resolve this thing we keep doing? What do we have to do to escape this thing we always do? I am running out of years to get it right this time around. Next time I meet you, maybe in the next life, please take it easy. Let's cut to the chase, okay? Let's decide from the outset what we will do in the event of things taking their usual course and try to soften the blows. Or maybe we can just agree beforehand that we will not do it and shake hands, saving us both so much time and emotional energy. But I know I am going to meet you over and over again through many lifetimes and it will always be the same, I'll always be the same, you'll always be the same, and it will always end the same. This is what will eventually come out of it all. So let's just accept each other and do the best we can until the next time.

A Journey Called Life

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 03:43:00 +0000

My life has suddenly acquired a new dimension, renewed ambitions and a sharper focus. I can now conveniently assert that whatever happened during the last year has given me harsh lessons and I am no longer insecure or doubtful of my own capacity. Instead there has been a drastic change of attitude in handling situations, dealing with people, sustaining relationships, increasing frustration tolerance. Perhaps 'past' has its way of correcting your future, and some lessons were crucial for my own well being.

It's strange how someone like me who would easily get dependent on others for even the smallest decisions, now has the courage to face reality all alone. Maybe I am learning to survive on my own. I am learning to be objective. I am learning not to give up till the last minute. I am able to see my dreams take shape, even if it's just a beginning!

As long as the fire is alive, I will last....

Dare Me

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 20:38:00 +0000

Yet again I dare to write about you,

not knowing what it would become when it ends,

what shape it would take.

For instance, I could start with how you always arrived

before you did; trails of fragrance

that wafted around me, in me,

an undertone of cider wood with a hint of lime.

Sometimes you, sometimes a little more than you.

I could write about the cigarette stubs,

and the smoke that rose like restrained passion,

and filled the space between us.

About the eventuality of accidents waiting to happen,

when your fervent soul was so close to my tranquility.

About your eyes and the way you looked at me,

even when you were not supposed to,

or your gaze that lingered,

and just when I thought it would last, you looked away.

I could write about your scar on my left cheek,

both the significance and insignificance of it.

About your hands, how they alternated from harsh to mellow,

the dexterity with which they held me and let go,

or your fingers, their language and my brazen conversations with them.

And then about the moments of prolonged silence,

the complete absence of words, even gestures,

and the things you said to me with your unblinking eyes,

or those ensnared moments that felt like life and death juxtaposed.

And finish with the times I stopped breathing but the heart still pounded,

pulsating in both the anticipation and the anxiety of the moment,

when you would dare me once again.

Once Again

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Tue, 09 Aug 2011 03:01:00 +0000

Once again, I feel that emptiness

raging intensely,

filling up my soul.

It reminds me of the promises

never made to be fulfilled.

Once again, the man in the mirror

looks sad.

A fading shadow of a happiness.

I turn off the light to let that face,

dissolve in the darkness of the night.

Once again, pour a million drops,

of the rain of reasons to cry.

The earth swells with tears

falling from my eyes,

perhaps to touch her.

Once again, December comes,

colder than before,

sending shivers down.

I did not love the cold,

but it was winter in my heart.

Once again, a star fell,

as I wished 'let me forget'.

So many stars have broken since.

My sky is almost void,

but her thoughts return.

Once again, I hear that note,

of the perfect music.

I stopped and listened,

to my favorite song.

Someone had called out her name again,

"Desire."

- dedicated to a girl called Desire. Happy Birthday, my lost desire.

***

On an unrelated note, here's my other favorite song :

I Lost Myself!

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Thu, 04 Aug 2011 03:41:00 +0000

I am proud to say that I have now officially completed #21 from my 30 by 30 list. And what a way to do it than to attend not just any concert, but Eminem's! I have been a huge fan ever since his first album came out. I was a bit disappointed with Relapse, but with Recovery, Eminem proved it once again that no one even comes close to rapping like him. So when I found out that Eminem was coming to Montreal, there was no way in hell I was going to miss it. Made a huge hole in my pocket but it was worth it. Here's some pictures and a video to lose yourself in. ;) The pics are high resolution, feel free to use them as wallpapers. Mine's the first one.

P.S. I just came to know Avril Lavigne is coming to Halifax in October. :D

Ember

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 18:22:00 +0000

He stood in an empty street, watching her shadows laugh all around him, her voice whispering through the wailing wind. He was in a realm where there was no day, no night, different shades of gray spilling into each other and over everything in sight. It was his love for walking down burnt paths that got him, his love for dark, cloudy nights. He saw a glowing ember beneath a pile of ashes. The fiery color amongst the gray dust mesmerized him and he crept closer, gently clasped it in his hands, not realizing that it was meant to die, and would burn him in the process. She was too sad to give him anything, to accept anything and he was too intoxicated with the strange color of her eyes to realize that. The ember died out, as it was meant to be, scarring his hand, burning his heart.

Bitter Hopes

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 07:06:00 +0000

Hear my cries and feel my pain,
behind this mask of happiness I wore so long.
Stinging thorns of rose bushes bare,
crimson blood drips drop by drop.
Love lost is as darkness burnt,
cursed words that can alter my fate,
my wretched soul is gripped by sin
blackened by the torments of guilt.
An obsessed passion of restless eyes,
pity cannot undo this wrong.
Will my life crumble to dust?
Will this nightmare never end?
My life is gnawed by selfish fiends,
revenge is beautiful when you have nothing.
Salting the unhealed wounds of flesh,
pricking the fresh scars of dreams.
Shadows follow me at night,
I slit my wrists to feel alright.
Thousands of bitter hopes later,
still no sign of a wistful chance.
A destined path driven by fate,
I still hate the world that,
taught me how to hate.

See What You Want To See

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 12:00:00 +0000

What would you do if you knew that you're loved even less than what you felt?

How would you feel if you knew that I reveled in lying to you about simple things?

Am I going too far as to say that I never really felt it in me, the will to love you?

This shouldn't come as a surprise to you considering you always doubted me.

Am I to blame for being this way now?

Maybe.

I know that you blame it all on me.

Without me by your side, you would have been in a bigger mess.

I am sad that I wasted three years of my life trying to mend you.

Think back to the day we first made our promises.

How long did it take you to break your first?

One day? Maybe even less than that.

Unintentionally. That’s what you said and I believed you then.

Things just went downhill from then onwards.

You didn't deserve second chances.

Over and over again, I let things slide.

Unsure of what the next time would unfold.

Now things seem to be looking so much better for you.

Owe it all to destiny, to love, to me.

Will you be able to see beyond what’s in front of you?

P.S. I just started my photoblog here. Follow. Comment. Subscribe.

Crappy Birthday To Me

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 05:59:00 +0000

It’s my birthday today. Big deal. I feel just like I do any other day. I am doing the same things I do everyday. I feel nothing special about today or about myself. I am not one of those people who likes to celebrate birthdays, probably for the same reasons I prefer to lie on my bed on new year’s eve while all my friends are out partying. Maybe it has something to do with the years passing, time slipping away, opportunities bungled or lost completely. What worries me especially on this day is that I may never be able to fulfill my promises, that my dreams would remain just that, and that I may never be successful at the things that matter most to me. My paranoia is fueled by the fact that I actually have had to abandon some of my dreams as the years passed by. And no matter how much I accomplish or where I am in life, when my birthday approaches, I feel the same way. I feel like I didn't do enough, or loved enough, or wrote enough. I am clearly a the-glass-is-half-empty type of person. Sad, I know.

I don’t usually let people know when my birthday is. Only my immediate family knows and a few close friends. I just don’t like people making a big fuss out of it. Nevertheless, I have deliberately kept it public on my Facebook. I am doing a little experiment on human hypocritical behaviour. I love to see some of my Facebook “friends” leave a message on my wall on my birthday asking for a ‘treat’ or where the party is. Yeah sure! You haven’t been in touch with me the whole year but since you left a message, I would gladly give you a treat and invite you to the party. Pathetic. It makes me feel good about myself that I am not like that. I will not wish someone on their birthday if I haven’t kept in touch the rest of the year. That’s that. I don’t care if they feel offended.

I cringe every year as my birthday looms around the corner, knowing that it will be just like every other birthday, filled with disappointment. I realise that expectations have a huge part to play in my hatred for birthdays, and maybe a tad bit of loneliness. However, I genuinely enjoyed my birthday in 2009 because I had some very close friends and loved ones who made it special. But as I look back now, I can't help but regret having had a good time because it wasn't long after that that we drifted apart. I am not even in touch with some of them now. And so, I really hate birthdays.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate YOUR birthday, just mine. Neither do I detest celebrating someone else's birthday. In fact, even though I don’t exactly enjoy it, I do make it a point to remember and wish people close to me on their birthday or buy them presents if I am not broke, partly because I value my relationships and I know how much they look forward to it. However, I just don’t like celebrating mine because I don’t feel like it is worth celebrating. I hate getting presents now, and I hate people wishing me a happy birthday. There is nothing happy about it. It kills me when someone buys me a present on my birthday. I hate it that they feel obligated to buy me something. Of course, I would love it if someone told me how glad they were that I am alive on a random day, or if someone bought me something randomly that they thought I would like. But that hardly happens now. Of course, it wasn't always this way. In my younger days, I actually looked forward to my birthday and the presents and celebration that followed. I thoroughly enjoyed my sixteenth birthday, reveled in my freedom at eighteen, got drunk at twenty-one, but now I am almost appalled at the thought of it all. It feels so suffocating now. In fact, other people seem to be far more happier about my birthday than I am. My flatmates and a few of my friends are throwing me a small party tonight. I don't blame them. They probably think I am going to love it. I really want to, but I probably wouldn't. Yet, like every year someone throws a party for me, I will pretend or at least try to love what they did for me. I really hope none of them reads this.

Crappy Birthday to me.

The Wait

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 06:45:00 +0000

I crushed out the cigarette in a glass ashtray, exhaling one final plume of smoke. A glance at my watch told me I'd been here forty three minutes. Forty three minutes and five cancer sticks. They say that each one takes five minutes off your life. I figured I'd just lost sixty eight waiting for her.

A subtle rage bloomed in my chest, an ember, glowing with irritation, fanned by the bemused eyes of the waiter. He stood in a corner, watching me. I started to wish I'd ordered something, that I hadn't told him I was waiting for someone. Didn't he have anything else to do? Why did he keep looking at me? The restaurant was empty, sure, that's why I'd picked the place, figured it would give us some privacy. That didn't mean he had to stand there doing nothing. Why wouldn't he just go inside somewhere and wait for him to be called? I mentally cursed the manager for hiring him, before realizing the absurdity of my thoughts. I was annoyed, and bored. I was looking for someone to blame. I still wanted to hit him.

The door swung open behind me. I knew it was her before I'd even turned around. Her perfume preceded her, wafting through the air, a cascade of flowers, warm hugs and hot summer nights. My anger peaked. I'd been sitting here waiting, looking like a fool, wasting precious moments of my existence. I swore I would not let this go. I would make her pay for her inconsideration, her gall. Who did she think she was?!

She walked up behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. I turned my head, back and up. "Have you been waiting long?" she asked.

"No babe. I just got here about a minute before you", I lied. Some other day, perhaps. I lit another cigarette, smiled and gestured at the waiter to come.

Perpetual Nights

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 06:54:00 +0000

I sit in front of the computer browsing through pointless sites, scrolling up and down on Facebook a hundred times, checking my mail over and over again. I feel butterflies in my stomach, like one feels when one’s about to go on stage for the first time. “I’ve had enough!” I say and slam my fist on the keyboard. I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I curse myself for making the same mistake over and over and over again. Then I wonder if it really was a mistake. I wonder if it was really worth fighting for and fighting with. I wonder if it really was more important than myself, my blood, my ego, my self-respect, my God, my everything. I don’t want to think about ‘it’ but ‘it’ takes over my mind. I light up a cigarette and take a few deep drags. Suddenly I get breathless and pacify it. I look outside at the darkness and then at the darkness inside. I try to fall asleep for the umpteenth time but keep tossing and turning. “Shit!” I shout. I get up again and light another cigarette. This time I finish it and watch the smoke dance around in the air. I get back to the computer again, check my mail again. Nothing. Facebook. Zilch. I can feel the anger rising up inside me. And then I explode. The room catches fire, the windowpanes crack. The whole room burns down to the ground in a matter of seconds. I open up my eyes and see the destruction. Tears trickle down my cheeks. “What have you done to me?” I ask no one. As if I got my answer, I lie down on the ashes, close my eyes with a deep sigh and fall asleep.

I wake up in the morning and clean up the mess I made.

I sit in front of the computer…

You And Me, Oxymorons

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 04:34:00 +0000

We were in a fine mess,

and took a calculated risk.

We kept false hope,

even though we were absolutely unsure.

We found each other in anticipated serendipity,

and our will to love was better than new.

We had seen enough dark days,

and felt that we would never again.

Many would call ours a love-hate relationship,

but it is an open secret,

that we are together accidentally on purpose,

and yet feeling alone in a crowd.

We try to act natural,

even through our passive aggressiveness.

We are deaf listeners,

to each other’s silent screams.

We promised to be alone together,

even beyond eternity.

We gave it enough time,

but now I think we are almost done.

I’m tired of being in a virtual reality,

and the genuine imitation of love.

We are two complementary contradictions,

You and Me, Oxymorons.

No Matter Man

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Sat, 25 Jun 2011 04:10:00 +0000

When you met him he was a man of infinite wonder and all your dreams incarnate. You stared at him with such love in your eyes that he couldn't meet your gaze. You clung to him as if he would disappear at any second. You touched his cheeks softly in the darkness to check if he was real and he shivered inside at your touch. You listened to his every word as if seated at the feet of a great sage or seer. He warned that love changes everything. He asked you to always remember how it was in the beginning when nothing hurtful had been said and the eyes saw no wrong. Every gesture he made amazed you and you said he was the best there had ever been or ever would be. You said you would always love him no matter what might be.

Now years have passed and you don't see him as your man at all. You see him as dreams and expectations unrealized and unfulfilled. You stare at him with such barely concealed contempt that it scorches his heart and buries his hope. You avoid his touch and turn from him in bitterness and disgust until he expects nothing. You loathe your life and what you became in spite of some idea of a different path. You walk away when he speaks and ignore what he says, never hearing anymore until he no longer speaks. Every gesture he makes, you misinterpret as flawed and aimed to annoy you so he doesn't even try anymore. You no longer say anything about him except to criticize and blame. So he became a 'no matter man' to you and no one noticed when one day he disappeared, least of all you.

Few Things I Had To Say

noreply@blogger.com (Priyanka's Neverland) — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 09:40:00 +0000

Let me send you some sounds,

unhurried and plain.

Few wispy cotton postcards,

the numbness in my fingers,

and coffee stains.

I packed the stretch of hills in

a knapsack;

and your echo.

Let me send you that echo.

There are other things too,

but I am lost .

For now,

let me just send you,

the beginning of that corner

where we ended.

I guess this poem is too crowded now.

Let’s walk.

- Priyanka

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Hi Friends.

I am Priyanka and this, is my First Guest Post and that too in Adi's Profile. It really means a lot Adi. Thank you! It was very sweet of him to accept my request for this guest post. In fact, he worked more for it, than I did! :) When I first saw his blog, I was stunned. Could a Man, emote so well? I know I sound like a complete feminist, but seriously emotions and expressions are generally related to Women. "The Lover" he calls himself, of Life; of belonging and of Love itself. The melancholy of words and the unscripted feelings is Vulnerable and yet, so Strong. That is what makes your posts Unique Aditya. I have a lot to learn from you and I hope you'll keep helping me. A great blog, I accidentally stumbled upon, but one, I am too lucky I did. Loads of love Adi. I love to read your posts and your comments always encourage me to write more and more. Hope your readers like my blog posts too!

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When I read Priyanka's blog for the first time, it reminded me of my earliest days, even before most of you had started reading Soul Intoxicated, when all my posts were full of optimism. Priyanka is a gifted writer and her posts give me hope and make me feel better. She is an amazing poet and the poem above is one of my favorites from her blog. It actually bothers me that such beautiful writing doesn't have enough readers. This was the reason I wanted her to be the first guest blogger here so that you, who I know appreciate such quality would read her blog. Please visit her blog here. Priyanka, I wish you all the best and promise that if no one else, at least I would definitely be a regular visitor.

Love and Luck,

Broken

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 02:45:00 +0000

I did not make a mess of myself,

just for the sake of drama.

I did it to facilitate my survival.

It makes no sense to anyone,

as to how I lived the way I did.

But why would I want this?

The reality is such that I cannot comprehend myself.

It is broken now, if not from the start.

Why should I be in need of you?

When I have abandoned myself,

what can I possibly expect,

from your vixen psyche,

except to push me off the cliffs,

or to stomp on my fingers as I grab the edge?

It was broken in heaven, if not in hell.

Yet another cordon of irony in my way,

every tribulation was crafted by you,

and convoluted by your spite.

After every stumble, every fall,

I heard your incessant laughs.

You try your best to make it unbearable,

to make my nightmares come alive -

apparitions of affliction, messages of pretense.

It was broken for better, if not for worse.

Your facade sucked me in,

while you became the instrument of Karma.

What goes around comes around sharper,

piercing through my chest when I least expect it.

I’m still whole, yet a mere shadow,

with no existence of my own,

zilch without the light.

It was broken in joy, if not in sorrow.

Call me callous if it satisfies your pride,

calm your nerves with my defeat,

but I wouldn’t change a single thing.

I’d rather go through every ordeal a million times more,

before I give up the luxury of my last smirk.

The only stain on my conscience,

is the fact that I actually loved you.

It broke swiftly, if not painfully slowly.

At the end of things,

before I dissolve into oblivion,

you rejoice and celebrate on the eve of my downfall;

but in vain, all in vain.

It is my victory, satiation for what’s left of my soul.

I did this to myself.

Now go and gouge your eyes out.

I’ll console myself for an eternity with this one thought.

You did not break my heart; I let you break it.

It broke for the last time.

Dear Destiny

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Thu, 16 Jun 2011 10:02:00 +0000

Dear Destiny,

It was you, who once told me that if we were ever to sit beside each other and not utter a word for hours, we would still have the best conversation ever. It was you who talked of darkness, and of love, conjuring a slide of subtle sweet words that I sipped down, mesmerized with the wondrous possibility of having someone fall into me. It was you who created a changed man who was capable of love. But with that, came a changed man who could now feel pain and be afraid. It was you who created my destiny.

You talked of your desire to be loved, and to love, how you needed someone to need you. I felt I was destined to fulfill that desire but you never really believed in destiny. You wanted me to stretch my arms towards you but you wanted me to understand when you suddenly needed to withdraw into yourself, into your shell of broken dreams. I was so preoccupied in wiping off your tears that I never noticed the ones in my eyes. Slowly the tears dried out and I fell asleep in the dark. I never really understood the meaning of wiping off your own tears.

You talked of being too scared to commit, not realizing that every time you kissed my face, told me that you missed me, that you longed for my arms around you, and every time you talked of us together, you made a commitment. It was a promise that my heart swallowed up and sent pulsing through every vein in my body. But still, the closer I tried to get to you, the further away you seemed - an irony I was not able to understand. Wasn't this what you wanted, what you needed?

You asked me what no woman who believes in coincidences should ask of a man; to love you unconditionally, to dream with you, to "trust" you. Despite the many conditions that sprang up, the dreams that kept breaking, and the many reasons that made trust seem futile, I gave you what you asked for. I was so obsessed with trying to fix you that I didn't realize that I was slowly becoming unfixable. I didn't know that I was not supposed to fix you, someone else was, or were. I wasn't your destiny after all, just a coincidence in a string of coincidences. I wonder if I was ever able to make you a believer or just make you even think about it? Then I wonder why I became a believer in destiny myself? Was it because of you, because you were my destiny or were you my coincidence too?

If indeed you were just a coincidence, then all of it meant nothing and I shouldn't really care because more coincidences will come along, and I'll start all over again. The damage would be fixable and I would eventually find my destiny. But what if you weren't a coincidence? This thought haunts me all the time. If you really were my destiny, then that means I'll be unfixable forever. How and when am I supposed to know? Time will tell? I haven't heard time speak for so long that I doubt if it even has a voice. Maybe till the day I find out, I'll assume you were my destiny because even though that would mean I'll be unfixable, it would also mean that all of it had a meaning, a purpose. My love was not in vain.

Love,
Unfixable Me.

Puppet

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 07:38:00 +0000

Sometimes I sit quietly and watch my memories and dreams, my past and future dance together. I haven't had the best past possible. A little laughter and joy here and there, and countless bad memories. I try hard not to think about those memories too much. Sometimes I wonder about my dreams, those that I play with and torture myself with; secret fantasies I dare not wish aloud, that I would not really want to materialize. And now a pale melancholy seeps into my heart and I feel lonely. I wonder what I am getting myself into. Then I decide that it's okay and I'll just stop struggling and looking back. I'll see where the current takes me to wash away, to feel powers stronger than my conscience, and doubts sweep me where they want me to be. It's okay to let go sometimes.

Your absence lingers around me like a glittering presence. Your unreal caresses are more distracting than their actual touches. I dream in a state of consciousness, too afraid to fall asleep because I fear that you will be like a vortex sucking me in deeper and deeper, and then you'll let go of your frail grip around my wrists, letting me fall into a black hole where I will have nothing of you but fading, paining dreams. I fear that I will lose everything as I gaze into your eyes because you have become foreign to me and yet remain so addictive.

Then, the mere thought that you could possibly still desire me to be yours is such a frighteningly beautiful fantasy that I dare not let it settle into my heart completely, for it will overwhelm me. It will paint every corner of my soul with such vibrant shimmering colors that if then they are taken away again, I'll be blind forever. So instead, I touch tiny pieces of my dream, play around with faint fantasies and wonder how long will it be till I can satiate myself with just portions of images that I want so much as wholes in my being.

Sometimes I want to carve little black 'fuck you's all over your body, scratch eternal scars on your skin and tell you that I was not a puppet. You were not supposed to make me dance whenever you wanted to, and then just cut off my strings and let me lie helpless on an abandoned stage.

But...but I AM a puppet and you DO have my strings in your fists. You...you, the unstable, noncommittal, shadowy princess of words and virtual caresses.

A Dead Poet

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 14:51:00 +0000

He once wrote of love and of passion,
of happiness and of faith.
And they walked into his life
like his words upon a page.
His poetry held the right meanings.
There was no need for caution,
as he never imagined her to be a mere wraith.
The grasp of fantasy was rife.
He didn't expect it would assuage.
His poetry spoke of no ends, just beginnings.

But the pages burned as his love departed,
and slowly the meanings changed.
He now wrote of hurt and of pain.
Lost in the dark, he wandered.
His poetry spilled tears of loss.
He changed the way his poetry started,
he wrote of lovers estranged,
of tears and of rain,
and of an unfulfilled love squandered.
His poetry had words in chaos.

He realized he had made a mistake,
and tried to write his story.
He wrote the first line
but his love was reluctant,
to be stripped naked to the world.
Persuasion only gave him a heartache,
and he had never been more sorry.
He decided to consign
all that his words had meant,
to a parade of love’s mockery unfurled.

He never wrote of love again,
gave up on hopes of a promise
and the dependence on his heart.
His poetry held no meaning anymore,
even the ones of love belied.
He no more let himself be in pain,
something in him had gone amiss,
as if he was this way from the start.
He made sure words would no longer pour,
and quietly, the poet in him died.

A Tainted Love

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Sat, 04 Jun 2011 12:32:00 +0000

For a very long time, I believed that there was nothing that I would get to know about her that would surprise me. That no matter what I learned of her, from her or someone else, however expected or unexpected, would hurt me or upset me. I was absolutely sure that I knew her inside out, everything that she was capable of, her every thought, every fear, every dream. This was one of the reasons that I kept going back to her again and again, knowing that she was the only person in the world whom I was sure I was not mistaken about. Of course, there were times when I wished she was not like the way she was, that she was better than the person that she was becoming. One mistake I made was to think that I was responsible for protecting her just because of the fact that I was in love with her; that I was supposed to shelter her from the evils of the world. Alas, the more I tried to hold her, the more she seemed to fight back and slip away. Maybe I was too protective of her or maybe it was in her nature to trod a self-destructive path. I really do not know. Maybe if I had continued to let her mar me, she would still have been here by my side today. Then again, I know now that I was blindly worshipping a fallen goddess, believing in a false religion.

I won't lie to myself. I still miss her sometimes. To be truthful, I am not even sure anymore if I still love her, but I know that I still care for her and probably will for the rest of my days. Believe me, I have tried to forget her. I destroyed every piece of memory, physical or otherwise, that would remind me of our better days. I am still learning to try to live without her in my life. Actually, the credit goes to her alone for my endeavour to do so. If she hadn't done the things that she did or said the things that she said, I would probably have been wallowing in pools of self-pity, and destruction. However, even if I was or still am, I'd never let it show, neither to her, nor to anyone else. I had always been soothed by the presence of my protective shell. Whenever I felt fear, or lonesomeness, I would curl up inside my shell until the feelings subsided. On one such occasion, she expressed her desire to know her way in through my shell. Being the blind love-struck fool that I was, I found nothing wrong in letting her in. I even went to the extent of letting her take the shell away. I no longer had something to protect me with and I felt I didn't need any because I trusted her to never lead me back to those dark corners, not when all I saw in her was light. She then went on to tell me that she wanted me to tell her everything that I felt inside and I faithfully did. Every time I was hurt, or sad because of something she said or did, I would tell her. But for her, it was only an opportunity to make me realize that she was still going to do what she wished even if it meant hurting me in the process. I soon started feeling as if I lay naked on the cold floor as she slowly and painfully peeled the skin off my body. And yet, I kept going on, despite the many new wounds everyday. Some healed with time, some left their scars forever etched on my soul, and some are fresh to this day. And then I had the revelation that she wasn't the only one to blame for them. I was letting her do this to me and I was convinced that if I took even one more step, I would surely die. It was then that I decided to let myself loose of the appalling fantasy that she had trapped me for so long. I came out a stronger man, yet forever weakened in the deepest trenches of my being. Since then, I've become too afraid to show emotion. I'm scared of even the thought of getting close to a stranger, for after her, everyone is a stranger.

Despite all that, how pitiful is that the only person I confided in when I was struggling with suicidal thoughts for a long time, was her? How sad is it that the only person in the world whom I could trust to understand what I was going through was the one who had driven me to that point? Then again, as I said, I didn't blame her completely for what I had become. She had every right to live her life the way she wanted to. I should have realized it when she showed the first signs of wanting to be a free bird. I should have let her go, and at one point I really thought I had. Her presence in me was so strong, her power over me so intense, that it actually took infidelity for me to try to break away the strongholds that she had on my heart and mind. And when she found out, I expected and really wanted her to never want to see my face again. Of course, I whispered my apologies because I did not want her to hate me for what I had done. I must say, I was surprised when she forgave me. I tortured myself for a long time with pangs of guilt and self-loathing because of that. I considered myself to be the bad one, not deserving of her love. And so I quietly walked away from her life, leaving her with remnants of my vague reasons for doing so. At first I hated myself for it but eventually found peace in knowing that I had done the right thing. I wanted her to find a love far greater than the one I had for her. She soon felt she found it in a person I had never expected, or wanted her to. I wondered then if fate was yanking at my strings like an evil puppeteer, not knowing that it was just the beginning of sorrows yet to come.

I had promised myself a while back that I would not write about her anymore. And when I kept that promise, I found that my blog lay vacant. Even the people who reveled, and sometimes mourned in my sadness, had slowly stopped dropping by. I realised that if I kept my promise, I would never be able to write again. I struggled for months to write something that didn't have undertones of her influence on me but I was fighting a lost battle. Just like everything else in my life, she had possessed even this. No matter how hard I tried, my every poem, my every word, became about her even when I didn't want them to. She often used to complain that I never wrote her a 'happy' poem. She felt that my sad and dark poems made her look bad. I, of course, knew it was not true. She just could never see the meaning behind them. I'm sure that if she somehow was to read this, she would feel the same way she always felt, that this too is about her. She would feel that I want people to see her as some kind of soulless monster who fed on my emotions. If I could, I would then tell her that like the many others I wrote before, I didn't intend to make this one about her either. All I wanted was to write about how I felt, what I was going through. It was supposed to be about me, and me alone. And yet, as I read it back, I see that it's going to be hard to believe that. If she had ever known me, she would have figured it out a long time ago that to write about me was to write about her. Of course, I'm certain now that she would never come to that realization. She has moved on, to better places and better people than my heart and me.

What is the state of my mind now? I often ask myself that. I wonder if I would ever be as close to a person as I was to her. I ask myself over and over again if I would ever be able to trust another woman with my heart and soul. Of one thing I am sure. I know that I was once a part of a tainted love that could have been pure and sacred under different circumstances or by making different choices. Whatever the reason may be for the way I am today, whether it be fate, or God, or just chance, nothing and no one will ever be able to erase that taint on my soul.

Questions And Nods

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 07:23:00 +0000

It had been four years since I had last seen her. I felt weird thinking about what I was going to say to her once I met her. I had left so suddenly and hadn't even said goodbye. But then, I reassured myself. It wasn't as if she was my girlfriend anymore that I had an obligation to offer an explanation. Frankly, I really didn't know why I acted the way I did. I called her up as soon as I got home.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me..."

"So you're back, huh?"

"Yeah. You wanna meet up?"

"Do you?"

"Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?"

"Why would you?"

"Can I just see you? Atleast let me explain to y..."

*Click*

She hung up. She was more pissed off than I had expected. I figured it was best I gave her some time to think. I took a shower and went straight to bed.

I couldn't fall asleep. The harder I tried, the harder it seemed. Ultimately I gave up, went to the balcony and lighted a smoke.

"I wish you were a joint...", I said to the cancer stick."...you know I love you but I miss my joint. In fact, I miss it so much that I can almost smell it in the air."

I took a deep breath and felt the familiar smell of weed dancing around in my nostrils.

"Wait a minute..!"

I threw the cigarette down, put on a jacket, and quietly went to the terrace. There she was, in a corner, lying on her back with her feet against the railing. With the looks of it, she had just finished the real joint that I was imagining downstairs. I tiptoed towards her and without a sound, lay on my back next to her. She looked at me for just a moment, and then slid a joint in my hand. For some time, we said nothing. I savored my joint and wondered how to break the silence. She beat me to it.

"So how is it?"

I wondered what she was talking about. I looked at her.

"How is what?"

"Life? Over there?"

Stupid me. For a moment, I thought she was asking me about the joint.

"The same shit. Except I can smoke more weed."

She nodded her head in a matter-of-fact manner.

"What else?"

"The usual. Nothing special."

"Did you miss this while you were gone?"

This time I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Miss what?"

"This?", she asked as she waved her hand back and forth.

Her hand gesture was too vague a definition of 'this' but I figured that to answer in the affirmative was a good idea.

"Yeah."

She nodded again.

"Listen, I'm sorry for not seeing you before I left. I really don't know why I did that. For what it's worth, I remembered you everytime I smoked weed over there. I would remember the time we spent and the talks we had..."

She nodded. Again. "Why is she nodding so much?"

"...you helped me a lot, you know. After our last talk, I started thinking. I knew what I had to do with my new life. I felt going there was the best thing for me."

"Was it?"

"I guess."

"So why did you come back?"

I hadn't thought of that. All this while I was worried about explaining why I had left. I lit a joint and handed it to her, taking the time to think of an acceptable answer. "Because I missed you. Yes, that seemed like a good answer. Just what she wanted to hear."

"Because I missed you..."

"Did you really?"

She looked right at me, a hint of anger in her eyes.

"Well...yeah. I...I cou..."

"Stop it, will you?!"

She stood up abruptly and flung the half-finished joint at the floor in anger.

"Enough with the lies, alright?! Did you think for even one second how I felt for the last four years?!"

I couldn't believe she wasted a perfectly good joint to dramatize her emotions.

"I..uh..."

"Speechless, aren't you?"

I'd had enough. I stood up as well and looked her right in the eye.

"Hold on a second. Why are you getting so hyper?"

"Why shouldn't I be? Tell me something. Why do you hate me so much?"

I noticed that all she had done until now was ask questions and even answer my questions with another question.

"What makes you think that I hate you...and why the hell are you answering all my questions with questions?"

She bent down her head and nodded in disappointment.

"And why are you nodding so much?"

She looked up at me and this time I saw no anger in her eyes. Instead I saw tears roll down her cheeks.

"because that's all you left me with...questions and nods. No one deserves to be hated that much.", she said as she walked away.

It was then that I realized what I had done. I just stood there, amazed at her answer as I watched her go.

Hope, Faith, And Trust

noreply@blogger.com (The Lover) — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 03:01:00 +0000

Me: Hello there.

T: Hi :)

Me: :)

T: You passed the test. Congrats!

Me: Thank you! So what are we learning today?

T: Today, we learn to teach. So what are you gonna teach me today?

Me: But I am not a good teacher.

T: Well, that is exactly why you need to learn to teach!

Me: Shouldn't you teach me to learn to teach first?

T: I'll check your level first.

Me: Ok.

T: Don't you remember teachers giving a surprise test when they didn't feel like teaching?

Me: Yes. I hated it though.

T: Now that I am on the other side, I like it.

Me: Alright. Let's get it over with. I know I am gonna fail this one.

T: Lol. Does that mean you have no faith in yourself?

Me: I guess. I don't know.

T: No test today.

Me: Wow! My prayers worked!

T: See what faith can do?!

Me: Then I did have faith?

T: Not in yourself.

Me: How do I get that?

T: First answer this: Why would you have faith in someone? What would someone have to do to gain your trust?

Me: I think it depends on the person. For some, anything is enough, for others, nothing would suffice.

T: You are confused.

Me: I know. But then, if I know I am confused, then I am not confused.

T: Then you are not confused only about being confused but you are confused otherwise.

Me: Hmm, how do I unconfuse myself?

T: By finding out the answer to the question I asked. Think again. Think deep. If you meet a person for the very first time, what would that person need to do to gain your trust?

Me: Do I really need to trust them?

T: You already know the answer. If you didn't need to trust anybody, you wouldn't trust anybody. But you know that you have trusted.

Me: But I just trusted, didn't need a reason.

T: Really?

Me: You don't trust me?

T: Not on this one because I know there's always a reason. You always reason first and then trust. If you first trust and then reason, it's not trust.

Me: It's faith then.

T: Absolute faith is hard to achieve, harder to maintain.

Me: Trust too.

T: There's a difference though. If you have faith in someone, you have to work to maintain it. If you trust someone, that someone has to work to maintain it. It's difficult.

Me: Then I'd rather have faith than trust.

T: Faith is more exquisite than trust.

Me: I know it is easier to trust than have faith but trust is easier to break too.

T: It is also easy to give up on faith.

Me: Then we are screwed either way.

T: But then when you give up, the bond is broken. All that faith you thought you had, has no meaning. Faith and trust make things easier.

Me: I have trust in my faith but not faith in my trust.

T: You are right. That's how it is for me too.

Me: Then what are we supposed to do? Trust or have faith?

T: Have faith in something that's absolute and don't trust without reason. It would be the hardest thing to do for me though.

Me: But then it's not really faith if you already know it is absolute. Wouldn't you rather have an easier way?

T: Do you know of an easier way?

Me: Hope?

T: Hope, yes, if it can be without expectations. You trust, you don't expect, and you hope that your trust is never broken. Perfect! Practical?

Me: Very.

T: Practical, really?

Me: It doesn't leave room for faith though.

T: 'No expectations' is a hypothetical phrase.

Me: That's why you need faith.

T: Faith is no substitute for trust.

Me: But all three can exist together.

T: Only if there exists someone who deserves all three, and again the decision rests on your shoulders.

Me: Finding that someone is hard.

T: Yea, inventing that someone is easy.

Me: I invented that someone once.

T: Everyone needs to have faith in someone, and not everyone finds the one who deserves it. Most of us invent, and faith is so powerful, it works either ways.

Me: So faith trumps all?

T: It is the most superior.

Me: What about Love?

T: FAITH IS THE MOST SUPERIOR.

Me: I knew it.

T: It can get you love. It can get you anything you want.

Me: All I need to do now is have faith in myself.