Reset

If i had a nickle
for every time i wanted
to hit that reset button and start over.
Take back the pain and save you the trouble, make things right,
for once, for twice, for a few hundred times.

To meet you again, like strangers,
you'll ask my name and I'll buy you
a cup of tea. We'll talk on endless notes.
We'll be friends of fabric and designs,
and smile and laugh and make faces.

I am still looking for that reset button,
I found it too, a couple of times,
i was so close to hitting it in hope,
and faith.
But I didn't, I can't, I won't.
I can't remember to let go again and again.

From the diary.

18th january, 2019.

With regular practice, pretence becomes an easy craft. Well, that goes for everything in this world without saying, the point is, pretention is a very handy tool for the tricky situations one finds oneself more than often and more than necessary.

After a point, pretention leaves a big room for improvement and sometimes healing too.

I have been pretending for a while but now I think I am fine. The only cost is that I am now more disconnected and distant than before, almost for a lot of people. I however cannot judge it's merits and demerits without being biased towards a favourable outcome and that is just wrong.

In a way, everything is!

Rishiraj. 

Marlboro Man

I wonder how many cigarettes will it take

to build a mound of ash,

big enough to fill the grave of multiple

corpses, it won't be easy. 

Everyone sees the packets everyday I buy,

a slender tube dangles from my blackened lips regardless of time,

the sides of my fingers are yellow

and yesterday I spat some blood. 

Everyone's a doctor now, everyone's playing 

Dr. Phil, I cannot make them understand

the unresolved points my life has seen

or for the fact that I'm not the one who dies

I haven't done that yet. 

So I steal the song from Fool's Garden,

"I wonder how I wonder why..."

making it a maxim I'd hum along,

maybe a little Phil Collins

if I am in the mood.

I drive in my matt blue car 

with a cigarette lit,

I kept the last one in the dashboard

along with her last one, with the lipstick mark which she left there before flying off

for a new life afterwards.

So I keep wondering, I wonder

how much cigarettes will I need,

before I finally make it all go

or before I finally make it.

Overt Thoughts.

So you say 

that there's still hope,

for me, for us, for you.

I can live with that.

I see the minutes trudge away, 

leaving marks and

scratches, redolent of histories 

and songs of us; the detriment

has a progression, only matched 

by my hubris of going on,

what else can I do?

I can live, as I have, and as I will,

with the relatable facts and venal

fictions, with dates I cannot forget

and words I don't want to remember,

as you say, there's still hope,

as you'd know my inane volition

has ever been a little bit confused; 

I don't know where to stop. 

Intent's tendencies are all about tomorrow

and for all we know, I still have remnants 

of you left, for my most own moments.

Because there's still hope,

not of you, not here, not mine, never anymore; but of me.

Acerbic afternoons and corroding 

evenings will be my routine

and I know things will fade, as I have

from you, but since I still can write

lambasting or loving in the livid moments,

I know, there's still hope. 

Rex

For a moment as it were,
I was a king.
Of rubbles and ruins,
of prosaic sepulchre
and of the warren lanes of
the same tenacious exaltations.
Yes, I was a king, of things and dreams,
of nightmares; but my robes were clean.

I lost my throne, my crown forfeited,
a long time ago my kingdom corroded.
As I walk the winding halls, clueless and empty I leave traces only so
I can go back.
I leave a trail of blood, my robe is dripping red everywhere I walk.

For a moment as it were,
I was a king, and I ruled.
No more, never again.
My castle fell and
my robes are not clean.

Reset 00.00

31st December 2018.

Just a few more hours left before the world rushes into the new year of 2019. There would be plans made, promises taken, resolutions built on the remnants of the previous year. And that is a novel thought; one should indulge in such wise things.

Personally, I cannot complain about things for mostly two reasons - 1. there is no point, what has been done is done, the damages and the pleasantries both are now an inseparable part of me and 2. I have been complaining for quite some time now. I was allowed to do so, but if it goes out of hands it makes life miserable and I cannot add more misery to the already nauseating miasma I have been dealing with. So, I shall at least try to avoid that.

Remembering the year 2018 would not be a huge task; very few instances have been remarkable this year and for all the wrong reasons too and reiterating them would be asinine and self-immolating, but I will make a passing comment that it was not a joyride. This year would be particularly seared in the memories for the rest of my life and I wish, it was for good reasons, happy reasons. But then again, when has it happened that I asked for something and I got it the way I wanted it? Sepulchral as it was, it could have been extremely egregious, so I think I should be thankful for the anti apotheosis that arrived. Not with a bang but with a whimper, it bids its goodbye.

I have no aversion for the year but maybe for the people responsible for the execrable end that I now face. Detriment was not on my list, but since it is there, it should not be dismissed. And I know, some of the people would argue that I should take reigns instead of blaming, I am just stating the fact that there are people who are responsible. Whether I should have seen this coming or not has been answered in other "entries", they should be seen as the raison d'etre or at least as the building components.

Was this a burr to my cognitive fabric? In certain sense, it does ask for some excoriation, but I think I should, by being a better person, rescind my lambaste and say goodbye.

Drink, eat, indulge in ribald revelry if you can, you have earned it and you deserve a good end o' the year. Because tomorrow you reset things.

peace!

R.

Fade

Strung high out of my reach my dreams,
now wait for the winds - your time has come.
Hopes, plans, sincere faith and genuflection,
they now are regrets, mistakes as she called them, value of sentiment is not more than dust as I keep forgetting my own nature.
All I needed was peace,
all I needed was the last few moments
with you.
The blade is still inside, as I play with my thoughts - I keep burning them, they keep
coming back.
This could've been avoided,
and I have tried.