Something from an Airplane

Sparkling fragments of life.

Far below I see.

As I pass by, up above,

They smile and wink at me.

Come join me, they say

You're so very missed

Just a while longer, say I

Till my nest I must fly.

My Word

Pen in hand, word in mind,

Blank paper still,

The emptiness, silence, unkind,

Against my will.

What, why, still unclear,

There's loads on paper, to smear,

But they stop, half way,

And I choke, to dismay.

And when they finally come,

Random letters, them.

A maze of words cripple me,

Unclear symphonies.

My word, I wish you'd be kind,

Crumpled papers on my floor,

My word, find your way from my heart to pen,

And flow through to the world beyond.

Pillow of Comfort

Lying on the edge of the cliff

I wonder why my feet are stiff

Why could I not dive under?

Than let life itself plunder

Been hearing the same story

Over and over

Waiting for my moment of glory

For the happy ever after

Love songs, melodies

Romance, rhapsodies

Under my bed hidden

Like fairytales, downtrodden

In the sun I see no brightness,

But the scorching heat.

In the moon I see no fairness,

But the crater sheet.

Music seems silent

Silence seems loud

The heart seems violent

Raging all about.

In all the chaos

I asked for a sign

For better or for worse

A gesture benign

And here I am

In the darkness of my room

Smiling like an innocent lamb

In the comfort of my pillow

Changes are certain

Hurt I may not contain

But for all the pain and hurt

I have my pillow of comfort

Broken promises

Broken hearts

Sadness convert

In my pillow of comfort.

The Cloud

"Sometimes I see a dark cloud,
A cloud that whispers without a sound,
Give it up, my boy, it says,
You've never been there anyways.

I stare at it, once, twice,
I hear it's loud and wounded cries,
I laugh at it all, all of it,all,
And smile as I see that cloud fall."

My two minutes with the suicidal ant

(Not for the faint hearted)

I just turned the shower on, when I saw an ant flowing with the water. I blocked the flow with my slipper and shifted the ant to the other end of the bathroom, and turned to continue taking my shower.

A minute later, I saw the same ant flowing again, helplessly, towards the drain. I put the slipper again, and it hopped on. The ant started running towards the edge again when I lifted the slipper up and put the ant onto a completely dry place. The ant then ran all the way by the wall, above the drain, and dived!

RIP Mr.Ant. I wish you knew how much there is to life.

The Boy Who Loved a Wall

Indifference.
With blurry eyes, the boy picked up the flower, and threw it again.
Indifference- cold, dark indifference.
The ground, moist now, let out a whisper, a cry, asking him to give up.
And he looked on.

He was a normal kid. He had dreams, smiles, and a lot of memories- good and bad. He had good friends, good parents. But there was always a disconnect he felt with the world, for he always sought to find someone, someone who could and would never leave him. That person would be the start and end of his world, the world that sometimes threw stones at him, mocked him for his gentleness, and despised his empathy for life. He wrote letters, made messages in bottles, and dreamed of the day he’d meet that person. In that person he saw his best friend, accomplice, confidant, and everything he solely needed.
One day, as he passed the street he always went by, he saw a dark unseen passage. He’d always gone that way, and yet had never noticed that alley. He put his foot on the dark shadow that was cast by the boundaries of the alley, and a chill ran up his spine.
He was mesmerised by the fear he had of walking down that path. He walked into the depths of the darkness and silence that lay hidden in the path ahead. For a while he didn’t see a soul. And at the end of the tunnel of darkness he saw light, a small glimmering sheen of light.
He ran to it and saw, to his awe, a wall.
It stood there, motionless, strong. It was probably a normal brick wall, but to him, it had the magnificence of a mountain, and the beauty of the night. He stood there, staring at it, and he knew he’d found that person.
He spent days talking to it- laughing, singing to it, sharing his problems with it, sometimes using its shoulder for comfort. Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and he realised he was falling for the wall. He wanted to be with the wall, build a house around it, and spend his dying years in its comfort. He wanted the wall to be there in his life, forever, instead of rotting away in the valley it had gotten used to.

And he spoke to the wall about a new life, a new world. His world. He brought a flower and kept it by the light- a red rose, red for it resembled the colour of his best ever companion. He spoke of his dreams, his home, his plans, his future, and the life he had dreamed of. He spoke for hours and hours. And then.
He looked at it for a response.
Indifference.
He asked for a response, and yet, nothing.
With blurry eyes, the boy picked up the flower, and threw at it again.
Indifference- cold, dark indifference.
The ground, moist now, let out a whisper, a cry, asking him to give up.
He tried to walk away, but the darkness and the pain he could see in the wall kept him staring at it, with fascination.
With love.
And he looked on.

Years have passed. People pass by, absorbed in the normalcy of their lives, as any other day. Some people who’ve passed by the dark pathway complain that it’s damp and moist now.
Some even say they can hear a muffled sob from its depths.
The sob of a boy, the boy who loved a wall.

The Love that Never Was...

I stared into the silence.

I could hear my heart beat.

Thup thup…thup thup…thup thup….

Endless…

I could sense the pain in my insides. But no tears came. None at all.

None.

It was a state of helplessness. As though I had a heart just to keep me alive.

And nothing else. Nothing else.

I gulped the pain away, put up my fake smile and walked to class.

 **********

You know how you always dream of being with someone- that perfect woman or man and build a life around that person? How we always look for that one person in a crowd, and when we do find him or her, fall in love and live a happy life ahead?

What a load of bullshit!

I know this girl, this perfect girl, someone you can just hold in your arms and watch days pass by. She was someone I didn’t know for long, but managed to rip my mask out and unveil the person I am to the world.

Thank god the world was blind.

She saw through me like glass, and it wasn’t long before she’d read me like a million times, through and through. She stayed around while I was working, and we talked, and talked, and had such an amazing time.

Time that we often forgot existed.

And then that day, when she told me how she felt about me, and I looked out for that person who I needed beside me, I realised that it was her, and her alone. Our eyes met, and I was struck by something I’ve never seen in my life.

Innocent, childlike, pure, unconditional love.

I held on to her hand like I never wanted to let go. I felt her hand like I was trying to remember it, etch it in stone in my memory, and scar myself with it. I smelled her sweet innocent scent like it was oxygen for me, and my heart. I lived, for once, in the warmth of her shoulder, and felt alive, more than I had in years.

And then the heart stopped beating.

For the first time, I felt time pass, and I felt her hand slipping, felt darkness creeping up on me. I kept seeing a face, another face, and it haunted me. I was with this perfect girl, and yet.

I was in love with someone else. Someone I knew would never love me back. Someone I knew would never probably be able to love me.

But I loved this girl too.

I knew there was a clause to my happiness here. But there was a cold storm in front of me, and I had one way to go. I walked on, with the warmth of her hand as my comfort. I got lost in the storm, and I held on. I held on till I realised she wasn’t there anymore. I grabbed blindly at the darkness, only to realise she was gone.

The storm ended. The sky cleared out. It’s bright and sunny again.

But the darkness of that perfect love remains.

That incomplete, yet perfect love.