Bojh

Bolo mere saath ik raat jo beeti ke abb tum dil ka ek hissa bann chuke ho. Iss ehsaas se main tumhare paas pohncha, iss sach ke saath per tumne mujhe isska mol nahee diya. Buss dard, buss berukhi.

Tumhari wajah se nahee, buss abb apni wajoohat aur apne masahil main ghir kar maine faisla ker liya hai ke buss, abb aur nahee. Buss. Nau saal pehle shuru hui yay kahani abb daire main gol ghoomti ussi mod pe aake ruk gayee hai aur sochta hoon kya karoon - kya daire main gol ghoomta rahoon ya ankhen khol ke apni zimmedariyon ko pehchanoon. Ke abb zyada der baaqi nahee. Armaanon ka galla ghonton to zindagi kaisi? Per yoonhee jeeta rahon to mustaqbil kaisa? Na tehzeeb ko thukra sakta hoon, na ehsaasat ko. Ye mera bojh hai.

Motherly Love

We did in ways agree to be apart for fear of intimacy. In times of need, I fled you and then you called me but little did I know that you were genuine. I saw in the darkness of your room, watchful, pensive. As I watched you toss and turn in uncomfortable drowsiness, I pondered over the choices. It is true what she said about being emotionally distant. I suppose that's the plague of our generation - anything goes. But the truth is, I miss you. Yeah, the truth is that I miss you so.

New York. Mr Black. Pre-drug-raid days. He showed up with his friend, dirty martini and then there was me. Why did I look after him? Why not put on selfish airs like the rest of them, like his friend, the one who lost all morals... we can never be friends. Twenty five. Who really cared? A couple. And now, as I dial and the responses alude me. What can it be when need? Come on in, I've gotta tell you what I state I'm in, I've gotta tell you in my loudest tone.

For what is this life? For me, I know. But I can't live it in isolation. I can't live it surrounded by people who don't give a fuck, can I? He was right, I'm caught in the middle, among those who care and do not accept and among those who don't care and do not accept. I accept but am not accepted. Here. Simple. Restrain.

J'ai change d'avis.

Not Glucklich

Look at me - unfortunate child of the world, in a land of vast riches, a city where dreams are manufactured, jetting from place to place, soaring high, it is your dream, it is their dream. Yet in the shadows I do creep where I seek solace, a moment or two, alone. And on that plank that juts out into waters deep and dark, there were many in moments intimate but all in public they ravaged each other. And then there were we, distance maintained. I do not hold such feelings for you but it is inside me that I hold the deepest pain, sorrow without bound. This I say to myself, you have someone else's dream - not your own, my love. But I have tried - like a drowning person struggling to stay afloat, I have thrashed my arms wildly in these rough waters. To no avail. I don't drown, I'm not saved. I remember her words - like a good little girl, I just want to be held and loved. Such is my plight in gaining acceptance in the world. Love me, cruel world, love me. Without it, I will be lost, unable to love myself. So love me.

Une lettre à mon amant

Mon cheri,

I've blamed you for all you've done, I've detested you for your fickleness, and yet everytime to me you've come, I've let you in without restraint. You feel not the way I do, for you have done some wrongs unto me, by my expectations, maybe not by yours.

And now the time has come to say goodbye, for I would not had I stayed but I fly away, yet again, the pattern that repeats in my life. I meet you now, not to hold you once again but to end this - whatever it was - on good terms. You didn't measure up to what I wanted you to be and you came to me only to fulfill your needs. But hey, you never promised me any more and here I was, enacting a romantic night in a french restaurant with portuguese music and wine. It was my folly that I've now realized that though I cut the cord between us, I wish to see you again comme un ami. You weren't what I'd wanted but you gave me hope, a shining glimpse at what may have been. I hope you will remember how we were but who knows. After all, you are like all of them. Again, you never promised not to be. It was all me, me, me.

Goodbye. With me I take this gift of tender memories, of you and I, in bed, where you gave all, by holding my hand through the night and everytime we let go, you grasped it again with the same vigour with your heated palm. Adieu.

Postmortem

This restlessness has grown, has grown past the bounds I'd set for it. Death to the soul, they chant. It's like the spiritual realm has come back to haunt me. Ghosts, deathly white, appear in my dreams. I've devoted fond memories to you. On the beaches of Brazil, I remembered you. Like a vision. And I fed a starving being whose gratefulness overcame me, overcame desire. There he was, withered, withering. There they were, vultures, perched, waiting, scoping the situation. Junior, Michael, Cassio, Edison, Jeffery, Rafael, countless others. Now they are a haunted memory.

I search, gasping, taking in gulps of air. He branded me the toughest of the tough but I think I'm unworthy of the title. Perhaps I will just go to Canada. Again and again will I go back to that I have left behind me. I'm confused about where home is. Home has split into several. Everywhere I go, they ask me where I'm from. Yes, I can marry you. Mary.

I can't believe a year has passed like a whirlwind. I went back and he had not a word to say. You may return, c'est tout. Of all my past loves, the Belgian was the cruelest, the least genuine. He was also the one I latched onto like a leech, unforgiving. Leave him be, they said. I clung on, for his mother, for his sanity, a saviour, always a saviour.

But tell me this. Once I've saved you, restored you to health, what do you do? You take flight and shit on my head.

And then on the one year and two day anniversary, I saw a vision. Perhaps it was a sign. It reminded me the Universe appreciates me. But it was stolen from me as quickly as it was offered to me. It took flight to rest with the Angels, Mary, Austin, El Salvador, from this country.

The Turks offered not much besides polite introductions, the Iraqis were too taken by themselves, the French - well, what can I say? Canadians, they were stuck in eternal humiliation for being Canadian. And I wondered what I'd have to offer to the Universe to get this in return. Bring to me - something, something more. I read in a tale well known how I must heed the omens. Am I? South America beckons yet I remain, perched, wise, cautious.

And then he died. He took with him hope, he took with him more of her dying laughter, he took with him the purpose of an old woman. He left with me fear, fear of my fate, fear of old age, fear in which I sit and it consumes me.

Why?

I am not restless but I'm still waiting for the phone to ring. I'm less emotional and more curious which is quite unlike me. I haven't conjured a billion scenarios but I'm still thinking of it enough to write about it. They say that you shouldn't focus on it too much - things have a way of working out. This is an argument for destiny. They also say you should be more assertive - you never know when you might miss on an opportunity. This is as argument for freedom of choice. Conflicting advice, that's not a first. When someone discusses something of the nature with another person, their first instinct is to comfort him/her. But I don't need comforting. I'm just curious dammit! My life hasn't come to a halt. In fact, there isn't even a dent in my life but still I wonder why...

In the winter mist, I looked for answers, surrounded by tall buildings and tourists. I walked in and I walked out - twice! It was like being enclosed in a bubble - I didn't let anyone in, I didn't want to. And it was immensely therapeutic. After the disaster that was pre new year's eve, last night was splendid. I got some much-needed tranquility in a city where it's impossible to find. And slowly, unrealistic fantasies of desert vacations grew distant and I began to thrive once more in the pulsating, energetic metropolis also known as el centro del universo - my new home.

In the New Year...

In the new year, I give up. Just looking at this lovely photo of dusk from little over a year ago fills me up with memories, a face marked with hope. I remember this time last year, I had a cat licking my scalp as I lay next to the corpse watching the stoned couple make out to Mentirosa. This new year's was different. I had a lot more time by myself. I shut myself up in the solitary apartment away from all the excess and reflected on things. I dreamed of running away to the desert, an endless sea of pure sand in every direction. Beauty in simplicity, dehydrated under the cruel Saharan sun, sand being blown into my mouth and eyes. Yes, I'd take that over the crowds. But I can't take time off or I would grab my passport and make a mad dash for the airport. But in the new year, I must wait. Patience is key. In the new year, I shall forge allegiances, with the city, with the people, blend in though they tell me it takes 10 years to fully assimilate. But I've never cared much for titles, nor for people who like creating exclusive clubs. I speak with conviction yet I know not what to expect of the new year. I'm confused by the cruelty of kind people who point out what they know plagues you and discard you when one they deem has more merit is near. Yet they are the ones who shower you with gifts and take you places and remember you when you most need it.

Hmmm... I need to hear something positive so today's goal is to go see a fortune teller to see what the new year holds for me.