I escaped a black hole but it left me angry

You once told me
no one understood
your sadness
the way I did
while we were talking about
dark matter
and the paradox of infinity
and later I was thinking how
your soul holds enough darkness
to hold back all the
gravity in the universe.

While you explained your theory
that everyone showed only
a false projection of their personality
and no one got to know
our real selves
I remember thinking
you were too broken
and someday you’d need
a therapist
and I remember wondering
how would you ever find someone
who would get your puns
and laugh at every lame joke
the way I did
and you said
connecting with a human
is the rarest thing
in life
and maybe I shouldn’t
take it so lightly
and I laughed it off
because I had a whole list of
connections I’d made.
But later I realized
it wasn’t the same
later I realized
maybe I’ll never
connect to anyone
the way we did.

 

Every time I pass by
some place we’d been to –
the rail-side slum
near my house
that we had surveyed,
or the enormous office complex
where we had judged
corporate slaves
and argued with each other
over pretentious coffee
and lunch meetings,
or the empty streets
near your house
where we had walked on a cold night,
or the creepy place
full of scrap metal
in some corner
of our university –
every time I pass these
I tell myself
I’m not drowning
I tell myself
I’ve learned to swim
I tell myself
this nostalgia
will go away soon
it will turn to dust
and drop off my skin
like rain
I tell myself
I carry my own umbrella now
and I remind myself
sharing an umbrella
only left us both wet.

Two months ago
I took my brother
to the arcade gaming zone
where you and I
had laughed like maniacs
and I wondered
why I kept blanking out
every few minutes
why the games felt
so shitty this time
why I couldn’t brush off
the sound of your laughter
from the folds of my sleeves
and the anger
ate me up
the anger
burned my bones
the anger
drove me insane
but I wasn’t sure
who I was angry at.

At you –
for making me open up to you
although I never wanted to,
for calling me at 2 AM’s
and asking me to cure your insecurities,
for telling me
my voice was like
dry leaves in Autumn,
for telling me
I felt like home,
for leaving scratches on my soul
and tainting it for the person
who deserved to find it spotless,
for saying I was the only one
who understood you
and not noticing
I never said it back.

Or at myself –
for not leaving
the first chance I got,
for noticing the way
you ran your hand through your hair
when you were nervous,
for drinking in
every single word you ever said
like a caffeine addict
finding her morning latte,
for seeing your bloodshot eyes
under a midnight sky
and not getting scared,
for laughing at your jokes
even when they weren’t funny,
for enabling your addiction
of making people sympathize
with you and using them
as your emotional trash bin,
for seeing how the darkness inside you
sucked up my sunshine
like a black hole
and still not leaving you soon enough,
for leaving a suitcase full of
pieces of my soul
at your house
despite knowing that I
was never going to stay.

 

One day I hope
the anger will die down
and perhaps I
will forgive
both of us
but tonight
the anger
burns like hell.
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Accidental Art

The abstract art
formed by fallen hair
on white shining tiles.

The dragons and castles
made of white clouds
in afternoon skies.

The dancing figures
made of water blobs
on a green bathroom floor.

All the accidental art
in every corner of the universe
waiting in ambush
to take my breath away.

And yet all I can think about
are a pair of black, black eyes
devoid of color
yet full of all the shades
that ever existed.

Stardust

But you,
You are the storm on a calm sunny day
The scarcely traversed bend in the way
All the constellations at the end of a starless day
The wave that touches every sand grain as it crashes at the bay
The bright ring of light around a full moon that pushes the rest of the sky away
The smell of hay
And burning clay
A wordless day
A rainless May
A black-less gray
The word ‘okay’
A bottled up ray
A wild display
Of every thing I fear and every thing I crave.

And you,
Are the brightest speck of stardust in the entire Milky Way.

Obsessive Compulsive Snores

1:33 AM, says the black bar on top of my phone screen.
The blue rays from the CPU keep blinking like crazy
My eyes all hazy
From lack of sleep.
The occasional beep
Of midnight trucks
Pierce my insomniac ears.

My brother’s sobs have turned to snores,
His unstraightened bedsheet waits of course.
What could be worse
Than having to sleep on a bed without fixing the sheet?
What could be worse
Than keeping a book at a different angle from the one beneath it?
What could be worse
Than washing one hand but keeping the other dry?
What could be worse
Than closing your door but not tapping it a second time?
What could be worse
Than getting hurt on just one side of your symmetrical body?
What could be worse
Than putting an unwanted pen mark on your math homework copy?
What could be worse
Than the papers you’d spent ages aligning perfectly being scattered?
What could be worse
Than hearing your sisters say “Stop acting so crazy, it doesn’t matter!”

It’s okay, he’s asleep.
He’ll forget about the bedsheet in the morning.
He’ll have the toothpaste on his brush to worry about
And his sandals to carry about
With just the equal amount of pressure on each feet every time he steps.
And when the food on his plate looks so annoying that he has to ask for another plate
He’ll relinquish the last traces of his memories of tonight’s unfixed bed.
Maybe he’ll scratch his right cheek with his right hand
And then scratch his left cheek with his right hand
And then rub the nails of his left hand across the table
To give them a share of the pleasure
But maybe they’ll get too much
And maybe he’ll have to scratch another facial muscle.
And go on repeating until his muscles are numb from the pangs of equality 
And his nails can spell out tranquility.
It’s okay. It’s fine.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s just crazy.
And one day he’ll realize that.
It will all be fine from then.

1:56 AM, says the black bar on top of my phone screen.
The blue rays from the CPU still blinking like crazy
My brother snores as peacefully as someone without OCD,
Waiting for the next day’s imperfections to align just perfectly.
It’s okay. It’s fine.
One day he’ll stop acting crazy.

Taped Tennis Balls

A glimpse back. A minute.
Now that seemed infinite.
Two 8-year-olds
Across the playground courts.
They knew nothing better and nothing worse.
No unuttered grudges, no cold remorse,
No holding back thoughts, no repelling force.
“Will you play with me?”
“Of course.”

Never ending conversations
Illogical fascinations
Unrelated correlations
Misunderstood connotations
Games full of incarnations
Overhearing informations
Idiotic laughter sessions
Dead serious operations
Till they’re knocked right off all…sensations.

10 years across the timeline.

Now there’s a fine line
Between their playground courts,
Cut off by countries and ports.
They have their very own forts,
No TNT cords
Not even social networks
Can bear the weight of the distance, anymore.

A barely inhabited chatbox.
“Any exams going on?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”

They go to sleep hoping to dream of all the taped tennis balls they’d lost.
Among other lost things.

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