2amMochaDisaster

Maybe a little too much that it pains,

Every night I crawl between,

The two sheets that absorb my dream,

The screeches, the horrors, the thundering claps and dying slowly,

Little by little as my thoughts engulf me,

I walk every day with something on my mind,

But what is that something I ask myself many times,

Is it the fog of everything thought mixed,

Or the loss of curating a thought altogether,

Why are we still surviving,

When all I ever do is sulk at it and spend every day crying?

there is magic in simplicity,

in the bowling pins and long white socks,

the dingy lanes with rushing balls,

playfully competing with one and all,

it is surreal amongst the rushing fall,

with a chance to halt and stay,

amongst the love in the air and curls in the hair,

it's enough to make me wait,

with the playful competitions and everchanging missions,

let's wait till the finish line, as the scoreboard signs,

the rushing numbers and the wistful times,

its easier to let go, its easier to fall,

with entwined fingers, and stealing glances,

this time, my eyes will beam,

just like the sunshine escaping as a mini streak,

glowing the skyline, gleaming the streamline,

let me tell you, the shared shoes of the bowling alley,

A moment.

That’s all it takes to appreciate yourself.

A second.

That’s all it takes to sigh in peace.

A glance.

That’s all it takes to fall in love.

A shadow.

That’s all it takes to walk on your destined path.

A thunder.

That’s all it takes to shudder with fear.

A tattered shoe.

That’s all it takes to remind you that the journey just began.

An open book.

That’s all it takes to remind you that "happiness can be found in the darkest of times if one remembers to turn on the light."

I suffer from the concept of Romance,

Is it suffering? I think not,

At least my heart stay happy,

When it thinks about the love with a forever,

Or a story with some pain,

With laughter and bliss filling the vacant expanses of the air,

Where the empty streets with European lamps are the perfect place to steal a kiss,

Where rainy days and dewy nights are the magical moments to be with him,

Where overly exerted thoughts and mindless thinking have no place,

Where I speak my heart out without wondering about its consequences,

I am a romantic, maybe a hopeless one,

Where the birds sing the song of my heart,

And I am a cliche from the start,

Stargazing isn’t just a paragraph in a novel,

Its a moment in the lovely morrow,

I wish I suffered from this every day,

I’d be happy to die of this sufferable phenomenon,

However my mind is a realist,

He is scared of the aftermaths,

The heartbreak, the lies, the delusional skies,

And I,

The Starry Night whispers, do you hear?

The hues of dark and blue,

The bright tint of faraway balls of heaven,

The human soul desires to drown in the ecstasy of its life,

With the cosmic colours surrounding my abode of green and blue,

The lethal charm of stars, the dancing shadows,

The flower of passion and devotion,

The euphoria of the burning desire,

The human soul yearns to cleanse the mind,

Filled with words of life to real to survive,

The numbing sounds and unwanted attractions,

Just an existence of serenity,

Typewriter

As I cleaned my closet, a small brown bundle tied with a chord fell on the ground. It was a bunch of old letters, tattered envelopes and dirty stamps with the date 1940 on them. While I picked them up, I saw the year rewind in front of my eyes like an old recorded movie. When I last saw those deep green eyes, dark brown hair with tiny curls and tiny freckles that caressed his cheeks and nose. The night before he left, we stayed up and saw the stars by the bay, counting the nights we will be spending away from each other. We smiled at each other, but it didn't reach our eyes. The tear threatens to spill and reveal the secrets of our affection. No words were said, just the brown of my eyes, drowning in his green. A spell surrounded us, a bubble created of imagining the life when he will be back. Eyes talked that night and, maybe that is why I feel empty without those green world around me.

I stare at that bundle, and my feet take me to my study, the place where I met him even when he was miles away from me. I took out my old friend, the dusty sheets and jammed keys of my grandfather's typewriter. I sat at night, reading and entering his world and introduced him to my life without him, where I waited every day to get that letter, hoping every night before I fell asleep that he will respond and he will come back stronger. The horrors of war seeped through the words he weaved, and I wrote as tears stained the page, asking him to come back every single day.

For a year, the typewriter knew our secret and, he was loyal enough never to reveal our little adventure. This inanimate object became my best friend, who treated my anxious mind, helped me formulate words and send my love to mi amor miles away.

But alas, who knew that on the day of our anniversary when I went down there personally deliver my letter, and meet those green eyes, that I will come to know my question- 'I miss you, when will you come back?' will be answered in the most brutal way possible. He died reading my last letter, and I got married a month later after I lost my soul in the army camp of a boy with green eyes and brown hair.

The melody of the music caresses my ears,

As I look through the window patchy with rainy tears,

Its dusty silhouette shows the deep, harsh realities of life,

But, as I change my focus,

I see trees in the periphery, ever so green and luscious,

As the rays make their way through the canopy of leaves,

A little shake will release millions of memories that one desires to relive,

The same silhouettes of teary rains reincarnated the tree of life,

Isn’t life funny?

A little perspective can turn anything from a dreadful night to a blissful morning,

my beloved,

I am falling into a slumber,

With my eyes tired and waiting for you to be back,

With years of yearning and a little understanding,

Did i ask to much for me to be there by your side?

Or am I just a seasonal flower, blooming your life only during the desirable aspect of my life?

This long awaited journey taught me things on life,

I am who I wish to be and I deserve my own respect,

My soul taught me that its time to finally turn the page,

But my solace has taught me,

Its futile to chase those who don’t want to be chased.

dirty feet have travelled to distant places,

they whisper the essence of life,

as harsh and rocky each step is,

Its serene and sedate air fills up your life,

the calmness that engulfs you with the dews and fragrance of the fresh leaves,

the glorifying sun with its thin streaks,

the travelled road witnessing millions of journeys,

each with a peal of unique laughter and story,

is it the poise of the place that calms the mind or the moment that captivates the heart,

the moment where you exist without the judgement, pretence and hate,

without the crumbling thoughts or the forceful stay,

but the solitude where the mind figures its way to the soul,

where you figure out yourself,

because in the end, your dirty shoes will be your only mate,