Hymns for the Lonely

Hymn XVIII

A slight touch of sadness
walks across my soul
and I shiver
with feelings unfelt
in a very long time.

My sighs stretch out
to cover me whole
and I walk
through breaths
of wasted words.

Weighed down
by moments
of a life
half-lived,
my soul clings
to my bones
like rotting leaves
to earthworms.

And that's what I do.
I wallow in dust
and dirt
and mud.

And I rot.

Hymns for the Lonely

Hymn XXIII

When loneliness
seeks out,
reaches for,
meets
and touches
loneliness,

sometimes,
just
sometimes,

the truest friendships
are formed.

These are a few of my favourite things...

As all of you have noticed, I've been in a deadly, depressing kind of funk the last two weeks and all for reasons domestic. Let's just say that I let this certain person get the better of me all the time and I invariably end up drowning in negative energy and self-pity.

Also, my FIL had to be hospitalised while the MIM, boys and I were on our first ever trip abroad. We went to Phuket on the 31st and were due back to Kolkata, via a three-night stop-over in Bagkok on the 10th. On the 2nd, he was very critical and my MIL told us that she thought it best if we came back...just in case. The poor MIM was distraught and I was shaking with fear. We couldn't get a flight on the 3rd, but landed back home on the 4th. Luckily, and with greatest thanks to God above, the FIL came out of it, weak, but at least he's back home now.

With so much happening, I found myself sinking in a quagmire of nasty emotions and misery. And the feelings stuck to me like the humidity, sweat and grime of Calcutta's pollution, so I just couldn't seem to shake it off...until two things.

I took my mom to a place called Dakshinapan...this is a lovely, shopping complex where all the emporiums are. We went to Rajasthali and somehow, seeing the fabrics there and the colours and the prints, vivid memories of the girl I used to be just came rushing back. I was flooded with the person I was and how I used to dress...khadi kurtas, ethnic prints, handloom materials, tribal jewelry, big bindis, boho skirts, colourful jholas... I rocked that look. It was me, all me, pure and unadulterated ME!! Why did I let her go? I don't have a penchant for labels and designer names, so why do I get excited whenever certain items at Ritu's are in discount...and that too, the ugly ones?!? Why do I get upset that I can't wear noodle-straps and boob tubes? I never could! They don't suit me or my personality. I'm a very Indian-looking girl, oops, woman. I should just stick to what suits me best. Are my khadi kurta and faded jeans days over just because I left JNU a decade ago? No, not if I don't want them to be. Not by a long shot!!

The second incident happened when I was passing through Saturday Club and I got a whiff of chlorine coming from the pool. I actually stopped and breathed it all in...deeply, almost sinfully, like a lover's scent. And I got such a high! It made me feel vibrant and alive and I realised just how much I love and miss swimming. It rejuvenates me, it makes me feel whole and fresh. I should start swimming again, not just for weighty reasons aesthetic, but because I love it.

So now that these two incidents have kicked me out of my abyss of despair for the time being, I've decided to make a list of some of my favourite things. Things that put the sun into sunny-side-up...

~ My sons' laughter. A tickle fest, or a round of funny faces and the sweet sound of their pure, innocent laughter takes me straight-away to Mommy Heaven.
~ Chocolate.
~ Music, Music, Music. Specifically jazz, Rabindrasangeet, Masakalli, Prem Joshua.
~ Poetry.
~ Sweet, juicy strawberries; ripe, tangy kiwis.
~ Boiled corn. Roasted corn. Corn.
~ Cooking and feeding other people.
~ Rainy days.
~ Black'n'white Bengali movies, especially the oeuvre of Satyajit Ray.
~ Chick-flicks.
~ Art-house cinema.
~ Art.
~ Books.
~ Perfume. Especially from Lancome and Estee Lauder.
~ You. Yes, you all, my blog friends. Even though I may not have been blogging, I faithfully followed you all. Thank you for letting me into your lives and sharing. Without you all, in these past few days, I may not have recovered my sanity.

And now, won't you share your lists with me?

Crowded Room

Sitting in a room
surrounded by emotions and face,
I sit with lost souls
searching for faraway places.

Secret lovings
and longings
locked up inside,
nowhere to go,
just somewhere to hide.

Hearts rolling
and rocking
in gentle despair,
within loving unloveds –
it all seems so unfair.

A mirror before me
do I suddenly see
and I look myself totally
full in the face.
I acknowledge the fact
that I’m a lost soul –
lost for a forever,
in this time and space.

Wistfully Yours...

I wrapped myself
in the night sky
and came to you;
the stars hanging from my ears,
moonlight in my eyes.

You fed the bonfire
with past hurts,
bitter words
and wasted moments.
In it’s glow
we found the music
that we feared
had been lost to us forever.

Morning drenched us
like an ice-cold bath.

Looking wistfully
at the embers,
we carry on…

The Distant Music That Plays

It's that
lone
wisp of music
that keeps my ears
strained.
Sometimes,
the wind brings
it to me;
sometimes
my sons' smiles.

It's the kind of music
that keeps your heart
restless,
never getting enough.
Like a first-time lover.

It's the kind of music
that keeps your spirit
vigilant,
waiting to soak up it's beauty.
Like an Impressionist painting.

It's the kind of music
that keeps your soul
wandering,
searching for the perfect rhythm,
rhyme
and partner.
Like a lost sheep.

It's that kind of music
that keeps you
awake,
desperate to catch,
hold
and claim for your own.
Like the Siren singing at sea.
Like a childhood memory.
Like a first kiss,
a good kiss.

It's that
lone
strain of music
that haunts me,
calls me,
taunts me.

I sleepwalk my life away
as the Piper plays
and I follow.

Maybe I'll wake up
someday,
when I hear the full song.

But for now,
it's that
lone
strain of music
that sings to me
like a desert warbler,
pining for her love
in the scorching heat;

like a nun
at prayer,
yearning to see God;

like me
in waiting,
waiting to blossom to life,
to love.

I Don't Understand

How?

How come
it's so easy for you to
ask for my heart
only to kick me in my empty chest
without looking up even once
at a face streaming with tears,
it can flood your very existence...
at a pain so visible,
it can sear right through you...
at a love so open,
so all-encompassing,
one can't help but melt in return.

Don't bother looking now.

My eyes are vacant.
And there are maggots
where the heart
used to be.

Lightning Love

It’s a stormy night,
my friend.
Let’s take a walk
through the black
and lose ourselves within it.

Look at the stars,
scattered through the sky
like flowers from a broken garland.

Look at the clouds,
drifting about aimlessly,
like lost ships at sea.

A distant rumble
comes rolling
from the insides of the sky’s belly.
The clouds are going to explode!

Oh, let’s stay awhile longer,
my friend.
I can feel the moon throbbing
and the night air trembling.

Let’s stay,
my friend.
Let’s stay
and get hit by the thunder
and drenched by the lightning.
We’ll let the rain fall
as it likes.

You’re smiling,
my friend.
Just as I knew you would.

Tonight,
I can love you,
my friend,
for you laugh
the laughs of old.

Tonight,
I can love you,
my friend,
for I now know
that you have not forgotten.

Tonight,
I will love you,
my friend,
because you make me want to.

Tomorrow,
me
in my heels,
you
in your tie,
we can be indifferent again.

In Deep

Can I wrap myself
in your coffee bean smell
and snuggle in it’s
morning-madness memory,
indifferent
yet routine,
familiar
predictable?

Hang about your neck
like a withered garland,
drained of all fragrance,
a pale shadow
of it’s former glory and beauty,
yet rightful occupant
around the temple deity’s
stone neck?

Can I rip
the buttons off your shirt,
claw your skin,
mark you,
bleed you
and then lick you
till you tingle,
you like it,
you scream?

Can I hate myself
for just,
for just,
for just….

Hell.
I don’t know.

I know.

You know.

For just…

For the sake
of what
it once was.
For the sake
of what
we once had.

Just for that.

For Want

For want of a darling, perfect man;
For want of that exhilaration called love;
For want of a spiritual calling
And heavenly messages from above.

For want of riches, fame and fortune;
For want of sheer earth-shattering genius;
For want of eight more measly inches
And a face that’s truly glamourous.

For want of memories sweet and precious;
For want of unrelenting, creative bliss;
For want of that awareness of being cherished;
And for lack of adventurous, passionate trysts.

For want of feelings of self-fulfillment;
For want of a life that seems complete;
For want of second, third and forth chances
And senses fully replete.

I go the distance alone,
With nobody by my side,
Behind these pieces of poetry
My true feelings do I hide.

So I smoke and fuzz my brain,
I eat chocolate by the tonne.
Were it not for jazz and moonlight,
To emptiness would I have succumbed?