12:53

It’s 53 minutes past midnight,

It’s 53 minutes into the next morning.

Somewhere between nights and mornings;

I have a song in my head.

These songs surface only at these times,

and today it is a sad melody.

A melody that I couldn’t ignore.

It demanded to be written;

and told,

and sung –

to unfaithful lovers,

who hid;

and lied.

Sad melodies are mostly honest.

And tonight it holds power over me,

keeps me awake.

My fingers flying;

all that’s inside me,

has tethered itself to this song.

With ropes so tight;

all thoughts –

all of them,

in cascading, effervescent and otherworldly beauty;

decide to let themselves out.

It’s almost by heaven’s decision,

that the song is a shout,

a cry,

a thing of beauty.

The likes of which could take over the world,

and make men weep.

For joy and hope,

but mostly for the beauty.

Because men seem to love things of beauty.

This song was just that.

A thing of beauty.

 

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Because no one loved December like I did

No one loved December like I did, I’d notice her every shade; change in Autumn’s wonder.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was rude and asked for embraces.

No one loved December like I did, white suited her well but her snow was traded for summer.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was unpredictable, weather was a joke to her.

No one loved December like I did, she played cupid on Christmas but the romance ended there.

No one did quite lover her,

Because she stole; sweaters, warmth and the sun.

No one loved December like I did, she helped build resolutions that weren’t easy.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was close to the new year, and everything was older.

No one loved December like I did, she made best friends visit beaches; only for a day.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was always last and late, and she enjoyed the wait.

No one loved December like I did, beds awaited their partners and comforters sang lullabies with her.

No one did quite love her,

Because come the next morning, the two were inseparable.

No one loved December like I did, she’d let the hair grow out from under the depths of human skin.

No one did quite love her,

Because she was unapologetic in her ways.

No one loved December like I did, she gave birth to me; along with a box full of disappointments.

No one did quite love her,

They loved me neither.

After all, December’s child was bound to grow up like her.

Killing Spiders With A Gun

Time is but a stale stench, penetrating filter sinuses.

Memories of a bygone summer, in a heartless early December.

 

Gloom is grey snow, dirty with tire tracks.

Of frequent visits, to a land of no homes.

 

Whatever brought you here, stays here – rather grew up here.

A dome invisible, keeps your bread and flesh; fresh.

 

Ties made once are tied, shackled to your ankles.

Uncut diamonds adorn, what’s worth no steal unless broken.

 

Past, present and future hold no sequence here.

What is to happen, may have happened already.

 

Midst of this stand I, daughter of the sun.

In pitch darkness, killing spiders with a gun.

The good years.

To usher in a new year, specifically the year of 2017, all by myself has undoubtedly the most nerve racking thing that I’ve done. Among the regular year end realisations, one in particular stood out. This realisation being, how apparently important it is to spend New Year’s eve with loved ones.

This year, my brilliant decision to spend this eve with someone I most definitely love, myself – was threatened by these social constructs. Constructs that like my father, only seem to want what is good for me. Constructs that we hold against ourselves very often. Making this decision and sticking to it, seemed nearly impossible. Until I managed to pull it off.

At an hour to mid-night, I am sitting in my room, fairly alone, with a fantastic dinner and junk spread, trying really hard to kick start this blog for the year. I like being alone, yet I get terribly lonely a little too often. Not the best of combinations. But a year like the one that passed, has deemed me worthy of some time to myself, both on a personal and worldly level. I get to contemplate politics, who to remove from my playlist and how come the name ‘Rumi’ always makes me want to fall in love.

For the most part, anything that follows will over-shadow this piece, exactly like it is intended to.