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Mar 3, 2013
Streets at Night
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 8:16 PM
Think of yourself as a figure on a street -
Dressed smartly to combat the wind
With a brisk stride to get home faster
The silence of night is deafening.
Streetlights illuminate your path
But there is a stretch
An awkward distance between their circles of light
Where the darkness almost consumes you.
It's in the midst of that darkness
That the heart decides to beat faster
Breath decides to come shorter
And swear starts to ooze from the pores.
There are shadows everywhere;
Houses with strange noises and bursts of noise
Hallucinations of footsteps and bad intentions
But in the light they seem to fade.
Every now and then, there's a shorted streetlight
And the darkness stretches to what seems like an infinite distance
An untraversable river of unpredictability
But you walk because running would be admitting you are scared.
But what happens if you feel a hand on your shoulder?
Or there isn't a streetlight for miles to guide your path?
Or the shadows become unnatural and mobile?
Or the the noises become deafening?
Or you lose yourself to the racing heartbeat, short breath and bullets of sweat?
There's something about those shadows and those hallucinations
And those stretches where the light dims
That evoke a feeling of doom so powerful and so potent
The slightest trigger could set you screaming.
Feb 7, 2012
Masochistic Tendencies
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 5:20 PM
You can spitefully holler my name
And expect me to kneel at your feet,
You can thrust a silver dagger through my heart,
And I wouldn't mind it, it's true.
You could burn me
But I'd still smile lovingly.
You could hurt me,
But I'd still stare at you singly.
Wretched, cruel, twist in nature
Where there should be burning, red-hot rage
There is the soft, fairy quality
Of love, deep rooted in the book of my life, every page.
You could use me like a miserly tissue
Crumple me and spit on me,
But these silly, stupid masochistic tendencies
Will never become a burgeoning issue.
Feb 3, 2012
Pulling at the Heartstrings
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 5:34 PM
Rotating the rusted knobs,
Flicking the string,
Five more left to put in.
Five more left until she is human.
Strings are gently knotted, and harshly pulled to the end,
Where she lovingly secures them.
Lovingly, for they have never experienced such gentleness.
One breaks. A flinch drowns her face,
A tear breaks the guarded defense her eye.
The ghost of the pain
Is too much of a phantom to efface.
The strings,
Were so abused in her body; Before,
When they were in her heart,
They were played, until she was aching and sore.
When they were in her heart,
Her soul suffered so deep an injury,
They snapped, healed, and became bruised.
And she couldn't muster the energy
To tend to them.
Now they are stretched taut on her instrument,
She never had so much control of them as she does now---
Testing, a gentle pulling of a string,
And the air is filled with the sweet sound of shock---
The shrill pitch of euphoria,
Then the bass of sorrow and depression,
The melodious twang of freedom
And the underlying notes of indescribable happiness.
The house was so quiet before,
Mrs Higgins from next door thinks.
It used to be filled with screams of agony.
And now, the windows are tickled pink with beautiful music.
She is tugging at them. At her own heartstrings,
Giving them the love they were denied all along,
Expressing their identity,
Because inside her heart, they were abused and oblong.
Dec 20, 2011
This coating of soot on the dusty floor?
These are ashes, my daughter. Of hopes and dreams.
They gleefully burnt my fragile wings when I was young--
Plucked my feathers and viciously tore my voice-box.
It was the last song ever sung.
That song - the one of freedom.
Look - here on my finger, this soot I will show you.
Can you smell it? This is the smell of hopelessness
And emotional fragility, where they raped my passion.
Can you see how opaque it is, how black?
It is dark, much like their rotting hearts.
Much like the godly entity that let this calamity transcend on me.
These soot lines on my cheeks are not a sign of surrender.
It is a battle mark, a medallion, a red flag--
Dignity is my queen. And I am its defender.
I am not this vicious fire that eats away hope,
I am not these flames that burn away dreams,
I am not this smoke that inhibits your vision
They numbed my senses
And suffocated me with sarin.
But I will never let you touch this soot.
Your dreams will never be devoured
By cruelty and fire.
You will never wither away
Wither away like I did.
There is a fire that destroys human progression,
And there is a fire in you, your mechanical propeller.
Dec 6, 2011
These eyes are seeing white.
Where once a smile would evoke
The visions of red colours, dancing brilliantly,
They now appear flat. Dull.
Dead.
The world that was once artistically painted
With an impressionist’s scattering of
Cerulean blues and blinding, buttery yellows
and grassy greens and vivid, rose-like pinks
their edges blurred and merging, a beautiful sight---
Everything is now grey.
As if I am colour blind.
This beating entity inside my chest
Feels detached and pointless---
Just a composition of cells and vessels
A rhythmic reminder.
Someone must have sneaked to my bed at night
Artfully slit my chest open,
Delicately extracted this heart
And boiled it in scalding water.
Nerves no more tingling with sensation,
Skin no more sensing the feathery touch of friendship,
Eyes no more seeing the colours of life.
I feel sterile,
So clean. An enchantment on my own.
Everything is numb, it’s morphine, it’s white---
There are only greys. There is no emotion.
A zombie walks through these shadowed streets at night,
Wearing my clothes,
My hair upon its head,
My voice (lifeless) emanating from its larynx,
My shoes on its feet,
My possessions in its cupboard.
Such pristine serenity
In a whirlpool of numb nothingness;
I am just a body;
A withered corpse sucked dry of blood,
An earthen pot smashed on the floor,
A soulless creature,
A sponge squeezed dry of water,
A lifeless, limp flag of independence.
Life is where love is, where freedom is,
Where trust is.
Where home is.
But I have no home.
Nov 6, 2011
Insurmountable Hate
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 12:10 PM
Part I
Here it stands - a pristine, blank mirror
Reflecting back tortured eyes and a blackened soul,
As if you with your deranged hair and sadistic tendencies
Sacrificed a night of sleep
To hold up a piece of paper with my name on it
And watch it blacken with disintegration
And curl with degeneration
In a fire with fierce flames that spit reverently
Admiring the food you are dangling in its arms.
Part II
Could it be a knife your words brandish?
Because the sharp nicks that painstakingly cut my willpower
Have left nothing but shredded ribbons of flesh behind
I am bleeding – there is nothing in me but blood –
Don’t you see what you have done?
These shocking, piercing, excruciating needles
You have dislodged in my resolve?
Part III
My blood has thickened into petrol
Bubbling gelatinously in its confined presence in my heart,
Giving way to fissures of gas that escape like refugees
From a country tormented by dictatorial damnation.
The heat with which it froths and churns;
As if it is waiting to catch fire, biding it’s time
Until the day it explodes into a crazed entity
Of fire, anger, hatred, torment and abhorrence
That consumes me till the point my skin rips at the seams.
And then you would be happy.
Then you would be satisfied.
Then you would die a pleased woman.
Part IV
It was like sobbing relentlessly on the shoulder of the
two-faced devil,
Telling him the deepest, most precious sentiments of your
heart
And finding comfort in his counterfeit promises.
But you, with your blood red horns and your fiery trident,
A grin dripping brutally with contentment and amusement
Gripped my trust by the hair, tugging at its sensitive
roots,
Threw it at hungry cannibals, to watch them satiate their
appetite.
Yes, you laughed as they sank their jagged teeth into it,
You laughed as they ripped the skin off its poor flesh.
Part V
Poor, pristine mirror. Pity that your innocent face
Should have been the victim of my insurmountable anger,
Because in you I have seen my face,
In you I have seen the depths of that black soul,
In the depths of that black soul, a woman burning paper,
In the depths of those flames, the consuming hatred,
In the depths of the hatred, a breach of trust.
And in the depths of all that,
The shocking pinks and blues of pain so irreparable
Nothing can heal it ever again.
Oct 30, 2011
Her head is seconds away from exploding.
There's a perilous pressure pushing persuasively
On her fragile cranium, eating up all the space inside
Flooding every unoccupied air bubble
With it's distastefully pressurizing presence;
There's a throbbing again her eye,
A pulsating, persistent push
That's threatened to prick her tear ducts
Until she cries.
And there's the truth, looming like a ghost
Over her shoulder, intimidating and irritable;
Her tears could draw away the pain
Like an ice pack relieves a fervent fever.
But if she cries, she knows
Her heart will collapse upon itself
Like a house with foundations that were never stable.
And so the eternal dilemma -
Pain for pain,
There is never relief.
There is a drought somewhere,
And frail bodies are walking helplessly under the sun,
Willpower and survival skills being their unfortunate saviour.
There is a girl who's trust in safety
Has been violated due to crimes inflicted upon her.
There is an innocent, wide eyed child
Struggling for breath under the rubble and heavy burden of an earthquake.
But when your own mind becomes a pressure cooker
Fed with the distasteful pressures of society,
And it is as if only a drill through the brain
Or a violent display of instability
Could relieve the throbbing ache.
Here is a pain more potent.
Sep 26, 2011
The metal tinge of blood is in the air,
It's smell so strong, I can smell it in my hair.
The blood forms a crusty layer
Where those gashes run deep and permanent.
The bruises and bloody cuts surround my eyes
I see red. I see red. I see nothing but red,
The red shards of pain that cling to my mane,
And the brilliant red of those eyes.
Those eyes
That like a crayon-like dark night
Evoke a heart-hammering fear---
Maniacal eyes, pulled so wide
To imitate the width of that teeth-baring smile.
Menacing. Just like the sound of the whip
This crazed monster brandishes in its human hands.
With every act of butchering
It inflicts on my poor, innocent body
I recoil---
With every recoil, I recede---
Back into that cage.
And soon enough I am right where I started.
I never used to notice these entrapping steel bars
While my skin was unmarked with the signs of abuse.
But now, the blood leaves my coffin of a body at an alarming rate,
I am an artwork of gashes running with blood.
I am the Mecca of pain at this moment in time
And I have to bleed in this cage, unable to cry.
Those humans,
Whose voices aren't sliced by metal jars,
If only I were you.
Feb 28, 2011
The Only Glue Is A Miracle
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 6:29 AM
In the morning, I open my eyes
And the one I think about first is you;
From when the sun rises to when it sets,
I'm fully conscious, but only with you;
Though there's an artwork of emotion,
Only one person remains in my heart, and it is you.
You're the one who dominates my thoughts,
You're the only one I search in the crowd for,
You're the one who's words mean the most,
You're the one who's compliments leave me sore;
And it's fun to be angry at you
Because I hate your kingdom in my chest-
I hate that you rule my consciousness,
Hate that you are only tolerable, at best,-
It's ironic how though you are interlaced in my thoughts
Though you are ever-present in my emotional sine-curve
You're the only reason I weep to myself,
The only reason I feel that a real friend is what I do deserve.
Just glancing your way makes a pain shoot through my arms
And makes it impossible to contain the heavy tears,
It becomes hard to control that massive dam of angst
That has grown more burdensome, come the years.
The weight of the beauty you destroyed
Left to carry on my own weary shoulders-
You may have replaced a good ideal with another,
But the crumbs are for me to pick up, my troublesome boulders-
It's so easy for you to say
'If only we had more time'
But time won't wait for you,
You need to make the existing sublime.
Though you are a daily visitor in my heart,
You are the only reason I frown,
You are the only reason I cry,
You are the only reason I fall down.
And now you've lost me to the world
And I hope the loss hits you deep.
Now the only reason you dominate my soul
Is because my love for you is asleep
And like it is with death,
Only magic can bring it to life,
And you're noone special
I know you cannot fix this strife.
Jan 2, 2011
No title. Tried to make one, but failed.
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 9:59 AM
You didn't have to choose
But you did,
You didn't have to pick,
But you did.
And in conclusion,
You broke someone's heart.
Young hearts can mend easily,
But from a mind, betrayal can never depart.
---------
Big words are so often used-
An 'I love you' tossed here,
A 'you are my life' thrown in there,
Empty words to prevent despair.
Empty words. Empty promises.
A hurtful wastage of an innocent heart,
Made worse by incalculable indifference
A drop of bitter citrus on the tongue: shuddering, tart.
Because we all want somebody to love
And when you have just a singular 'somebody'
It means quite a lot,
But not when to them, you are just 'anybody'.
Betrayal stings like the stab of a knife,
The wound of which is sprinkled with lemon and salt,
It discolours happy relationships,
It lets crumble a stable house into an earthquake fault.
Watching the sturdy brick house of mine
Fall apart
Just because your words deluded me into thinking
I meant to you what you meant to me; but oh, what a kickstart-
Realized just now that the place that meant home
Has thrown me out of its walls.
Realized that the words I thought meant something,
Meant nothing at all.
Dec 29, 2010
Buried alive,
Under the embodiments of my life
Scattered onto haphazard paper
A sheet cuts into me, as sharp as a knife;
Stemming the flow of ruby-red blood
With a cruel glance at the thin gash
Profanities arrange themselves on my lips
As I search for the sheet, amongst the stack.
Buried alive,
With edges that glint with sadistic happiness
Is the artwork of a past much forgotten,
A photograph, the reason for my curt snappiness;
But pain momentarily forgotten,
Running time-beaten fingers over the colours
That paint the youth of a pleasurable past,
A past full of summers, perusing bestsellers.
Buried alive,
Is irony. For under the plethora of age,
Is a time machine imprinted on paper
A photograph, a Past that paper does en-cage.
And as a flood of memories take me back
To when our minds were innocent, when love was pure,
The blood oozes vehemently from the papercut
Oh and I felt something peculiar, of that I'm sure.
For a moment, it's as if the cut is punishment
A punishment well deserved,
A mockery of the strange, shapeless mass life becomes
As age and life fuse to appear absurd.
If the surface of the photograph were magical,
What wouldn't I give to dive into it,
And appear, suddenly, in the world it depicts
And escape this existence that degrades bit by bit.
Buried alive are the memories
We wish we could personify.
Buried alive is a life
Full of mistakes we wish to rectify.
Sep 11, 2010
Dream A Dream Of You
0 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 12:05 AM
That dream left me empty in the morning;
I woke up to find tears in my eyes
And lead in my heart,
And a half-choked sob at sunrise.
But it was all underscored by longing,
And that tired feeling of belonging
That has been severed helplessly
Meandering carelessly...
-----------
Elation rang through my persistent knocking
And the wood would crumple with the intensity of my hope,
And when it swung open, anticipation burst out,
I could feel its power alter my horoscope...
And then there you were, changed, present,
But I saw the pockmarks on your face
My emotion make me weak at my knees,
And then you started closing in the space-
I saw disease on your face, contagious and hungry,
Afraid that unity meant a disadvantage to me,
I stepped backwards and saw your face fall
But that face was devoid of your old expression, you see.
Reproach was there. But I saw discomfort,
Just like you must've seen the art attack in me,
I was afraid to move closer in case I caught your disease,
The longing in me was begging to be set free
Time must've passed as I absorbed you, you!
How much a heartache could make me love you more,
Afraid to speak, inside, I spoke too much,
In mind, my throat was already too sore.
Pieces were dislodging from my calm resolve,
Emotions started to blur my vision,
Here, you have changed so, so much
Since our unwilling, forced, heartbreaking division.
I would have hugged you if it wasn't for
The pustules of illness decorating your face,
I would have sang to you the song in my heart,
If I hadn't left my words back by the staircase.
When the words counted,
They came out like faint whispers,
Inadequate for all I must've felt.
A wedding cake is far too big for just one to consume,
So they give you just a single slice and then the celebrations resume,
Likewise, I gave you just a slice of words,
Because the cake of speech of too much to fume.
Tentative words, but a paragraph of questions
Were hanging ludicrously in the air,
And your tone of voice of such a poise,
Cascaded down your straight, dark hair.
We met like strangers, talked like strangers,
And little by little, my resolve gave way
I told you nothing that would be too dense
For your compehension, so strange today.
And the pauses,
So loud.
They spoke too much.
-------------------------------
Am I afraid of the change in you?
Am I afraid of our increasing divide?
Am I afraid of the breach of commnication?
Am I afraid of you choosing the other side?
Or am I just afriad of you?
These same tears were threatening to spill over
This morning when I awoke from the dream,
When I saw you uncomfortable, backing away,
Much to my terror, as it did make me scream,
Slowly turning to run away, up the stairs,
Paling into transparent mist,
With a young heart slowly shattering behind you,
Distended by a growing cyst,
And then the awakening, the realization,
That it was just a dream, so out of the blue!
But rolling over, the dangerous thought-
What if you and I, in the dream, were true?
Sep 3, 2010
Fridays used to be exciting.
The end of the week, the freedom,
The eternal opposition to boredom,
Fridays used to be about the variety,
Talking and walking without propriety,
Going shopping at expensive stores
Even though your wallet has gigantic pores.
Fridays used to be about fun,
The family and the love,
Manners kept at bay
Where a push became a shove.
Fridays.
I dread going back home.
Family means something different now,
Maybe it's because I'm so alone.
Monotony awaits once I get off the bus,
It's essence strikes me as foul as pus
I'm not really home at all, home is something different now,
These rooms, my personality they never allow.
It's hard to bid family farewell,
Head down the stairwell,
Take the bus to outer space,
Stand on an unstable base.
A home is not a home,
If a Friday is not Friday
If family isn't family
And a friend isn't a friend.
Mar 21, 2010
28) Slashes on My Wrist
1 comments These are the terribly insignificant musings of Aishwarya Nagar at 6:44 AM
The searing pain I feel across my chest
Is all your fault;
Tears are beginning to glaze my eyes,
Black drops on the asphalt
And by the end of the night
I know I'm going to lose this fight
With my own will and my own ways
Because I've been thinking for days and days and days-
Is this really what I want, the pain?
Do I want to feel hurt all over again?
Isn't it better to end such reckless insanity?
When you told me, my eyes did rain
Tears of fear and hopeless on the terrain
Left me wondering, is this your charity?
I would never want you to go like this,
Sad and crying that you I'd terribly miss
But this darkness - it won't stop mobbing me.
I know there's a way to stop the ripping in my chest,
Sorrow can get to the best of the best
Blood is clouding all I could see.
Distract me from this emotional backlash;
Sharp blades I see; a hidden stash-
Just one swipe and it'll all be gone
(The pain, the hurt, the sorrow)
Words adorn the base of my wrist
Want infiltrates my mind like mist
Not caring what you think, I reach and slash-
And when it's over I won't feel again,
Your presence keeps me sane
Now that you're going to go away
I won't be here to play.
Feb 28, 2010
Whoever you've been with me
Has been such an illusion
If this is who you really are then
Sorrow and Hell have undergone a fusion;
This is not who you are,
And yet how did I get so far
If I still believe I have you?
Why did you change like this,
What sign did I ever miss,
To have you walk away like you do?
I remember when it was just us two hangin'
Invitations on my door were bangin'
But now I feel like I'm stranglin'
Your indifference my neck is wranglin'
It makes no sense to me, not at all,
Why is it that when you break away I fall?
I thought you were my one forever and all,
I thought I knew knew ya, but not at all.
Plain and simple: you let me tumble,
When I thought you were my best friend,
And in the end, I heard a godsend,
I don't know you though you're my best friend.
People asking me what's wrong with you
Why you and I aren't walking anymore
And I just don't know.
Though I am your best friend and you mine,
I just don't know.
One day you have me hugging you
And the next you leave me alone, it's true,
Tell me why do you behave like you do?
Behave like the sky is yellow when it's blue.
You say you try to keep me close to yourself
But everytime you just kick me off your bookshelf
And at the end of the day, I walk home; it's been just confusion
Living with you and your warm illusion.
;;
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