A Vintage Print

To the poets and writers who don't know what love is, yet make poetry out if it. Your mind weaves poems out of stories that never existed. You look for your muse, sometimes hidden behind the quiet eyes of the person you thought you could stay in love with and sometimes, in the sinking feeling you go through everytime you see her, away from you. You hold on to metaphors like they are your only escape from the world where you can't be in love. You function on cups of black coffee and questions that you never got answers to, that make your stories sound like a one- sided tale of love. You look for reasons and moments that you could build on. Just differently, this time .  You write about love like it's a long-lost feeling that you can never live with. Like it's a person, that exists, but just not for you . You write  You write about it, because somewhere, that hopeless romantic within you will always wish and wait for an 'I  love you', that is more than just wo

I keep you at a distance, Guarding myself from Love. It's a known enemy And has been destructing me. I fear, it might confront me again When I'm speaking to you. So I keep you at an estimated distance But oh this, Love It travels all the way from your end Gently knocks at my door And I open it, knowing that I'll be defeated once more And I shall succumb to my injuries such that Walking away will be the only choice left So I keep you at the utmost distance Thinking that Love will take a little more time to come to me But oh, the Venus' pigeons, They fly ten times faster to seal the newly made bonds! And so it comes to me and takes me amidst the clouds, Drops me down from unknown heights eventually and flies It flies to a known destination, The place I dread. How dreadful 

The second time I was in love. Tired and dead inside, I had broken down innumerous times after I walked away from the one I was madly in love with , I was pretty sure at that time that I could never fall in love again ,But life has a way of proving us wrong whenever we take something for granted. The second time I fell in love was absolutely involuntary, and yet most willingly of me. I had no idea that “love” was not one time thing, that one can fall in love several times.  The second time I was in love, heartbreaks seemed a little too unreal, and fairy tales- a little more real. It was like a picture book with a love story. The colours were a little too bright and the words a little too big. Childhood dreams which were crushed by adulthood. Monotonous lives and nomads. We talked about everything from how your heart wanders about when you're alone to when I get drunk while the wall stares at me for too long. Falling in love the second time was miraculous as well as magical. We use

Some mistakes are always lethal. Even if you wonder about different dimensions where you could do things, you’d think that you would not make the same mistake in this particular alternate universe. But you end up doing the same thing every single time. You are so used to living with that mistake that you want to take it to your subconscious and portray it in other worlds. These are the mistakes that leave you on the ground begging for more of your own conscious to fill you up so you can feel something other than guilt. But you don’t. The only thing you do feel is sorry for yourself and your stupid mistakes. Your brain is on fire thinking about what you did and the guilt won’t leave you alone. It encircles me and guides me to the endless pit of hopelessness. I dive in and let myself forget that this world has other things in it than my eternal damnation. I don’t want to forget that but my lethal mistake will convince me to. This time I want to control my mind and tell it to stop giving

I slept on whether to text you or not for so many days [ 7 days ] that I don’t even think about it anymore. I imagine the different scenarios in my head and picture what your replies would be.  In one, you’d tell me, after we’d talked long enough to be really close, that you had been waiting for me to text you. In another, you’d be straight forward and ask me why I decided to text you and cut me off.  I imagine us being soul mates and then complete strangers. I know that I have ruined a lot of chances I had by texting people and I don’t want to do that with you. But the thing is, this uncontrollable urge to type a short ‘Hello!’ in your inbox won’t go unless I do it.  So I make up my mind to text you tonight. Then I remember the time when I landed myself in trouble by texting a Hello to someone at a wrong time. That Hello took me almost to another dimension of misery that I would explain to you someday   very soon . But the word Hello, it scares me now. Maybe I’ll use a diff

I try to bury the remains as I walked beneath the huge mango tree in my backyard. It had grown old after all these years and I have grown accustomed to seeing it there.  Standing tall with its beard and long hair ready to hug a child as soon as it sees one. But this child had become a man now.  I had to bury these remains of my older damaged skull there. It would deteriorate the condition of the tree. I had played there since I was nine years old. I have tried to fall asleep while the tree swayed its branches into giant monsters on my bedroom wall. I tried to ignore when it made a rustling sound and I loved it when it did, but only at daytime.  I was scared of the dark. I am not anymore. I let go of the fear when I realised good things happen in the dark. Like sleep. Dreams. How happy they made me.  I tried to ignore when I woke up screaming after having dreamt of a snake attacking me. I don't ignore it anymore. I know it's a good sign. But I was nine years old. I learned then