Woah, I haven’t written a blog post documenting my experiences in quite a while. So my 2017 winter vacations have finally begun and today afternoon I decided to take an impromptu stroll around the city. (Well, not around the entire city, just a few parts.)
I packed my bag with a bottle of lemonade, my Bhagavad Gita, my personal mālā (chanting beads) and set off towards the Corniche. It took me around twenty minutes to reach the beach. The walk to the beach was pure bliss – thanks to the the mild sun and cool breeze with the occasional trees shading the way.
Sometimes I wonder if I love you.
Do I love you?
Or do I love the idea of you… The idea of us?
Sometimes I feel hurt.
Is it you that hurts me or is it the heartbreak songs that do?
Why am I trying so hard not to love you?
It’s like falling into a whirlpool and I don’t want to.
Why are we as people, so in love with this materialistic idea of love?
Why do we seek love in strangers when we’re blessed with loving parents and siblings?
NOTE: This humorous poem is written from the perspective of a man and is meant to be read out loud with dramatics. Also, sorry for the delay. Enjoy!
There you sit.
Round and pink.
As arrogantly as ever.
You have your makeup on.
An extra dose of pink blush. Just enough for you to stand out.
Your insides are filled with a devilish liquid.
I got rid of you a month ago after we broke up.
Back then, you took up too much of me.
Why make a dent in this universe?
When we’ll all be forgotten.
Our bodies dissolved, our hearts torn.
Why mourn our deaths?
Why cry for our sweethearts?
Why try an’ work hard?
I am a boat.
I carry my dreams and my goals on my deck, persevering towards my destination.
Surrounding me is the infinite, tempestuous ocean that threatens to divert and drown me.
Up high from the midnight sky, I see a flash of light. And it almost touches my hull.
Like mirror reflects light, the water that tries to pull me down is cast back with ever more intensity and relentlessness.
These hands. These hands. These hands.
These hands they haunt me.
These hands, they are my portal of success and my portal of doom.
These hands that seek you, that touch thy material possessions – thy material world.
These hands are worn out. These fingers are devout.
I perceive your power, your halo, your love.
And oh, these hands. They are completely subordinate in your entirety .
They are completely subordinate. Yet.
Yet, these hands – they are the threshold of your entirety.
A poem by Aashi T. (September 3rd, 2017)