Picture.

I see your brown eyes. I see the old blue slippers on your feet. The torn jeans, the white shirt. Your favourite. Folded sleeves end at the elbows, the watch on your wrist. Your hair is ruffled, ah, the wind. The leaves behind you are a dull shade of green. Your backpack lies by your feet. A faded black with a broken zip. The word 'Radiohead', written by me. I can see you're holding a book. My book. To Kill A Mockingbird. You're on your way to meet me, in your car. You take a picture of yourself to show me. Seven feet away from the car, the camera on the top of the windshield. Self-click. Perfect you look.

I've painted you. Picture of a picture. The last picture I have of you.

Liar.

From where I see it, you have no place for me. You have too many friends, you have too much company. You can't even see me standing there, right there, in front of you. Yet, you say you love me. You say you need me. You say I keep you sane. From where I see it, you are a liar.

The Wheel.

Round and round in circles we go. Round and round the wheel turns. The wheel eventually hits a rock and stops. When will we? You say you love me and I know you do. Why then can you not show it? We lose track. We lose our love.

The story of how we met.

A walk in the dark. I find you. Your hands hold me, I feel them around my waist. I smell you. You're here. My hands run up your arms, your neck. I pull you closer, close. No words. Just us. Breathing. You remind me of things I've only dreamt. You are what I've only dreamed of. If you were to leave now, right now, would it mean that I'm still dreaming? You always leave in my dreams. And sometimes, my dreams are incomplete. The ringing alarm, the barking dog, the loud pigeon, outside. Inside, it's you. And me.

Next morning.

I see you on the chair. I see you reading that book. Are you just another character from that book? You say, No. I'm here. You can see me, can't you? And then you smile. The smile the author described. The smile that causes the wrinkles under your eyes. The smile that makes me blush. You tell me a story. The story of how we met.

"I was sitting on a wooden desk. The faded wooden top, with stains of coffee splattered here and there. The edges smooth from use. Writings on the desk. Faded. Old. I sit there waiting. And then you walk in. You come up, walk past the others and reach me. You smile. You read me, you learn me. You always say you've become a part of me. But darling, it is you who made me."

You close the book and show me the author's name. My name.

Night time

I travelled by jeep late at night few nights ago.

A moment.

A village, forest, tarred narrow roads for a while and then dusty mud roads. The only light on the road is the jeep's headlights.

When I looked out from the back, all I could see was a single red dull brake light, the night sky with very few stars and fireflies.

Steel.

You're riding behind a truck that is carrying steel rods.

Shiny and sharp.

You're riding cautiously, carefully.

A hump.

The truck bounces up, the pipes clink against each other.

Suddenly, one pipe sets itself free.

One by one, they all rush towards you.

You hit the brakes.

Too late.

You lose balance, your bike falls.

You fall on your right,

And you look up to find a rod coming straight at you.

Aiming for your heart.

Song.

Every song has a memory attached to it. What do you do when you don't want to remember something anymore? What do you do when the song painfully reminds you for one particular incident? You remember where you were sitting in the room. You remember what he was wearing. You remember the book that lay half read next to his pillow. You remember what he said. You remember how you felt. You remember feeling those things whenever you listen to that song. Painful. You feel them again.

What do you do?

You either stop listening to that entirely or you move on. You listen to the song and form new memories. New feelings. And then one day, you are in your room, you have your player switched on in Shuffle mode. The song begins. Slight fear. The song continues. And then, you don't feel That anymore. You remember it, but it doesn't hurt. You smile and let the song end and it doesn't hurt anymore.

P.S. My friend Manoj calls it a mental block. Being unable to listen to a song because it brings back bad/sad memories.

Memory

I clench my fist,
Hold my eyelids tighter,
it doesn't go away.
I can see it, even in the darkness.

I feel my eyeballs move beneath my skin,
searching for something new
but all it finds is that one memory

My last step.

Top of a hill.
I slip.

I slide, I roll.

Mud and rocks, grass and ants.

Bruised. I cut, I bleed.

Broken bones.

Fading in and out.

I breathe my last.

Did I slip?

No.

I took my last step.

Tick tock tick.

Little air to breathe, lying down, on your bed

The ceiling's closing in. You start breathing harder.

You need more oxygen, there isn't much left.

Terrified.

You try to hold the ceiling up with your legs but you know it's of no use.

Pressure on your knees.

Intense pain.

Intense pain shoots up your body.

Your legs fall flat and the ceiling is centimeters away from your nose.

Not much time left.

Tick tock tick.

The ceiling crushes you to a pulp of blood, skin and bones.

Blood, skin and bones.

If You Forget Me- Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Is there room for me?

There are so many people around you. You stand there talking to everyone. I stand a feet away. You don't notice me. One glance. You see me now.

But you don't move. You're talking to the ones right next to you.

I wait for you.

You don't come.

There is no room for me.

For how long?

Happy.

You wake up in the morning smiling. College. You have assignments to submit by four in the evening, you have an exam to write tomorrow. It's 7:30 and you have to leave in half an hour. Hurry. You reach college. Friends. Smiles. Some don't smile. Some hug. Some you don't want to hug. Class. Smiles again. Seats. Class begins. Everyone's quiet? Not quite. You like it. And you're happy.

Lunch hour. Lunch with friends. Quickly done, because, you have assignment to complete. You complain but you like the pressure. You argue with someone about something unimportant because you were irritated at that moment. Both of you forget about it in five minutes. Things are okay. Like how they were before. And again, you're happy.

How long will it last? Did you think about that?

You're riding back home. Noticing people around you. That good looking person on the bike next to you. He smiles at you because he saw you glancing in his direction. You hear a bike come up behind you. He's over-speeding and he knows it. He loses control inches behind you. Crashing onto you. You stumble. Your head hits the ground first. Over.

You open your eyes no more.

Written sometime ago.

>>>

The lines below reminds me of Radiohead's song- How to disappear completely.

How to disappear completely.
Sink into the floor below, get sucked into the ceiling above.
Lean against the wall, becoming it's wallpaper.
Evaporate into the shadow.

>>>

The faded red shirt on the clothesline,

the broken toy outside the door.

The dirty puddle of water attracts flies,

the grandma inside snores.

>>>

Monsters under my bed.
Whispering. Plotting. Waiting.

To grab me and chew me alive.
But I'm smart. I won't let them win.
I'll be in my bed forever.
Monsters in my head?
Yes.
They've won.

>>>

My grandma's house.

My grandma's house in the village has a huge frontyard surrounded by thickly branches trees. They have three dogs who are let loose at sunset. The dogs can sense any stranger from a certain distance. So, I knew I was safe if I ventured out to the edge of the frontyard near the orchid below anytime at night. It was well past midnight. I woke up and thought of standing in the middle of the frontyard, just to see how it felt. It was pitch black. All I could see was one of the dogs' eyes at a distance, he was watching out for me. The stars in the sky. They're brighter than what they're here. And I could see the outline or the rustling leaves. The smell of the trees, the sound of the leaves, the pitch blackness. Do you know how it feels?

Leaves.

Dead leaves lie under the tree.
Breeze.
The leaves move with the wind.
They suddenly have life.
A person. Me.
The leaves crawl closer to me.
Encircle me.
They slowly travel up, covering me.
I no longer can see.
The feel of dry, dead leaves on my lips.
Suffocating.
The smell.
Is the last thing that I remember.

As I fall asleep.

When I'm in my bed lying sideways and I close my eyes, I feel the ceiling is centimeters above my right ear. I imagine/see my head pressing against the pillow wanting more space between the bed and the ceiling. I see myself unable to move my legs because there is no room.

When I try to force these images away, I sometimes succeed and with my eyes closed, I see the room suddenly huge, white, bright, ceiling far away from me. I see myself as a tiny speck. And this too hurts and I open my eyes and see what's real.