you're missed

you're missed

I woke up today.. after months of not believing it. My coming here had made it easier for me to forget what had happened. Whenever I would speak to someone at home, I would often stop myself just in time lest I should ask them how was Panther doing and whether or not he had had his meal properly.. I would often confuse myself knowingly perhaps. Last year - esp the months of November and the first day of December had never really settled in - I had fed to me a notion that I was away, and it was only because I was away that he wasn't with me.. that he was fine at home, and ma was taking care of him. My mind knew the reality yet refused to believe. My being away only helped me hold on to that string of false belief, which even though i knew was 'false' was a strange belief none the less. I think it's time I let go. I think it would still not make a difference. But it's time I loosen my grip.

you were dying this time last year

you were dying and so was i

each time you'd breathe

would be my sigh of relief

you were dying last year this time

you were dying and so was i

each time you'd try to rise

each time you'd fall trying

i'd run to be your limbs

i'd shudder at the sight

Been an year

would be many more

I might not remember each moment

But i can still recall

Each little crevice on your coat

every little thing that would amuse you

I know how you'd react at this and jump at that

What would make you go wag

I love you, if there ever can be love

I mothered you my darling

from the moment i knew i could..

Fussed over you crazy

Pampered you mad,

Was it for you i did all that i wonder

Or was it for me instead..

I know that I know and no one else will

I loved you more than you did me,

you know that my greedy little darling?

But i loved you for that..

as I love you for all..

You were dying last year this time

You were ..and so was I

I know there should be no tears. I was happy all those years wasn't I? I was because I had you to take care of. I had you to come home to and to spoil silly and to scold and to take for walks and make you eat.. those little words we had for our own..:) bisky and bukku and ghumi and the list goes on..you revelled in all that...and then there was no greater pleasure than to watch you sleep..or see you gobble your food, you having your way.. and me having mine.. fighting sometimes.. you always won, needless to say.. you're a delight Panther - in your being and so in your memories.. you're a delight.. a comfort , my heartbeat..

PS: i dont care if you think im crazy..:) i'd just smile at that.. i dont know if you know what it means to bring someone up.. to cook for, to clean after, to be responsible at age thirteen.. to give in, to be dragged for walks early morning, to be woken up in the middle of the night, to spend nights making sure he's comfortable, to try to discipline him and fail.. to find yourself helpless in front of that little one.. to go around pasting posters in the neighbourhood when he had run away, to save money so you could get him treats, to get him bathed at a doggie parlour sometimes, to lie for him, to get scolded by parents because you want him to sleep in your room, to sneak him in at nights, to pray he won't bark when you fix a mid-night meal, to show him off, to have him as a companion for always, to making him happy with nothing but a pat and a choostick, to get runover by him at times.. to love him.. unconditionally.. as like one does ones child.. and i miss him today..sitting far away from where he is right now.. buried. He has been with me, from the time he was a month old till now..for always..

I guess my first born, will always be my second.

random

I can hear the Big Ben chime as I type this. It's 2300 hrs. I am in my room, tucked in bed and warm. Time passes quickly here. So quick sometimes that I give up trying to keep pace. And then I want to halt. Jettison the mind and feel. Let the chilled air and electric frenzy permeate through, engulfing me. Perhaps getting into some kind of a grind would also be good. But I wouldn't want to for now. As someone said to me a few days ago in response to my asking what he does for a living: "I like to do as little as possible". That's what I wanna do too.

I am sleepy..

It's not that there's been any paucity of things doing rounds in my head. But for sure, there's been a dearth of desire - the working-myself-up-to-some-passion desire. I read and muse for that. Listen to music too. Go for walks. Write. But it's not happening. Perhaps something awaits round the corner.

Would you believe I long for a break? Yea, even from here, from this year long hiatus. I wish to go home but don't wish to stay there. I think I have moved on in some ways. The umbilical chord has been cut -  isn't that what I wanted? Yes..yet every drift needs a home, every cascade a flow...

I am reading The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro these nights - gifted to me by someone I wouldn't dare call a friend (for he snubs at that, he might flinch at his mention too, but when do I listen? ;)). The book is a nice read definitely, but I feel I'm missing something. Perhaps it will all come around once I'm done with it, which shouldn't take long.

After a long time I am writing happily oblivious of who reads. Not that it's always on my mind, but of late I was beginning to be reticent and quite cryptic, you'd agree. I wish I would go on without realising this for some more time for then I would again get cautious. I wish the fingers would continue to tap the keys..making the sound I like best in the world... the sound of typing..isn't it delicious? I wouldn't even dare go about suggesting to me the sound of typewriters..downright sexy. May be cz words are being formed.. the faster the more, the faster the better, the faster the thought. Onomatopoeia for that anyone?

...Anddddd there goes my own flow.."SNAP!" :) I could almost hear it break.

Skybound

Lost. My eternal state of being. Did I ever feel 'found' and oh, how I want to be there, where one is found. I am not dark in the mind. Not yet anyway. And it reflects. Struggle I may, but that won't make me dark either. Life will, the wrinkles will and so would the creases in the wrinkles that are the gift of time. What's happening? And why here of all places? I wish to go right now. Get myself together. And sit with me for a while. Why not just make peace? Why not strike a deal? 

The ideas in my head are in conflict with the life I have lived so far. I am skybound yet aghast.

damnation!

Don't know what it is. But the mind seeks time. Some time and lots of books. Just books and time and patience. Books and coffee. Many reads and my mind. CONSUME. The way it's your fantasy to make love on a tabletop.. sweeping random objects off the surface with a single continuous thrust of the arm, before swiftly placing your lover on the counter and then go on, go on loving..

Roll back.. rewind and revisit the sweeping part in slow motion this once. Feel the strength of a man's arm, the relentless, the careless, the reckless gesture as things 'important' tumble down one after the other, slowly charging down against the weight of time and bursting into tumultuous fractures on the tiled floor... making a deafening (defining?) clatter - the clamour of the broken pieces and the din of all that breaks loose - hell as well as your own mind. Heedless of the mess, unmindful of the broken pieces of glass on the floor, blotched sheets of paper lying about - some crumpled some not, stationery, knickknacks strewn about. And on the mind just a blurred frenzy, a stupor in a spur.. a ruffled fazed uncomfortable delicious odyssey..

Wanna do that. Just that. Right now.

Wanna sweep off the tabletop all that claims its place there... all that impedes my flow.. and obstructs my path. To renounce everything and every thought that was so far the 'subject'.  The path! As if the landscape is itself evolving. That everything else is a distraction, a disturbance, a work-to-do.

That there's only one thing you're accursed to do. And that you must do. And what peace in such damnation!

not a thing! nothing!

It is one of those nights when it is all you can think of. But not a single one of that damned species would find its way ... my fingers twitch in want, mind does a somersault now and then.. but it eludes still.. the inspiration and the appetite - yes, the 'word'. The thirst is beautiful but you want to have more.. you begin strumming the chords knowing not where it will go but you will stop not, for to stop would be to give up the chase... 

tonight the lips shall yearn to burn, the throat it may run dry.. 
the mind be swathe in thirst yet, not a single drop will comply

there's just so much

I finally find time to do it. Write to you. Write in you. Not that I have not been writing. The mind has been leaving imprints along the horizon of the conscious, but not on this land. 

I miss you.

And as I write this I am unable to put a finger at what is more important when i say it. I, miss, or you? :) Must be the 'I'.