‘What are you?’

“She is flowers, I am butterfly. What are you? You are abstract.”
Those three words- ‘You are abstract” are still ringing in my ear. So true, it defines me completely yet it lacks definition. I, my life, am abstract. Just like the splashes of colours on the canvas which is displayed to everyone, ultimately hides the true meaning of the blotches. Spectators can rarely distinguish between the first and the last splash on the canvas, yet they pretend to understand it in their own manner, thus drowning the real meaning and colour it with their own colours and meanings.
But why am I saying all these things? Why now? Behind my closed eyes faces and places flash in some weird fast paced sepia form movie, the voices are overlapping each finally becoming a blurred noise. I open my eyes to see….
In the morning, on my way to college I realise that I like the weather. The blazing sun and the cold wind, my two favourites elements of nature, together caressing my face. I like it, as it reminds me of the mountains. I mean the weather is the only thing about mountains I like, the only reason I would undergo the tedious job of travelling to the mountains, fighting nausea on the twisty roads. Such a beautiful day, I don’t want to waste by spending time attending lectures. So detour to my favourite library, and plan to finish a fascinating book. I usually read a book quite fast if its interesting, but for some reason I am finding it hard to concentrate. So I reach there, sit with my friend and end up spending time with her chatting over an array of topics. And next when I reach a level of consciousness, am sitting in a café across my friend, drinking my favourite coffee and discussing my love life, rather the lack of it thereof.
But who would have known that I will end up like this? Sitting here, I am blank. Am looking but am not able to take in anything.
After all these years of struggling, trying to find an ‘identity’, going through all the pain, it all boils down to those three words- ‘You are abstract.’

One look

One look is all I need

To know that you don’t know me

One look is all I need

To know that you will not talk to me

One look is all I need

To know that you may even despise me

But,

One look is all I need

To know that you missed out the chance to be with me

My personal piece of heaven

Wake up wake up

I find the darkness staring back

Its pleasant but devoid of any smell

About which I may read in books

Or listen to in songs

Look out look out

Out of the window

And look at the grey buildings

Surrounding me

The trees and the wires colliding

Step out step out

Out the house

And join the rush

Rush to reach, rush to work,

Rush to make yourself

A bigger and juicier investment

And then once in a while

I take a moment to look up at the sky

The various shades of blue

Specked with white and grey clouds

Dashed with white-gold rays of sun

I find my own piece of heaven

My personal piece of heaven

One Moment

Its twilight

The most beautiful part of the day

I can see the reflection of the drowning sun

On the dark gray clouds,, which

Float against the inky blue sky

I can still smell the memory of the last rain

Lingering on the earth

I can feel the promise of something

Something good, coming soon

Drifting in the cool air, which

Touch my face, reverently

I stop on my tacks

I can’t take one more step ahead

Instead

I stand and breathe in

The wind, the smell, the feel

And the memory of a good day bygone

My heart wants to sing, to dance, to enjoy

To capture that one moment

Just that moment forever in my mind

Realist

I am fed up of being all positive and hopeful and happy. You know what? I am dark, twisted and a masochist. I have never seen anything white in my life. My eyes have always spotted the specks of colouring even on a spotless whit cloth. I don’t what anything to be sunshine and happy or even rainy and romantic. I want dark and restless and thunderous and cyclonic. I am fed up of looking for the silver lining on every dark cloud. I know it’s not a silver lining but the lightening which echoes the promise of further despair. I am not a cynic but a realist. Life can be all dreamy and cloudy for a few seconds, minutes, hours or days or months. But it all comes to an end. Everything does. One day reality just shows up as the unwanted and unexpected guest and resides in your house without any shame. It can make you feel like an outsider in your own home.

Why do people still believe in that life can be better and will be better? It’s like believing the spoon-fed notion of Santa Claus as a happy-and-generous figure. I would like to believe otherwise, that is Santa Claus as a pervert-and-twisted figure who lures into houses and bedrooms at night to do God-knows-what.

So, I would like to officially put an end to my days of misery when I truly believed that something good will happen in my life. I can’t take the pressure anymore. This life is easier and more real than the one I led. If I continue to live the previous kind of life then I am much more of a loser than I ever thought myself to be.