To Crimson Boulevard

Hey! I’m lost. Lost with this particular Autumn Series. The idea grew out of nowhere and just got fixated. The name ‘Autumn‘ however came from the character in 500 days of Summer. She hit me straight through the feels.

To feel for each sentence in these verses has been hard. I’m a fresher dude in this type. I never foresaw. Autumn’s been sweet and cruel and I think, might never end in my case. The one part that cries inside me asks for the season to end. The other part that wants to write, embraces the tears. Also, tears apart. And has given me the happiest blog moments ever!*smiles*

(A part of the text, here that was related to the title was deleted by the writer.)

It’s in between. It’s hard to write now, or ramble(Oh! Yeah) now. Bear with me! I’m looking for suggestions and help to get through this. Comments welcome(are much needed).

A writer I once knew
Asked me to write ‘hearts-out’.
The concept was always new.
Just, self-doubt.

I knew I was lost.
I blamed it on the dark.
I should bear the cost.
It was me, who missed the mark.

This is supposed to be 
Poetry of emotional dearth.
Under this tree
Only Shadows sing about mirth.

Heart and darkness undergoing a bout
My words never saw the light of the day.
To liberate ‘Inside Words’ is hearts-out
Rusting, I figured out. Well, that’s the pay!

just barath,

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To Do List

The night lamp was turned on.
Our photo by my side was dimly lit but visible.
Moving on thoughts got carried away.

Left arm was not searching for her.
It dabbled over the glasses and the paper
“To Maple” was completed.

The pen kissed the next paper. 
Its cruel to ask the pen to move on too.
Let the kiss last.

To keep a journal is not my way
To forget happens all day.
To the first word of every line.
To memories, that I think are now only mine.

If you find sometime.
Help me forget you, us and all this

To the hours of us doing nothing…
Ok! Stargazing, maybe.

To the Tea-Bags and the Sugar-Cubes you are really generous about.

To the Laundry Days, I need to be around and talk you through, when you worry about the coffee stain on your favourite-tee.

To the ‘Bye’, ‘I am leaving’, ‘I am seriously going’ ‘Ok! Bye’ and kicking me out after ‘Should I really go’

To Waking you up after the Old Monk 
and lying that you were not creepy after the 4th round.

To responsible discussions where we convinced each other cleverly!
And we could never convince ourselves.

To the cozy blanket, that saved us from reality and where my words were prohibited.

To the Romantic Burgers and Double-Cheese One-liners.

To all the moments I forgot and you might remind me.

Drive me there.

I would tell
I can read maps so well while you are driving us.
I don’t care about how you drive
Because, I too don’t have experience reading maps
Its autumn.

Let’s get lost one more time.
Trying to forget
And remembering things more 
is not a crime.

“Sands of Time” denote memories.
Remember the beach sand that entered your shoe and never really left.

The crushed paper was sent to where it belongs. 
The thoughts could not be sent, because 
that is where the promises belong.
And we fail trying to keep up with promises.

-just Barath

To follow the other poems of the series:
1.To Miss.Autumn
2.To my fall
3.To my St.Martins Summer
4.To Maple

To Maple

We felt fountains of darkness flow on our bodies.
A state of challenging coldness,
Not the brain, but the mind got hypothermic.
It was a moment when love was the Only Light,
Every other second, love was that first apple.

Immortality at grasp, words became pawns.
Infinity for few seconds, all our remaining years were compensated.
Intuition was all lucy’fied.

To cafune.
To caress.
To lock.
To still.
To get out.
To live.. we decided.

It was outside the unity of time.
An A minor and an F.
An Alleregretto was overlooked and stayed away from.

It never marched to the unity of place.
This bed could have been the other side, I promised to meet her, last time.

It did not heed to the unity of action
We don’t believe in anything completely, ever.
All lasted, until the second, her hand hovered over my shoulder.
I believed in the ambiguity she was.

Electric impulses started trotting,
It was by the usual route
But, slower.

And what followed was the world’s most beautiful cliche..

This abyss
stripped us of our doubts.
What I couldn’t tell in light,
I stammered through all night.

We were lying.
We weren’t lying.

The curtains and spreads still hold on to that dark night.
They still howl it to us through the winnowing winds.

just barath

To follow the other poems of the series:
To Miss.Autumn
To my fall
To my St.Martins Summer

A person who writes 2

If only, life could be as real as a book

..

It would be so weird. Like, if it is any way lesser to weird, now.. Atleast, you would not be responsible for all the complications.

Please don’t be the lucky one who reads this post first among all other works of mine.

Disclaimer- “This is common. I am not the only person going through this It’s a common thought process that runs with my age, teenage breakdown, cut the crap, stop bitching about life, don’t be such a wiener, time to unfollow you, childish, immature” kinda post. I need to write down.

This post needs to be on the blog, as I need to look back at the things I have stoodby when I re-read it for the n’th time.

I’ve never wanted to write this way on this blog, my canvas. Making my writings, my vent of things would confuse people, firstly. That’s the reason some of my rants never make it out of my world.

I never want to get out of my fictions. my Duffer Diaries, Aval Peyar(Tamil series) or the Fall Series. But being pulled down by an invisible hand(or maybe an image I have created) I fucking lose my mind.

Reality sucks. You cannot better it out. People change, the change may not be on the lighter side for you always. Life wants to laugh at your fall. It wants you to learn, grow up. It makes you long and makes you fell desperate. It gives you few smiles and some comforting words in return for all these and completely comforts you for a short period. You play the Pharell Williams song and start walking the walk. I have some of those special people *sunshineeee*

You know what, I’ve written something similar on ‘To my fall’

“Minutes you crossed my mind,
Kept me alive to face the hours you weren’t”

Never mind.

If my blog becomes my portfolio.. maybe I’ll hide this post. But, doesn’t my employer need to know about the kid I am. Maybe I should not take this down. Let me decide that later. Or let me post so many stories *I wish* and make it go down my ladder.

As a person who writes I am sorry for such an unaligned piece of work. I’ll repost this in a better way soon.
And some poetry is coming out this weekend. Non-nonsensical stuff. Man! I am such a lazy, stupid wiener.
This be my ‘Diary of the confusive Wimpy Kid’.

I am clearly confusing you. If you are confused only a little. WELCOME TO MY WORLD, Old Sport. If you are a lot confused, don’t worry, there is always a next time. (This is my personal favorite line, an allusion to one of GVM’s recent Facebook Post). Last time, I suggested Fault in our stars, this time it is The edge of Seventeen

Well! This post is to me and the person who asks me to write something real..

To my St.Martins Summer

We were always ahead in time.

We were there in my dreams that I had after watching that movie.
A dream that I dont remember that much.
A dream where someone asked you “Who, he?

We talked to each other in our minds minutes before our eyes met.
A Random Sun rise.
Where love can never set.

We skywalked all the Roads of Frost,
The paper version and
Every signboard that asked for a Diversion.

We doubted us before the crisis even began.
We are nothing but a pair of Lunatics.
We should drop that book
Or set our thoughts on the silent brook.

We argued about oblivion when that leaf fell down.
Overlooking every single time..
Maybe, We should enjoy the moment and frown.

We drifted apart before that wave hit our sail.
Such shooting stars we were.

Momentary,
just for this galaxy.
Also Infinitive,
For we have not seen all the galaxies.

Ahead,
looking at the humane mess
Also lazy,
Two kisses instead of one
Could have saved us all the mess!

just Barath ©

P.s.- St Martin’s summer is
a period of unusually warm weather in the late autumn, especially early November.
Oh! Me and my muse are overlooking November by this month itself.

The next one-

To Maple

To my Fall

I’m talking to you.

I wanted to talk to you.

I don’t know if you ever listened.

Still, I wanted to tell you everything.

Everything from the first memorable oust to this highly delusional second.

From the first moment when smiling was hard to this day when I’ve learnt to master it.

From that first wound on the knee to seventh, doesn’t-matter-so-much one inside the mind.

From the first second of that song to the loop that I never got out of for ages.

I wanted to tell you everything.
So, listen.

Amidst all the days that grew grey,
By all the ways it may.
Minutes you crossed my mind,
Kept me alive to face the hours you weren’t.

“You’re all mine!” that was the biggest, shortest truth you ever spoke on our couch.

Aftermath.
It’s hard to belong to someone else now.
It’s not easy to show someone else the same love.

You’re the fucking drama, not me!
What exactly was the reason?
If you actually have one tell me!

For just that,
Let your heart speak sometime.
It would want to get back in time.
To that, “You’re all mine”.
So that, you never decline.

I find words
Staring at the same doorway
You entered by all the time.

I found you
Looking through the runway
My words mirrors by.

I’m living up all the nine clouds.
Just the grey ones though.

I can’t ask you to come back.
And I am happy.
Only because,

You never left.

-just Barath©

The next one-

To my St.Martins Summer

To Miss.Autumn

I have always wanted a 3 AM conversation,
A 5 AM Good Night
and A 10 AM Office Check-In.

It happened in the movie that I watched with her favourite coffee,
her second favourite couch
and her memories.

But, then I got into this relationsleep with dreams about strangers!
Did you, for a second think
I would have the pleasure of having
Strangers in my dreams?
It was her, always

Nothing mattered.
To her.
It would have.. But she never told me about that later.

How am I supposed to give her the right surprises
and go ring her doorbell twice, exactly when she needs me?

How can I find out the perfect gift, everytime?

How can I not lose to her when it comes to me showing my romance?

How can I not be the repaired toy?

How can my hyper-metropic eyes talk to hers, when the dumb mouth spoils scenarios everytime?

How can I sing when I hate my own voice? I surely do!

But, she knows things, that people have never heard of.

She knows that I’m the one who is trying to love her!

She knows that Cinema is my Shangri-La

She knows that my voice is that of a goat.

She knows that I have wanted to kiss her behind the neck.

She knows that
I’m not the fancy that poems are made of.
I’m the fancy that makes poems.

She knows that I am never perfect without a heartbreak.

Maybe, she decided that a perfect soul will only be hers to live by..
And that can be the only reason for her to have broken it and look into it
some random day,
by the Decay.
If her heart may
decide to sway
by Memories that lay

-©just barath

The next one-

To my Fall

Of Magic, December and Me

A cold December evening. The sun walked out pretty fast, just like her.

Then, Walt Whitman walked in, so did the moon and sonnets.

A perfect setting to get lost and never come back. Never. Because once the words you want are served at your table and you find it better than people, you start enjoying your company.

The wind does its job of keeping your sailing thoughts on the loneliest streets of Manhattan, the darkest hours of Quebec or the mind-numbing coldness of Alaska. It drifts you away from human territory. The wind knows what is good for you.

One think-alike human is the overdraft limit that can withstand the winds. It is not like the way it is explained in books or movies, or it is not so metaphorical too. It is awkward, imperfect and unexplainable.

If it is unexplainable, how do writers weave out magic on paper?

Did you read that word aloud?

It is. You still feel some works to be extremely closer to truth, right? I did too. Until, that moment I realised, it takes three lines or a maximum of three pages for a character to do a task impossible for a person reading it in real life. Like, travelling nautical miles with the albatross or running into the terrace of a hostel with curfew and a strict warden. It is easy for them.

Impossibilities cause pain. If this was a page of my book, the book that is picked only by the people who need it.
I would have re-written it this way, but yeah! You read the truth in the beginning. I’m speaking truth in my fictions. I’m a paradox.

“A cold December evening. The sun walked out pretty fast, just like her.

She thought that I could never be a father like the one she has had(She was right!). I asked her to decide. I gave her total freedom. But she was furious and felt I was not helping her and I acted like some sick bastard, three blocks away, who is no one to her.

I caught her while she was at the gate trying to look back at me, she was waiting to see if I would call her back. I hugged her, looked into the eyes that reflected our Rafter and then me. I pushed the lock of hair that hid the bruise on her forehead, kissed it. Then, she decided.

Then, Walt Whitman walked in, so did the moon and sonnets.”

-just barath©

Write side of the heart

image

Episode 5

Hey Barath!

(Ok!) Dear Barath!
Shucks! Man. I think this is not my thing.  I think you asked me to write a letter to you on purpose! But let me try. This is the first thing you ever asked me. So I’m trying to write something that looks like a letter.

You and your literature things are starting to become interesting for me. All because of you. You talk about it and make me feel like, it’s a mandatory part of my survival. You add those fancy words at the right places and make something out of it, that gets me in this trance, while I am already struck by your handsomeness(Someone’s smiling a lot, now).

This being evident as you are reading, when are you going to get me our first book?

Yes! OUR freaking first book!! I am taking so much control over us. I know all that. That’s because, I miss “us” sometimes and this is the only way I can hold someone’s hand and not feel any pain over the juxtaposed, interlocked fingers(God! Me and my Stupid word choices!)

Writers take a walk by Heartbreak lane on a daily-basis. I know you are new to the neighbourhood, so take your time, learn and get over to me as soon as possible.

I think I am starting to love letters. It gives me this 60s English Womenfolk feel. The Flower-Basket Cycles, Hats, Blue and White checked Shirts. I know you would have picturized me in the above scenarios I listed. Don’t you ever start your plan. I will have to use the Kitchen-Knife just like those 60s movies.

Now coming back to what I really wanted to say.
One fact about humans on earth, irrespective of what songs they hear, or what kinda creatures they live with, humans cheat on themselves for the sake of others, there’s this extent for doing that. You never crossed that, even for me.. that was the thing that amazed me first. You do what you want! I do what I want! And we do what we want(Except when it comes to movies! Because you kinda take the decision always).
We are good! better at times?!

So, write back to me, when the freaking butterfly effect you go mad about lets you!

Write slow and steady, because your handwriting shouldn’t have come past the four line notebooks of kindergarten. I am clueless about how it did!

We are already something. I don’t want an approval by words. Words are bitches.

Say ‘Yes’ with a kiss,
Or,
‘Yes’ with two kisses.

Yours,
You know my name!

P.s.- Its time start loving her. So, Duffer’s diary is closed and kept safely inbetween Vairamuthu and Tolstoy in my book rack.

Bye,
just barath a.k.a Duffer©

Jack’s Sparrows

Jack's Sparrows

Episode 4

Forgiving is hard, forgetting harder.

I’m on the verge of forgiving one person in my life. That night made it kinda easier. We decided to have a drink. My first and her 11th(I mean she drinks rarely! I don’t know the number of times she drank).

STATUTORY WARNING: Drinking is injurious to health, so is talking, speaking, answering, discussing and everything.

6’o clock on that fine evening. We both decided to sleep over at our friend’s places after it. Yes! We are grown-ups and we can’t explain it to our homes. We are cheating on ourselves by cheating our parents. We know!

Judge us through all the ways you want for just the one reason that she asked me to drink. But if it reaches her ears, that is when your trouble starts.

It’s Mr.Jack Daniel’s turn to speak up. One gulp, quarter cup. Felt like someone set my oesophagus on fire. Drinkers all over the world! Why do you guys want to burn your food pipe!

“Don’t make me call an ambulance now!” she looked at me.

“It’s! It’s nothing” I tried to be casual.

“Why do you look like you’re going to kill yourselves then?” she laughed.

I heard that. But a headache started. I was trying to balance it out. Man! I was indeed doing it like a pro! One tip and I’m skipping on to what happened after the 5th round. If you are getting high when you don’t want to, just try to think something really different from anything running on your mind. It helped!

“I love you, Barath” she said.

“Eh!” that came out of nowhere.

“It won’t be romantic when I tell that again” she dragged.

“You know what! I am steadier than you!” I told a little loud.

“OK! Your first lesson of Alcoholics! Don’t think women can’t stand high like boys. In reality, women don’t get high like those heroines on-screen. That is bullshit! I meant what I said. In fact, I have told you that a number of times” she said.

The high wore down a little after those words. I could remember most parts of what happened that evening.

“Where do I start? Is it just an approval through words you want? Words are bitches sometimes! I write and I am still telling this” I started.

“There is never this, no strings attached feeling with words. We are accountable. I just have this tiny feeling of fear.  I don’t wanna lie to you about it. In fact, you are the one person I totally do not wanna lie about” took another sip.

“Clearly I don’t want to go the past. But I don’t have a present. I don’t know if.. if I can give this my all. I’m in this phase where every goal I walk turns out to be a mirage. I need you. I need you now. I’ll need you always. I am just this far from the Suicidal Thoughts.You know what gets me going YOU

“I don’t know if I am high. I don’t know how you define it. But alcohol gave me some serious confidence today” I think I said it all.

“This gives me some responsibilities. So I’m not going to let you drink a lot from today. You did speak so much and that matters to me. It’s just this freedom I have when I am with you that makes this so special for me. I don’t have that freedom even when I am alone. Wait! I don’t know if you are going to remember this evening properly!” she smiled while she said that.

“If I won’t rem..remember don’t tell any more important things. Already my memory power is damn poor” I stammered through.

“Barath! You are really in a good kinda high. You never accepted about this memory thing. Never before” she laughed at me.

“I think you got these words out. Not even Mr.Jack here. I’m down and normal. But this left side is less functional” I demonstrated.

She laughed again. You did not note that I told her I love her. She understood that. There is this one thing about humans. They keep you happy or teach you lessons! She was doing both and as I told in the very beginning, I am forgiving someone and Fuck! I am not drinking again! For sometime atleast!!

It’s time for the HOME RUN!

– just barath (c)

Maybe the last- Write side of the heart