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Habits

Habits

Habits.
The things that you do over and over again.
Not necessarily because you like it.
But because it is a habit.

Paradoxical enough?

Some talk while they sleep.
Some snore.
Some smile all the time.
Some bite their nails till they bite through the skin.

Habits are like Horcruxes.
No?
Each one has a little part of you.

Long after you’re gone,
They remind the ones who loved you,
Of you.

But some habits are unknown to everyone.
You keep them covered in a packet and carry it around in your pockets.
All they can see is your hands in the pocket.
The empty cavity of your palms hiding them.
Like they complete you.
Like they and you are made for each other.
And no one can see them.
But they are there.

Habits can be baggage.
And while they are not as alarming as baggage;
they can be real painful.
Like those shards in a bomb.

What’s mine?

I break my own heart.
Not necessarily in two parts.
I just shake it like a piggie bank to see if it still contains feelings.
And then I drop it.
It shatters into a million pieces.
Arguably.
I don’t want to argue on that,
I don’t have the heart to do so.

What do I do with the pieces?

I leave them there.
They always manage to get back together.
I take a brush and dip it in the biggest piece.

All I try to do is paint what I feel,
and wish for it to make sense.

And if it doesn’t,
I call it Poetry.

The Girl Who Loved Mountains

The Girl Who Loved Mountains

She was the kind of girl you always know but not enough.
She was the girl who was in love with the mountains.
Every round of breeze washed away her sorrows.
Every scream on the top would hurt her lungs;
as they ached for air like humans ache for love,
But at the same time, it echoed in her heart a million times over.
She would stare at you when you ask her what’d she like more-
The ocean or the mountains?
The horizon or the oblivion?
The depth or the height?
And then she would give that smile,
Yes, the one that makes you feel so happy and like being run over by a bus at the same time.

She would just smile and say,
“Well, the height brings out the depth in me,
The oblivion is the silver lining of the horizon,
And the mountains,
My heart cries oceans to get one glimpse of the mountains”

 

 

featured image courtesy: http://fortheloveofwanderlust.com/

Tears

I look at the fan and try to pretend,
I hold my breath and wait for it to end.
But all of it comes tumbling down,
As if it has been quietly waiting all along.
All those tears that I saved,
For every wound that I ever had.
Today their appointment was due,
and oh! weren’t they ready.

I could always blame it,
On You,
Or Timing,
Or Life,
Or the way it is,
Or me.

No.
Not me.
I know it was my fault.
But I am not yielding.
I am done doing that.

Frankly,
I am tired.
Very.
Tired of pinning everything on myself.
Tying all my actions to a boomerang,
and wait for it to come back,
and hit me hard.
As it screams “I am back!”
Ofcourse.
The prodigal son returns.

But I am tired now.
These tears that I am shedding,
are the last of its kind.

Years later,
The recesses of my mind would try to remember this moment.
And it will all come back.
I promise.

Those scars would fade.
The heartbreak would mend itself.
But the memories of these tears would remain.

But I will miss it.
I will miss…
You?
No. You’ll be debris.
I’ll miss this moment,
where it all happened.
while I slept,
weeping.

Aren’t those the best kind of sleep?
The one where you cry yourself to sleep.

Oh YES.

Poetry and Blogs