"Hello and Namaste"

I might not have stars and planets here, but this is still my universe!

Saturday, February 25, 2017

DEAR DIARY!




Dear Diary,
First of all i ask for apologies
for i'm not engraving this on your body but somewhere else.
I hope you hold no grudges against me.
Dear Diary,
You've been a friend of mine
from a long long time.
It's now been three days since we last talked.
Well i wanted to have a conversation with you on Saturday
but i couldn't and you know why.

Dear Diary,
You know everything about me.
I have decorated you with my smiles
and in times i've washed you with my tears as well.
I have shared my stories with you.
I have created fantasies with you.
I have made fairy tales come alive with you.
I have been ME with you.
And you know pretty well that the stories
weren't just words written on paper.
It was more than that.
Those were my silent screams the world left unheard.
Those were the songs i sang that just disappeared in thin air.
Those were little fragments of me i pasted on you.
It was all me.

Dear Diary,
Thank you for being there for me.
Thank you for just listening and never questioning back "What", "why", or "How".
Thank you for being the one i can share the world with.
Thank you for being a friend that i can count on.
I know sometimes i write shitty stuffs in you.
Sometimes i tear parts of you 
and rip your soul apart.
And sometimes i simply forget that you even exist and leave you for days
and come back as if nothing happened
and yet you welcome me back with a smile.
I can feel you being happy the very moment i turn the first page.
I can feel your excitement.
I can feel your heart race.
I can feel your blood pump.
I can feel you.
That moment you become one with me.
I am no longer turning pages of an inanimate object but myself.
It feels as if i am traveling inside my own consciousness.
It feels as if i am inside me.
And then that is where i find someone else.
Someone else whom i love more than i love you Diary.
Someone who you know pretty well too.
After all that's what i have always been writing about in you.
After all her name is tattooed all over your body.
A girl that i kept in you.
A girl whose stories i engrave in you.
A girl who is the poetry on your pages.
You know her just the way i do.
After all i never have hidden anything about her from you.
What i know about her, you know that too.
And who else but you can know that she is my living diary.
Where i pour words in you, i pour feelings on her.
Where i write stories in you, i create stories with her.
Where i spend time with you, i make memories with her.
Where i sit down and spend time in loneliness with you, with her i travel the wilderness
i feel the excitement
i feel the love.
With you i am alive, With her i live my life.
Where you just sit numb when i end the page with "i Love you "
she replies me back "i love you too".
Sorry Diary,
You can never be the number one.
But nonetheless i love you too.
But She is my living diary, I create fiction world with you
whereas i live the real world with her.
You can only contain some parts of literature i know,
She is literature herself.
She makes me free
She makes me live my life
Or else i would just be wrapped in chains and trapped in cages.
Heaven is always in her arms, and yes, sometimes in your pages.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Poetry is piss!



Back in Kindergarten..
( I am starting this off as if i really remember what it was back in kindergarten).
Anyways,
I had no idea about poems.
I had no idea about anything to be honest.
I didn't know that songs were  poetry that someone mixed with music.
Those "twinkle twinkle little star",
"Baba black sheep",
and "Tara baji lai lai", to name a nepali one
were in fact poems that i never knew they were.
I just sang along and had fun with the rhymes.

As i grew up 
I could relate everything to poetry.
I knew what poetry was.
And i came to know that poetry isn't always rhyming.
Poetry isn't always like poetry.
It can wear a disguise.
It can seem like one or not.
I could hear  poems in every thing.
Including silence!

The sounds the birds made,
the thunder
the meow of the cats!
Everything felt as if it was coated with poetry.

And then I started writing one.
No i am not a poet.
I haven't become one yet!
I am still too far from calling myself a poet.
I make mistakes,
Grammar kicks in sometimes,
Sometimes words don't rhyme.
Sometimes i end up writing shit.
But,
I never felt like stopping.
I never cared about what someone else would say about what i wrote.
I loved writing like nothing else.
And when poetry is symbolized as love and bliss,
I found out it is really uncomfortable to hold it inside for a long time,
just like when you really need to pee.
I guess Poetry is no different than piss!
You gotta let it all out.

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Summer V/S Winter



The phone had stayed dead for quite some months now.
Maybe everybody had already forgotten the number.
Or maybe the wire was cut off somewhere somehow.
Maybe...

But one fine morning,
she woke up to a sound she had long forgotten.
A sound she felt as she remembered from somewhere.
A sound she knew that she had known for some point in her life.
She just couldn't figure it out.
She knew she had heard it somewhere.
As she approached the next room,
the sound was now more clearer and louder.
The dusty telephone in the table kept going "Tring tring" "Tring tring".
"Oh! That's where i remember this sound from", she said to herself.

Well that was unusual.
For the phone to ring after so many months.
At first she felt as if she was hallucinating or something.
But the phone...
It was ringing for real.

"hello",
she said with a scared and somewhat nervous voice.
"hello, how've you been?", said  a familiar voice from the othher end.
She didn't know what she had to do,
She was happy and at the same time felt like crying after she heard that voice,
"He was calling".
After all they only meet twice a year.
And that too for a short time.

Well this was how they have always been.
two polar opposites.
Like fire and ice.
Yet everything good and nice.
This was how it's always been.
Meeting for a moment and then gone for half a year.

He was hot as hell.
And she was the coolest girl in the block.
He could melt her down 
and she could freeze him.
yet they matched,
somewhere in between.
Somewhere where he was not hot
neither she was cool.
Somewhere where they were warm.

Summer,
Summer was his name.
And "winter" was what her mother named her.
Spring and Autumn,
These were the only times they'd meet and then separate again.

Going back to the phone call again,
"It's really been long since you last called.
I thought the phone was broken or something.
I had missed you"

The other side was quite for a moment.
"I've missed you too",
Well I am coming, and you need to leave.
And i will be waiting for you the same way you've been doing for these months.

he hung up then.
She didn't know what to feel.
She could be happy about the fact that he was coming
or sad about the fact that it will be only for a short time.
Nonetheless,
It is what always happens and will always do too.
When summer comes,
winter is bound to leave.
It might be saddening but hey, summer ain't bad either.