Unnamed avenues

Take a minute off of whatever you are doing and look back. Look back at everything you left behind. If everything that you carry on your back is hiding your vision and disquieting, in both positive and negative ways, then this writing is just for you. Lend all your senses to this rant.

I am just a traveller. I travel from one heart to another. I do not stay anywhere and I know with more effort, a little luck.. I might find a heart that comes close to giving me a feeling of ‘home‘. There I would stay. I could have missed it or I could be missing it right now. Leave that to me. I am a walker, never a runner. When I am inside your heart, there’s a possibility of me either walking slowly to stay a little longer or me strolling around unnamed avenues and wondering about the mystery that you are.

“The unnamed avenues of the heart are the places where people fall in love and fall in hurt, in no particular order. The unnamed avenues are the roads that your parents asked you to stay away from when you were a kid. They are the crimson boulevards that look beautiful during the autumn to everyone and during the winters only to a few who are okay with nurturing it when it has no leaves. They are the streets that smell of champagne and whiskey. You know who begins with the champagne and who ends up with a whiskey. They are the roads that have broken window panes. Window panes broken because of the crumpled papers thrown at them Not a stone, not a fist, a crumpled paper with an unfinished rant. Don’t tell me you were lucky to find the crumpled papers that belonged to a duffer!”

Do you think I can find a way through all these? Have I been a good guide? Let me know. Because it is with this blind hope against hope I am inside you now. Trying to walk through! I am not listening to your directions, I am listening to your songs. I am not waiting for your promises, I am waiting for your stories that are going to keep me awake. Why do I want to be awake? Because I am not time-bound inside your heart. There’s no night and day. It’s thought-bound. I exist when you think about me and die when you don’t. And that’s one more reason a traveller like me believes that death is never the end and a million stabs can wound you but, never ground you.

I would like to make a toast to all the people, who might not be reading this now.

“All the ways I took lead me out of your heart. Do you still think I was lost? And does that qualify as a reason for everything?

…”

Thanks for lending me your senses, fellow travellers!
Auf Wiedersehen.
(Signed)
just barath.

Shooting Stars

What did the shooting stars do to deserve a moment of glitz

in the Infinity of time and sky?

A moment nothing more than

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A symphony short of the conductor.

 

Was it because of the burns that make it beautiful to the by-stander so far away?

Was it the friction?

Or was it the never ending falling out of love it symbolized?

 

I couldn’t really write or tell.

 

Even after being such shooting stars in the past,

Sharing the same core with her.

After all the burns that left me with only love and little common sense.

After all the black holes we believed we surpassed.

After all the scars,

A numbness for all but the pain of longing

A burn that is giving me a crushing pain that I’ll get used to.

 

A burn that will glow for the world,

Make no noise,

Meddle with sanity.

 

For it is

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A two-piece symphony short of the conductor.

Adventures of the Lazy Nose

Some homes smell of coriander, some have the smell of sewage, incense sticks, cakes and some have the smell of the alien inside their refrigerators. Every home you visit have a smell. You can easily figure out the simple mixes. But, yeah there are places that you can’t figure out this.

Did any of you try figuring out the smell inhabiting your place reading the previous passage? Don’t do it if you have been in this said place for a long time. It would be hard to figure out. Because, your noses would feel natural about the smell and does not take the extra effort. Lazy sensory organs!

I live in a sheeted house on the second floor of a cluster of houses. It very easily becomes a baking furnace in summers(minus the smell of cakes that fill the walls of a baking furnace). I would get roasted every afternoon. Sometimes I feel that my weight does not increase because of my home’s average temperature, after I read articles that stated, F1 drivers lose 3 kilos of their body weight after they complete a race, due to the temperature in their cock-pits(I am no good in science)

But, why am I ranting this now. Because, it’s raining and I am predicting my future, especially the Thursday of next week. And I will be moving out of this place that had been my home for 20 odd years. I am joining a firm in Noida, which is close to our national capital, New Delhi.

Straight out of college, confused, lost, depressed, nervous, I certainly know that I cannot ask for a better place to be than ‘the discomfort zone’. My family is ok with me staying home, finding a job close to home and not have the need to go away. But, I had to shift, be alone, face the troubles of bachelor life, miss home-cooked food, figure out shit, cry alone, live by jugaad and wander.

So, people reading this from any place other than India, just know that it’s not very Indian for person out of college to move out of his home for work. Most parents do not want that happening unless and until their son’s paycheck is heavy and the place is comfortable like home(duh). Daughters on the other hand mostly do not have this choice. If that’s not the case with you I am truly happy for you!

Everyone who has spoken to me about Noida, has not attached any positive connotation to it(which is really good). I myself do not have this utopic feeling towards it. I’ll be happy if the place is decent and the racial slurs are creative.

Let me just drop few lines from ‘The one who goes away‘-

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Coming back to the concept, I just hope my new home smells good and my nose gets used to it. And also the fact that it has to be ready to recognize changes in this often. Because by the same time, next week I’ll be there. The music will remain, my reading glasses will remain, my phone will remain but, connected to a power bank. I know for sure, everything else will be new and I will feel like a lost child or to be more precise a Nadaan Parinde!

See you soon delhi!

The Fallen Angel

Dear you,

You are the fallen angel. The sinner who fell wounded on my paper. And thanks for not acting like you’re the embodiment of innocence.

I know hell would be better than this. By the way, Did you know your sin? Your sin was not being real. Being a shadow of sorts; Being silent; Never reaching people on time; Never being simple. You were too complicated for heaven. They threw you out from that height only because you had wings and you can survive. 

You’re not going to be chained to darkness because, you are the brightest light we’ve ever seen.You are going to be chained to my ink. Your scars will become art on my paper. Your blood will be the spectrum for million colours. I don’t want your blood to fill up oases. Oases mostly become mirages. I just want you to reflect.

I know your wings are heavy and I know that broken wings are the heaviest. Hold my hand and learn to walk. You need to go away very soon. But, find the ink stains you left behind and get back to me if you wish. Just telling..

A day will come when I will not be holding your hand. So pick thyself up soon. Stand with me in my worse. I mean Verse.

For I have a destiny created for you. You will be remembered as the Fallen Angel, the sinner, the art I created. You’ll never be human, you’ll never be one among them, because humans don’t do forevers. You’ll stay in the form you fell down. A word. Not a Satan, not a monster, not a comet, but a Word.

Just when you became mine, your sins have become mine. Don’t Worry! I’m used to those confinements. And we’ll be forever. Fuck the muse, she’s lazier than you. I am not writing to her, until she comes. Okayyy! Don’t give me that look, I’ll write to her only having you around. You’ll be my messenger.

But, if this be the day I celebrate you, should I tend your wounds and let you fly?

Will you take me to your world once and for all, if I let you fly? Because, I am cold and I could use Two Wings for a Blanket. I am crying, I could use the headwinds to wipe it off.

– just Barath©

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என்னை தொடு வானமே!

Ennai Thodu Vaaname

அருகே உள்ள
அறைகளில் எல்லாம்
ஆதவன் நுழைந்துவிட்டான்.
நம் பாெழுதுகள்,
நம் அறைகளை மட்டும்
நிலவிடமே விட்டுவிட்டான்.

நிலவை மறந்த
பொய்களை எல்லாம்
காலை எரித்துவிட்டான்.
பொய்கள் கூறும்
கதைகளை மட்டும்
அறையின் வெளி இழுத்தான்.

விடியும் பொழுதில்
வடியா கண்ணீரில்
வானவில் மிளிரவிட்டான்.
இருளில் உளறும்
உண்மைகள் கேட்க
ஜன்னல்வழி கசிந்தான்.

நிலவை நேரில்
பார்த்த அவனோ
மேகம் அணிந்துவிட்டான்.
“இன்னொரு நாளா?”
விண்ணது வினவ
இயற்கை மறந்துவிட்டான்.

நம் விரல்கள் பிணக்க
குரல்கள் கனக்க
என்னை தொடு வானமே!

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!

She already has a gift!
A skill that I used to envy
And something I am not supposed to now.

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