Skip to main content

Hopes


When gooseberries ripened
Last summer,
I kept wandering around
Being someone else.
Walking barefoot on grass,
Watching bumblebees
Dashing around from
Flower to flower,
I learned the summer traits.
It was different from the books
That I read lying on my stomach.
I felt like the hononary Guest
Of warm sun.
But I was in someone's robes,
Walking along the hedgerows
With rotten feelings.
It was not me,
I kept saying myself.
Days ago I had packed all
My hopes in a tainted cloth and
Had thrown it away from the bridge.
Flocks of birds mocked at me,
The current of waters called me
Foolish.
But I was drained out,
Carrying the burden.
And when the hummingbird
Woke me up from the reverie,
I still felt like someone else.
Distant and estranged from
Myself.
Walking towards the beach,
Feeling strangled and suffocated
By the new robes,
I allowed the breeze to sneak in,
Soon did it slip away like rats
Abandoning me.
But love soon replied,
"The waves make the sea
the real sea,
Those variations
And those mood swings
Make it worthy to watch".
And I searched
And found my deserted hopes
Under the bridge,
I wore my hopes back
And made it clear that
A wallflower is more beautiful
Than a vegetable.
And the songs on hopes
of love and Goodness
Is not so worthy until
I keep my own
Songs in the playlist
With all the flaws and foibles.

A.C

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Murmurings of Married Women

  I hear murmurings from the graveyard In the West of the town,  Of married women,  Dead and disappeared years ago.  I wonder what a time they had,  What a life they lived.  Their husbands weep and weep and forget them,  They praise how they looked after their women,  Covering in glittery gold,  Buying them silly silks,  Giving makeup for a make-over.  But still, the women murmur,  Their voices seem to break the edges of tombs.  They force the sun to dry out the flowers on them quickly.  I lowered my face and listened to the tombs,  It seems their lipstick was revolting,  Their eyelashes lifted to show the desperation.  They talk about the lies they had to live through,  In fear of strangers' pointing fingers on getting a hint on their unhappy marriages.  They call out their abusive partners,  Told me to look for the broken bangles behind the kitchen for proof,  The blood-stained clo...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Call for One More Summer Swim

  Dear Oliver,    Last summer was not only about freshly smelling grass and ripened peaches to me, it became something more than that because of you. Your arrival to help my father taught me lessons for a lifetime. It was you who gave meaning to my summer, to my days and its absurdities. When I first saw you, little did I realise that you are going to unravel the real Elio, an Elio who was so much in love. An Elio who was so confused at the choices of his love and who showed the courage to confront it no matter what. I remember when you whispered to me "Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine", the time when I felt as if the four lettered word Elio pouring out from your mouth is all I wanted to listen to in this entire universe. But sometimes life offers us a different path, away from what we actually want.  I still remember the fun we had at Bergamo, the way you kissed me secretly pressing against the walls, never did I experience that feeling ever again. Bec...
Post a Comment
Read more

Most Nights We are Alone

  Most nights we are alone,  Trying to form a shape,  Wrecking with the pain of a bleeding heart,  In desperation to flatten the lump formed in the throat,  Trying to keep it as calm as possible Not to wake our partners beside us.  Most nights we are alone,  Clenching onto pillows,  Playing loud music,  Pretending sleep,  While we writhe in pain.  Most nights we are alone,  Thinking of faces that promised company,  Faces of people we assumed would hug us,  Hands that we thought would caress us,  And talks that we registered would soothe us.  Most nights we are alone,  Peeling off our gender,  Searching for an identity,  Making sense of our essence,  Organizing our anger,  Revolting against the structure,  Living past the breaking point,  Storming a mysterious body.  Most nights we are alone,  Cursing the dreams we believed,  Blaming the instincts that spurred...
Post a Comment
Read more