Yikes. You walk all the way from the mountains to the village to the city to your own bed where he says he fucks you hard
and then a therapist and a coffee café and another guy and some French and some toast and a shard
And then you come back to the room to the bed your parents got for you and a can of milk, a laptop brand new and you say
You cannot write?
What else do you want! — a life?
Hmm. Here because everyone else shunned ya out? Uh-oh. Okay, what brings you here where you’re not even real. But reality can be so scary, you know that already. Never judge anyone on fearing it. For not being their harmless-for-others untrue self.
Still so complicated, your sentences. Ew. Told you I didn’t like poetry. The f with you.
Acha what brings you here then? Go on, I’ll listen. Wow, ehsaan much.
I read this poem from twenty seventeen. Was going through my archives to find something to letter. I did pick a line from it that you see in the photo above. And then put the poem in the caption. Read it out:
Sometimes,
When I should be elsewhere
Inside Dreams,
I lay awake instead, and
Assemble a questionnaire in my mind:
Everything that I have now yearned too long to ask you, I would;
“This is going to be a very, very honest conversation,” I will say.
It’s our final friendly law.
A sudden surge of happiness like a reflection of seven colors on my sooted heart—
If you call me again I might at least find my name
And as we’re talking, I will ask— no harsh feelings, hey!— but why did you think it was okay to do what you did?
How many others have you scarred the same way?
Alas! In the back of my mind the colors shift
A curtain closes
Rubbing the drama away in one swift move:
How will I know if you won’t still be lying?
Idk if the ending feels as clear to me now. I remember knowing back then also that it was vague but for me the meaning was clear. How will I know if you wont still be lying, huh? Ajeeb matlab. Duh.
ANYWAY. I’m ranting to not think but I’m thinking all sorts of things. With so much speed that it’s hard to catch up. Painful that I can’t take your and your and your name. Matlab pagal hi bana diya.
Sigh. My bud-dua or yours? I remember this other poem — feels like another life when I wrote those but hey, — and it talked about the dua part will remain even after nothing else does. And then I think I mocked it in the same tone. I totally meant the mocking, you know? Because you’d think it’s a “good dua” while it might not be? And other meanings so f it too.
It’s such an important day I don’t want to use a wrong word. Especially when I’ve kept the decency salamat so far. eh tainting the image now? No please. Wont even dare.
Phew. All our issues and one. This late night. This needed apology. This lack of understanding. And not me. For once, I’m not the issue.
I saw you in a dream. Again. How many times I think about taking your name but dust it off, it’s not possible. It’s not good. It’s not useful either.
I saw you in a dream again and it was so real. Like our two separate lives. Manind e Khushfehmi. I ask him “haal e shuma chitoray” and he takes his time. I imagine him opening a new tab. He searches for it and replies: “theek Alhamdulillah.”
I am already 4 languages down but it doesn’t create a mess in me anymore. The loudest is the language of art only. And some day I will tell you it was the soul’s.
Randomly Abstract 