Nicotine Needs

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The nicotine needs of her warmth haunt me still.
My notions betray my principles, and I can't put morality on how I feel.
The tars of what can't be undone are always at war with me.
The penance of tragedy fills up my lungs.
This eternal turmoil goes beyond right and wrong.

I'm enticed by her nicotine voice, for it's always a matter of longing, but never a matter of choice.
Sometimes, I go 15 days sober, yet sometimes my addiction to her takes over.
I can't reach out to her, so I reach out to nicotine instead.
I can't seem to get her out of my head, so I smoke out my emotions instead.

The smoke lingers, and so does my yearning for her.
I let it linger for a while, it gives me a reason to smile.

The nicotine needs of her warmth haunt me still.
My notions betray my principles, and I can't put morality on how I feel.
The tars of what can't be undone are always at war with me.
The penance of tragedy fills up my lungs.
This eternal turmoil goes beyond right and wrong.

I'm enticed by her nicotine voice, for it's always a matter of longing, but never a matter of choice.
Sometimes, I go fifteen days sober, yet sometimes my addiction to her takes over.
I can't reach out to her, so I reach out to nicotine instead.
I can't seem to get her out of my head, so I smoke out my emotions by the thread.

The smoke lingers, and so does my yearning for her.
I let it linger for a while, it gives me a reason to smile.
And when it fades, that's my cue to go back to being dead.
I lock it all in and trust me, I won't tell a soul 'cause people write stories about love bombing & hyperbole.

I can't find a way back to you, so I just stare at the door.
I stare at the door with a pack of cigarettes in hand, too apprehensive to open it, too fond of it to let it go.

I can't be an addict I remind myself, only to succumb to my greed and baser needs.
My nicotine needs and unfulfilled dreams find an abode in her memories.
I'm a creature of the night, and I have plenty of time to write about all the ways I can self-destruct than profess the obvious.

Not being obvious leads to secrecy that makes her curious about the amount of hold she has on me.
Obvious or not, my feelings for her are too hot not to leave a burn mark.

My burns and scars are too personal to me & have never brought me shame.
But I do hide them cause I don't want the wound to equate to her name.

We lived through enough nicotine wars already, and maybe now, it's time for peace.
The remains of our romance deserve it, I guess.

I try to stay sober yet long for a sight of her face.
It is what it is, & one can't put a taboo on taste.
The taste of her lips and aftertaste of nicotine seem too familiar, and to choose between the two seems so heart-numbingly peculiar.

Seasons change, yet yearning remains, for her and for nicotine.
I promise my friends that I will quit, but the truth is, I'm more into nicotine than I have ever been.

My Hand-crafted Memoirs of Grief

I try to paint you sometimes,

I paint your hair with essential oils from Buenos Aires.

I paint your eyes as yellow as the sun & as tender as daffodils.

I try to paint your heart, a bit bigger than it usually is.

I paint your past with alibis of grief. 

I paint your future with promises that are too great to keep.

I try to paint our  present, yet the painting always feels incomplete.

What happens when your hues run out? 

When you are left with too little red, yet you are left with a whole lot of grey.

You got to make do with what you have and label it as an incomplete masterpiece at best. 

I try to paint over your wounds with red of love, hoping it will subdue the red of  your blood.

I try to paint your scars with the sky full of stars that we cherish under the dark blue sky.

I try to paint your lust for me with a gentle stroke and try to eradicate all your memoirs of an unwanted touch.

I try to paint over your insecurities every day with affirmations of joy, even though I know it will be never enough.

I do try to paint, but my will is helpless here against my skills here.

I do this all in my head while I'm alone in my bed.

I'm wondering all these paintings,  all these emotions would have been better, it were left unpainted.

I don't know what is worse, them being unfinished or them being unwanted.

I can neither sell them or leave them unhinged.

I was hoping if you could keep them, either as memoirs or another sign of grief.

 

During this winter, if you go past my house, remember to ask for the coat that you love wearing. 

Smear it on you as much as you like, as if it was your lover's embrace. 

When the winter's over and the ice starts to melt, please return the coat. Do me a favor, please don't wash it.

 I want to take in the essence of a winter spent in your arms and preserve it forever.

Favourite Anti-hero

The autumn makes the trees shed their leaves, but we don't shed our childishness for this world. We keep the child in ourselves alive. You are my favourite trailblazer, we are our favourite anti-hero. We put our champagne problems to the side and forget about the cruel summer of 23. We shake off all the bad blood and find a new love for the blank spaces that were left behind. Enchanted, we are with our newfound fury for negligence. The cardigan of courage wraps up wildest dreams all too well. Only the young can seek something better than revenge. move forward with our eyes open and the thread of life tied together with a smile. The girl at home has grown up and is no longer an innocent babe. Nobody, no crime, we are longer dancing with our hands tied, we are free to stay, stay in Paris all by ourselves. It's time to go and end the great war that we have within ourselves. You are not sorry for how the world made you change. you chose to stay beautiful.

No vigilante needed to justify a false god, No more messages in a bottle from the obnoxious fraud. If this was a movie, this moment was the epiphany you were looking for. Today was a fairytale, as you no longer are the foolish one, the sanity you earned tastes sweeter than fiction. You can see his castle crumbling as you deny him the closure he thinks he is owed. But I hope you chose to reprimand your exile and question the state of forever winter that you put yourself in. Encapsulating your hopes, you reach for your dreams, which are bigger than the whole sky. Mad women seek the thrill of a gold rush of adventures evermore. You are on your kid and long live the independence that we were awarded as a gift. The aftermath of your requiem is the holy ground you stand upon now, resuscitated, rejuvenated, reincarnated. This Ronan rests safe and sound now, no more nightmares of delicate invisible things that once had control of you. You know this world all too well now, to be fooled again. So even with all your disappointment, reservations and pain, you, begin again.

Addamm aur Eve

Tu ayena hai mere chahaato ka,
Mere har ek karvato se tera nata ho,
Na koi ho mujh jaisa, jo tujhe khud se bhi zaada chahta ho.
Na koi aur ho tujh jaisa , jo bageecho mein apna ghar basata ,aur gulon se bhi rishta nibhata ho.
Jab bhi ho tu mere roobaroo,Main teri surat pe maru.
Tuhjse  hi rootho, phir tujh se hi shikayat karu.
Main dubu har bar tere mohabtt main,
Har janam main teri hi ibadaat karu.




Baat lu apne hisse ki ansu, cheen lu tere hisse ka chain,
Taalshu  tujhmein vo khamiyon ki naksha, jo mere andar base.
Vo kehte hai ki humare vajoodh alag, mahzab alag, toh humare yeh ehsas najayaz hai
Par Ghalib kehte hai ishq mein sab jayaz hai.
Toh ban jaun fakir, char jau suli, kar doon sab kuch tere naam?
Kyun ki tera jo rishta un gulon se, mere tujhse wahi rishta hai, jo mujhe teri ore kheech ta hai.
Janmo se toh yahi chala araha hai, jaise tu Eve, aur main Adam.

Flowershops in Florence

We will meet at another time perhaps, in another city or on an another continent perhaps. Ten years from now I'll be walking by a market and might see you in a flower shop in Florence. Lurking your hands through violets and cosmos to find something as beautiful as you for your garden. We bump into each other.  I take a moment to confirm whether it's you or not. You seem pleasantly surprised. I stare at you, get a glimpse at your sleep deprived eyes and start to wonder what is keeping you awake at nights. You feel a bit shy and look away but only for a moment though, for some reason you can't take your eyes off me either.. May be there was regret in your eyes or a relief that you couldn't hold on to me just like he couldn't hold on to you.. We exchanged pleasantries, imbibed  menial small talks but the same question ligered at back of our mind. Should we go back to our requem of feelings  ,or shut all the funny feelings bubbling up inside? 'What would be more mature? That wasn't what the butterflies in my stomach were telling me. What were we supposed to make of this collision? Mutual retaliation or the same old one sided putrefaction? 'Does he still feels the same?' she wondered, or 'Did he forget about me cause he was never good at history". We were both famished, we were both thirsty for what we couldn't have and for what we couldn't get. Would it be wise to give it one more try? All these thoughts galloping inside us I saw her calming down and asking me would you like something to eat? Now, how can you say no to that?? No to something that you wanted all your life, no to someone who wants to be with you. I said yes(obviously!! What gave you away right.).She had flowers and groceries, I asked to hold them she obliged and held on to my arm isntead.'There much warmer' she thought to herslf.. We went to a place she suggested. Nothing fancy but amusingly romantic.. We sat there for hours, catching up on life, art, pets and exes till we were almost outta time.. I walked her to her abode and realised she doesn't live far away from my place.. She started walking up the stairs, I was walking away slowly.. Call me romatic, think I'm crazy, I ran upto her and shouted "Hey, can we see eachother again", an familiar voice replied "Yeah, tomorrow may be"..

Youk Rain

The whole world watches as the hostile forces invade my brain.

What I used to call mine isn't mine anymore, the hostile authoritarian powers at play are trying to convince me that the ownership has changed.

Government, law, militia, propaganda keeps changing, yet our love remains the same.

Yes my world, my horrid world is at war again.

My streets were drenched in blood, the earth pouring rain.

We wash our wounds, we bury the dead, we can't get hold of an anaesthetic to numb our pain.

Our will doesn't surrender to dictators, but our bodies do to ammunition and strikes.

Reality kicks in so do shame.

As history dictates the tragedy of lives lost is not as catastrophic as a strike on a dictator's vain.

What will become of us? What will remain?

Will we become memoirs of martyrs who died for their freedom or condemned into metastasized refugees who can never live freely again?