Saturday, January 19, 2008

rough seas and the northern star

a momentary surge in the machinations of your circulatory system and an arguably audible snap in your oblangata coupled with a horrible sight of your own suicide and a generous helping of primal fear. this is how you resist insistent condemnation. accused of vandalism when you were only trying to gather the broken pieces. you respond with righteous anger and a reflex of self-pity. held for murder when you were only trying to help. you fightback with eloquent silence and a faith in goodness. for innocence is much too dignified to protest. and the truth isn't too good to be itself. you hope to be understood. by the inebriated mind of the self appointed vigilante. from above the din of flying daggers and hopelessly accurate fists, you wish for another time. another place. another chance.

can you be wrongfully right?

You may have tried.with intentions as honorable as self-less courage. sparing no practical effort and swearing an allegiance for life and the thereafter. when no distance is far enough, you ask yourself this. how far can you go, if the collateral is hope. would you stop, if the end is the only incentive? falter, if pain is the only inspiration? you don't risk asking questions, if the answer spawns a mist of despair. tempted to look back and take stock, you trust your gut and keep moving. to retrospect, is to risk fatigue. and to tire, is to die. you stand up tall. on your knees. living out a lifetime's worth. of anguished anticipation. of steel chaired waiting rooms. of dogeared magazines and the smell of disinfectant. you close your fists.take the name of the lord. in vain desperation. you stare with suspicion. at your own new-found religion. wishing for help, you wander. between begging without pride.death before dishonor is a distant luxury. you wish nothing changed. things are always different. from what you remember. people aren't always the same. as those you remember. we have waited all this while. with different perspectives. in different time lines.

how difficult is staying happy?

i have been loved. to know that, to hold that hand that wanted to hold you back, to kiss that face that wanted to kiss you back, has been the greatest gift of my life. i knew her. more than the fact, that she was the one. i knew her. as the only one. when you are living out a fairytale, its easy to dream. its easier to get confused. between whats necessary. and whats possible. between an ordinary present. and a better future. i wanted her. she wanted us. not the same thing. like resilience and resistance. like pure silence and deafening noise. she was willing to wait. till the tide and tilt at sunset. and i was holding her tight. till she lost her patience and breath. i din want to lose her. while i dug my nails in. i din want to let go. while i was pinning her down. i did not know. that the reason why we were the greatest love story on earth could flit between plain vanity and the genuine truth. i want to clean my non-existent act and still look into her eyes. i want to promise change and still make her smile. you never know you've lost it. until you notice the absence. i have begun to notice. and i want her to know. that i love her. i can't be sorry without the obvious triviality of the word. i can't take us back there despite the impossibility of the thought. but i want us to want to sleep together again. i want us to dream away the nightmares, this time.

P.S : she hates the seemingly disconnected rant i just posted. but she'd understand the underlying purpose of it. we have hit a rough trail, my friend. and we are fighting to keep us alive.

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