Vacuum

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Don’t tell me God doesn’t weep;
these fallen stars
Are witness
to tears shed
and your wish upon a shoot-ing star
remains in vain

Hopes and dreams and desires
you vacuum,
these stars
are nothing more than flecks
of dust, littered across the night sky
that you no longer recall

This velvet suffocates-
No fairy dust to light the way
each constellation
a hindrance in the philosophy
of existence-
we no longer wish
to understand.

Chasing Dreams for Dummies

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There is a belief that I stand by,
that there is something waiting at the end of the line.
All these tests and tribulations can’t be for nothing.
The belief that even though what appears to be the end of the road, shouldn’t be. I haven’t finished running this race, even though often enough my lungs give out and the air foreign to my tastes, but still. I want to stand firm in my belief that there is something else waiting for you.

The sea never stops lapping at the shore even though each time the pull is stronger, a reminder that the comfort it yearns for is always yanked from its fingertips. And yet, it keeps coming back like a lover that can never seem to understand the word ‘no’ because his heart is no longer his.

I want to believe that good things come to those who wait and that patience isn’t solely a virtue rather a gift that sets us apart from the rest because we refuse to give up knowing well that the milk will always come to boil.

I remember anxiety and hope. Complete opposites yet always together. The heart never forgot to crave the sun after the storm.

And I don’t want to believe that God forgot to set out an adventure for me. I refuse to believe that he didn’t plan for my greatness. And I pray that He still believes in me and has something wonderful in store for me. Something I could never even imagine for myself. Something that brings me pure joy. Something that leaves me successful and prospering in this life.

I’m starting to think the art of chasing dreams should come with a manual – ‘Chasing Dreams for Dummies’.

How to make the perfect night sky

Drop the sun in velvet, so thick
Stir till no gold remains
The black should be inky, murky, cold
Toss in the moon
Mix in slumber, to taste
Sprinkle in dreams and wishes and hopes
To your heart’s content
Puree different lullabies, add
Slice up navigation charts and myths
And drop in
Stir counterclockwise-
Anticlockwise,
Till only a kaleidoscope remains

Pour out and serve
But don’t forget to garnish with the stars

I swear, the night tastes different to each.

This fire can burn two ways…

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Our emotions are very much like fire. They can either roar with life or flicker down almost to the point of extinguishing.

The anger that bubbles to the surface and becomes evident on our face is like gasoline on a flame. It takes like wild fire, smoke everywhere, sooth clinging to every surface and leaving destruction in its wake. Our words sometimes get the better of us at these points and every control switch that we learned to flick off suddenly switches on and every insecurity and point of hurt comes tumbling out. At times like these we find it difficult to take back our words, in fact it’s impossible to take them back. There they lie on the table naked and exposed – your heart and everything that it stored away for your mind and your mind alone.

It’s okay, though to spout these thoughts because our shoulders learn to breathe and drop their weights at our feet. We learn to let go of many things and instead take large gulps of air after air. Because you feel like all the air in this world will never be enough for your lungs and you cower at the thought of what your confession might entail. Don’t be afraid. It’s okay to unclench your fingers sometimes and just let go, deep down even you knew that this fire was going to cause a major blast that would send your thoughts exploding in every direction.

There are moments that I imagine in my life that might cause forest fires and building fires and city fires that could end up destroying almost everything and I’m watching from the sidelines clenching my throat for air only to cough up a fit due to all the smoke.

It’s okay to speak up, from time to time instead of causing gastronomic destruction. Speak your mind.

Destruction always happens in most painful and impossible-to-fix-ways. Better not to let it get that far otherwise our bodies start feeling foreign and our skin becomes a home we no longer feel safe in. Don’t start to break within yourself. Don’t start to break parts of yourself away. Chipping away pieces is the first clue.

Learn to say no.

She once told me, “You’ll give up your dreams and what you want for someone else, because that’s just the person you are. You care more about others and helping them prosper in their life than about your own. You’ll let them leave without putting up a fight because you know you’d be happier knowing that their doing what makes them happy.”

This fire burns within us all. The passions and dreams and ambitions run in our veins. The dreams make up more percentage of our body than the blood in this heart. And it’s what keeps us going and pushing and careening towards our happiness. Learn to cling to them a little longer but always remember that you have the option to toss them in the fire, watch them burn and then flip to a new page to start again.

There is another kind of fire. The one that moves sensuously, swaying lazily from side to side just waiting for the oxygen to finish so that it can fall into slumber till all that is left is warm ash and rising smoke. Stay away from that fire. Never reach that point where giving up is more appealing and dreams that you see when your eyes are closed are much better than the ones you can accomplish while awake. I swear that fire won’t burn you but its dance will make you an addict till all you can do is watch it sway, captivating you in a trance.

Hypnotism works no better way. Don’t fall prey and everything will be fine. Take that aerosol can and toss it in. I give you permission to watch the flames grind and gyrate before you like bodies swaying in close proximity to music that makes the blood pump in your body and your feet move in unison. Dance a little longer, I dare you.

Shooting Star

Thinking about it now, the notion might appear foolish on the surface. The night sky was dusty at best and completely crowded. Littered across this beautiful velvet blanket were small pinpricks, fiery balls of gas that somehow held the heart of every single individual on Earth.

I know you look towards the sky for help and guidance. I know you watch in awe at the small bodies that float above you, miles and miles away. I know you speak to them in the solace of your room, completely alone. Don’t deny it because the heart wants what the heart can’t have.

Watching a glittery jet stream across the sky always captures my attention. There are those of us who ink our bodies with the picture our eyes bestow us so that when world knocks them down hard and instead of a clear sky devoid of city sights they have a skyline full of skyscrapers they’ll look down at their body, place a finger on the art, close their eyes and wish upon a dream that could someday withstand the uncertainties of life.

There is a certain beauty in this wishful thinking. The idea that a fallen eyelash or a shooting star possesses holds the power to strum a tune at our heartstrings that makes goose bumps appear on our skin from the very sound. I want to fall asleep to that sound, a lullaby that holds me close in its arms and whispers sweet nothings through the night.

I hope you get the chance to catch a shooting star, hold it close to your heart and cling to the hope that it brings you. Only then will you realise that it is an indication of something big, an image you need to blow up in order to understand its message. And I’ll watch you standing under this blanket of heavenly beauty, watch you close your eyes, hold out your hand towards it, hoping to catch whatever magic it leaves in its wake and watch your heart make a wish that I pray come true.

She Dreamed of Wonderland

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Glass slippers
Crack in the cold
Fragile
Withstanding no more

Her feet blue
Dress trailing behind
Careful patterns in the snow
Alone

Kiss upon kiss
On her face
Delicate whispers
From falling snowflakes

White so pure
And frightening
She walks in a daze
Land unknown yet so known

Floating away
She caresses the ground
With her gentle mince
Home

Her heart
A bird trapped
Beautiful
Future dedicated to subservience

The fresh smell of snow
Snowflakes instead of teardrops
Freedom in its simplest form
Her bare feet against the cold Earth
Whispers only she understands
The language she shares with the wind
She dreamed of wonderland

Forgotten

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It’s time to move on. Time to accept and let go. Time to forget.

Only, it’s not that easy.

Carefully I place it with all the old stuff. Fold the box close and seal it. Once. Twice. Thrice. So that not even the smallest of things peek out. Not even a fleck of dust enters.

It’s old. Has always been. But the fire has been alight all these years. Until now.

The wheels had been working extra hard. Turning extra fast. I was more adamant. Even more on fire. Alicia Keys couldn’t have said it better: She’s just a girl, and she’s on fire
Hotter than a fantasy, longer like a highway
She’s living in a world, and it’s on fire
Feeling the catastrophe, but she knows she can fly away But in the end nothing worked. One second it was hot and the next it was cold. Gone.

The musty smell gives me comfort. The cold keeps me warm. My legs will keep me standing and hands will keep me close.

Dust is in the air. Light peeks in through a crack in the window. And guides me across the room. Glitter swims before my eyes. Particles of forgotten things. Clothes, books, tables, chairs…dreams. The box is heavy in my hands. I’m losing feeling in my arms from the weight in my hands. They falter and shake. White to the core from the pressure. All circulation lost. Just as well. Time to say goodbye. Time to move on.