2020 for a reason.

What if 2020 isn't the year you think of as a curse. 

What if it's year where your forthcoming became an actuality , and you have time to learn to deal with them. 

What if it's year of making so many mistakes and having a reasonable duration to tend to them , to make it right.

What if it's the year where you meet new people in your real self , in the version of their comfort zone.

What if it's year where you have time to take a break and think thoroughly.

What if it's the year for you to invest yourself in things you wouldn't have done otherwise.

What if it's the year where you observe people more closely , when you don't meet them , you don't attract them physically but just by your mind.

What if it's year where people who were to leave you at your worse , left you already at the right time. 

What if it's the year for you to restart.

To make your coffee again ,

To bless your mind again.

To give you peace again.

To make your strong again.

Year for you to maximize your strength , break your limits.

This is the year of development.

Maybe now your memories won't give you pain anymore. 

Your fear might find a way out of you.

And it will.

 It's the year for that.

Let people go , those who desire to. 

And hold on to people who make you feel the best. 

Your mistakes are forgiven by the universe , it's time for you to forgive yourself and everyone. 

And let the laws do the work.

Let the brainwave tell you things 

Let the light in. 

Pain of the Photograph

Glorious street 

In its inception

Grey stones at sidewalk.

The wall brings me 

The parallax 

As it walks beside me.

The grey of the wall 

diffuse and mottled, 

like sun on a storm cloud.

And stuck to it are 

Pieces of fibre

At crazy angles

With an image 

In the middle.

The photograph

It is

Of the times we both thought

Were vain.

Wasn't it the mirage?

From when 

You held my hand 

And kissed.

A brief kiss

Seems like kept from the yore

And then there's an array

Of fibreglass like 

Little scaffoldings 

Enclosing the pictures

Little images. 

Photograph 

It is , 

Of when beach was our favourite place.

And then there's one

When our fall was blessed

In the sweater you brought

And the coffee that ached 

With heat.

I walk slowly,

And the wall slows down.

I look away 

But those frames ,

Do not come off .

One reminded me of 

My first day at the new high school

And then other one of my new job.

Then there were you ,

In all the others.

Still , 

Empty one did appear

None of you ,

I did almost disappear

At your loss..

Then there are empty frames.

Golden fibre was blank.

I do not stop 

The street would rob me

If I did.

I dragged my feet .

As I see how large the wall was 

For I do not see much of those images

Those photographs.

My feet cease to crawl

As my desperation ended

When the wall saw me

With a stone cold deadpan.

No more of the photographs.

And I turned

 In my acute sadness 

 Of the memories

 Those bereaved me so soon.

 I turned , baffled ,

 As there was no more 

 Of those golden frames

 With the photographs

 On the indifferent wall.

 But the apathetic frames

 Of the useless fibre in golden.

 Did I trudge this way alone ,

 Or did the pictures leave me too?

 Did you forgive me so soon

 Or do you not wish to.

 I stood there with my agony 

With my overthinking .

You did leave ,

 Neither did you forgive ,

 Left me with this 

 Suffering to reminisce

 In this pain of the photograph

 That will haunt me for a while.

 In a snap at it comes

 Then goes another mile.

 

 

Wall

I see it ,

The undeniable pandemonium 

Of the goose-chase

Running through him.

I see 

Him succumb to fabrications

And I see

His desperation

His chase

Of eluding the vulnerability. 

Each day ,

I see him

As the mundane wall

 Behind his bed.

 He laughed so much 

 But I saw through him

 Just like he did

 He saw through me 

 To find the dejection 

 I see him giving up. 

 I see the cries ,

 I hear his pain 

 His sorrow 

 Him being engulfed

 By an eerie sea

 That existed in his head.

 And I have no choice,

 But to see him

 As his thoughts wilt

 As he gives up

 Each day.

 And to witness

 The assault in him

 Growing wilder,

 How his days passed 

 So hollow 

 But I couldn't see someone else.

 His fortress 

 Was so alone

 Had no one

  But just me.

 A mundane wall,

 Who saw so much of him

 That it got exhausted

 Of dieing with him 

 Each day .

 He punched me ,

 Sometimes,

 It didn't hurt.

His audacious hostility

Manifested the war 

That sleeved his thoughts.

And one day , 

The furore silenced itself.

The furore in him silenced itself. 

He didn't punch me 

This time

But his wrist spewed

At me 

As it bled. 

And I died again ,

One last time with him.

I still wanted to know

Did his grief leave 

Or did the rage.

Was I the wall

Or the ones who gathered 

On his birthdays?

Illness.

I just wake up ,

And the walls turn dark on me

The blaring sorrow oozes out

Of them ,

Just as the blood from my mouth. 

My eyes go off , at times

At times there's a trifling haze 

And I crawl out of it.

The tube in my nose hurts ,

When I scrunch in pain.

And pain 

Is ceaseless , so hard to come to terms with. 

I wake up ,

And for a moment I'm obliged 

But then I'm not

For my limbs have given up.

I drag about on the floor and 

I see fallen eyes .

I see misery in them ,

And I do not wish to continue.

Then this day is here ,

The man with the white coat sees me.

I despise him , 

He brings in syringes. 

He thrust them in my spine ,

He lies to me for the fifty sixth time ,

That it's not going to hurt. 

His redundant lies 

Make me regret the dream I fostered

 To be one of them.

 His face is just like that of stone ,

 It's not sympathy 

 It's his incompetence I see.

 He hands my mom a paper.

 She cries ,

 But I've become impervious 

 I take my eyes off , 

 and again stare at a dark white wall. 

 I surf through my phone 

Trying to look at the ways of socialising,

 To see people doing fine. 

 But I don't see them happy either,

 Like I see through them. 

 There's so much pain in the world.

 I sleep with all this acceptance .

 And my purple bed seems blue 

 As I'm promised to be laid 

 In the hospital.

 I count the days ,

 No , not that of my survival.

 But the time till I'll be the beset 

 For my mother who hasn't slept at all

 And my father I was a child he dreamt for.

Have I not become a broken dream? 

Some days are so tough for them ,

Seeing me writhing 

As the blood never stops

And I start to feel so hollow .

My blue lips feel so strange,

My cheekbones flaunt shamelessly.

And my eyes , 

They are falling off. 

So empty ,

It all seems so empty. 

I feel so empty.

I wake up 

But I do not see a day

 Just the ceiling sliding by

As my lungs intimidated me with the agony

I look at the side , 

My dad running beside me

Touching my cheeks in an assurance 

But then I don't see anymore,

I wanted to.

In my dream ,

I only see my father 

When he was thinner 

and wore his best denim.

He brought me a kitten .

And my mother at the beach ,

As we ran towards the sea 

When I wake up again ,

My tiny eyes were dazzled 

When the piercing light cut in 

This time I didn't see the wall ,

This time there was no dark

No sorrow .

I realised it wasn't so tough to smile.

I again saw my father from twelve years back , 

And my mother on her birthday with me.

They held hands ,

Comforting each other .

I take my eyes off them , 

for the last time

After my last smile .

And look at the ceiling.

I just sleep ,

For the first time in real

I just sleep ,

To not to wake up.