When the world is big and bright,
There will always be others,
Trying to steal your light,
Simply because they have no other work in life,
So let's not be idiots or fools,
Or naive little tools,
To their jealousy and social conformity,
But let us continue being big girls!
In our big, bright worlds!
And give zero birdies to them!
(Or maybe just one,
But only to shit on them :P)
~ dedicated to a girl friend with much love without whom I cannot imagine office hours ^_^
Being touched by wanderlust while living in a house of gold,
Don't know if it is a curse or no,
Somehow the energy seems to be rising,
This ice cold storm inside becomes a burning,
And all the scenes become slow motion,
The good life on the road seems to have more action,
And somehow changing houses feel better,
Never stuck, never stationery, never stopping,
The world around keeps changing
And yet you,
You are still the same.
Running away seemed attractive
But coming home also feels fair,
It's not that you don't love them,
It's just that the nomad in you is *there*.
The slow motion scenes are captured
In that infinite camera of the eye
And the optical illusion never fades,
Somehow this getting lost doesn't seem so
Insane.
Wanderlust, no, you should say wanderlove,
This endless thirst for knowledge,
This endless hunger for change,
This endless desire for adventure,
That eternal thrust towards infinity,
Finding that one place,
Making that one memory,
Going on and on and on
Visions spinning faster than light or sound.
When home is everywhere,
It's never too near or far and
The prismic drop running off the window
While your plane takes off makes you
Giggle and smile and wonder more
At the home in the next seat,
You realise home really does have a heartbeat
And you're always home no matter where you
Go.
Bleeding.
Bleeding green,
The colour when you see that
He has what you always wanted,
Bleeding yellow,
When the happiness belongs to that one
Whom you love, but not you,
Bleeding black,
When hatred towards him is
Ruining your soul,
Bleeding white,
When peace is all you want and
You would throw everything away for it,
Bleeding red,
When she's not around and
You miss her smile the most,
Finally bleeding blue,
Because your favorite team is playing and
India has won! :P
Note: this writer enjoys a good game on the big screen :D
...And we just met at the wrong time.
It was winter and 4°.
Not 3°, not the time to say
I love you,
Not the time to sit around
On benches throwing leaves
At each other for fun
And getting drunk on
A little bit of sun.
And we just met at the wrong time.
It was new year's eve.
Not Valentine's, not the time to say
I love you,
Not the time to sit around
On big rocks on top of
Big rocks and gazing at stars
And rescuing idiots who
Fall down slippery stairs.
And we just met at the wrong time.
It was time for a rebound.
Not a serious relationship, not the time to say
I love you,
Not the time to wander around
Half drunk and pushing the other
Wondering if a wrong word will
Destroy hearts or fix it
Maybe, just maybe.
We might have met at the wrong time.
But you were ready and so was I.
Maybe right now the distance hurts
More than we let it show,
Maybe nights on a strange bed with dreams
Can't alleviate this sorrow,
Maybe saying sweet nothings mean more
Than just empty tea cups in the sink
Smelling of rum and whiskey.
We met at a wrong right time.
Because we really needed each other,
But maybe not just right now.
This distance we are put in now,
The decisions which await,
It's all so confusing,
But we're ready and it's now
That we can say those words,
At any temperature,
At any place,
On any day,
At any time,
I love you,
Because when love's real...
It finds a way back to itself.
Wrong time or not.
In hidden corners of green and grey,
(The places we hide in to go away)
With a few letters on paper and play,
(Love letters after class, fighting for don't-know-what)
Some quite moments of staring on blue,
(Water in the Well isn't really so blue)
Brown and gold back to brown and black,
(When you look at me just so, I melt into you)
Some stories are just for...
(Late nights with coffee, tea and a kitchen top)
The one who knows
(I love you).
She doesn't deserve him,
She doesn't have anything
Which could keep him,
But he stays, is staying.
He doesn't need her,
He doesn't have anything
That she could need either,
But she stays, is staying.
Maybe they don't deserve each other,
Maybe they don't need each other,
But maybe they want each other,
And maybe keep choosing each other,
Even when the world and time
Says otherwise.
Maybe that's why they call it
Love.
Dear you,
There many ways to go about my day,
Yet each time I think of it,
Your face remains
In my head like a background dream,
A foreground cinema,
An old, gnarled tree,
A symphony of a full orchestra,
The ever changing sea.
Yet somehow I wonder isn't alone safer?
Alone means the wings will be stronger,
The currents will be faster,
The tides more dangerous,
The rain more stormy and the night
More darker.
Then again, there are many ways
To go about my day
And even though my work might not
Entirely get complete,
I will always prefer you,
You to my solitude.
Love,
Me.
They say happiness is a choice.
And it is. When I choose you,
For all those smiles, the comfort,
The quiet moments, the walks,
The unexpected flowers,
₹1 toffees which mattered more
Than a galaxy or a milky way.
Because it told me you thought.
Of me.
They say happiness is a choice.
Or is it? When I choose you,
Over and over again,
Wordless fights, overwhelming silence,
Pointed ignorance and avoidance,
Classic hiding among others,
No expression, no communication,
But you still come back finally.
To me.
They say happiness is a choice.
Is it? When we try to figure things out,
When words unsaid loom over us,
When the guarded pauses are loaded
With tears, as of yet, by both, unshed,
When the end is inevitable but
Always, always, postponed,
Like a difficult final assignment
Long overdue.
They say happiness is a choice.
And it is - When we are fighting for
Each other instead of grabbing the
Other's throat, pushing to walls,
Dragging down by hair,
Clawing, screaming, animalistic mess;
When we fight to keep each other,
Not to lose one other by the
Month's end.
They say happiness is a choice.
Or is it? When my long road of dreams
And the sparks of happiness rest
Awaiting the reply of a single man,
Giving him the power of Lord to decide
Whether I die with him or live without,
Giving him the power of fate to decree
Whether I am privileged to share his life,
And him, mine.
They say happiness is a choice.
It is. I'm choosing now on my own,
Gods be damned.
Maybe we were too good for each other.
Maybe we burnt too high.
The flames had to die someday,
There is no warm house for us,
Only cold separate ways. No us now,
Just you, me.