What happen when people die?

What happen when people die?
I am intrigued with the question.
It has haunted my loving spirit, breached the walls I kept solid all these years.
Why should I care what happens when people die until I am alive.

Why do we need to be associated with anyone?
Why can't we not be alone and sufficient?
Why can't alone be happy?

To be true , I am angry today.
I want to die.
Not die literally but I want to kill all my thoughts which constitutes me . Metaphorical death is what I want.
Safe. Secured. No one will know that someone died.

Remember Augustus Water's cigarette, the high metaphor!

I want my thoughts to die that death.
I want to know how does it feel to cut all the strings. The chain of thoughts killing all your instincts.

Don't worry ,I won't do any self-harm.
I am not that brave neither I have that grace to cover it.
But seriously tell me what happens when the thoughts die?

Does it hurt as much as it hurts to lose people? Is death worse than sudden disappearance?

I hope so it is.

Well. Lets. Just . Stop. Here.
Okay?

Try again. Love again.. Okay?

Even after trying for ten years ,
Giving your heart, sweat and commitment
Sometimes it's just not meant to happen...

So, what to do next?
Weep and lament over the lost love which you never received?
No,
All you can do is to just let it go...

I understand ot looks difficult and you are afraid whether you are truly capable enough to do it!

Doubt sure is welcomed.

But believe me, then one day , it all comes to you.
The courage to let go of everything that you had buried in your heart- wrapped feelings, discouraged ethics, uncertain signs and the soil you wanted to mix with theirs.

Above all you dig the courage of deleting 90747 messages of last one year which you read all those nights when the day was damp with the unwanted rain and night was dark with unwelcomed clouds.

The courage of deleting the number which was once your ocean and wiping the media and unstarring the messages on your whatsapp chat..

You know, it just happens.
It just happens like it just happened, a matter of second...

No questions asked, no queries put forth.
You give away the part,
Afterall what would you do with a tree which is neither blooming nor withering ?

Nothing..
You do nothing with such tree.
you just let uourself know that it's okay for it to be as it is..

You simply walk away because there is nothing you can do about it...

Now,I want to embrace you really tight this time,
To cheer you up and to tell you that it's fine to feel light , it's okay to breathe light.

It's okay to not to be okay for sometime ..
It's okay to recenter the location of your heart towards your new aspirations and begin again.
.
.
.
So, love ..try again, love again. okay ? 

Aster – A flower representing faith

Frame

This body is like a frame
Our souls are the paintings
Like the one we see In the art gallery,

The frames are usually made of glass, wood, or maybe cheap plastic
Yet handling the soul made of soil
With depth of honey and
Burning sensation of coal.

our soul fights everyday to come out of the frame, almost everyday to scream and breath and lie down on the green grass of our lawn and gaze at the open sky,
Only to realise, Maybe the frame is not just a frame but a maze of karmic connections.

There are endless reasons for us to remain in the maze
Yet we need just one to be out of this world...

Eventually the body is yet again just a frame within the frame.

What am I?

What am I? 
I thought for a while,
So,when people started detaching, I started attaching myself to them.

When people talked of love as pain and loneliness as treasure, I started cheering for love loudly.

When people stopped trusting , I started putting my trust in everyone.

When everyone believed in irrationality, I vowed to maintain my sanity.

What is normal to you is normal to me except what's abnormal to you is also normal for me.

I ain't a saint or a sinner. I am not divinity , just a human.
Mere human.

At last if you ask
Who am I ?
A paradox is what I conclude.

Stay

I want to copy the lines of the pinterest poet here, 
As he is the one who romanticized the world for me,
For he told me it's good to be awake late nights,
To write my thoughts, inappropriate yet thoughts here.

What he forgot to tell me that romance is nature ,
A movement of early 19th century curated by poets like PB Shelly, John Keats and ofcourse Lord Tennyson .
My trembling fingers touched the 'Ode to the west wind','Ode to the Autumn'.
Oh! How could I forget Porphyria's lover.


Words should flow as Woolf has said,
Yet Mine are reluctant to come out .
Is it that difficult to utter the word,'Stay' , at 4.30am ?




3 AM

Image courtesy- Pinterest – cityyart7

Love,
It’s 3 am, you are asleep but I can’t close my eyes.
Woken up for a long time, what should I do?
I thought for a while and then a thought sprouted and
I imagine you talking to me,
Talking?
How many days has it been since we last talked? Had a conversation?
Well, we have been avoiding “The Conversation” since 2019.
Yet you are peacefully asleep in other Country, other state, other city and
I am wondering when the sun rays will strike the window panes and I won’t regret that all the metaphors, similes,  and imageries elude me at this time of night when I hold my pen to write to you of my loneliness, sorrow I feel each day spiralling round and round engulfing my heart and soul in its loop deep.

Before I am stuck in the loop, I got up and drenched my hair in cold water, searched about the hair care remedy, read poems and yet it’s just 3.20 am.

Overthinking? No! No! No!
I have learnt a trick of wearing the elastic band on my wrist,
Already pulled it twice.
Ah! It’s going to be a long and tiring night.

DEFINITION

WHAT IS  LOVE? 

This question has haunted me for years now.
what is love ?
Everyone tells us that it is being happy in someone else's happiness, it is accepting someone as they are.
Love is imperfect, it's imbecile ,
It's sane and insane and could be counted on fingers.
No, It can't be counted though but it can be measured as in the depth of your heart.

Everyone told me how to find love,
With this advice , seek love as it is seeking you.
okay !
I agreed and did as adviced,
Seems like it is seeking me in some parallel universe.

So I stopped.

But after giving it no serious thought for past few years , Today out of a halo I learnt what love is.

Love is breath. Before you assume what's new in my argument !
Let me tell you this theory I came up today at 4.30pm.

Love means the air in your lungs which can't be expelled. It doesn't matter if you do/don't pay attention to it. It will remain there.

Few years back In biology class I learnt about the residual air that remains in the lungs and that's what I say is love.
That air is present even though you slowly inhale or quickly exhale. The momentum of your breathing has no impact on it. There is no if or but about its existence . It remains unchanged irrespective of the lungs volume . It just is.
Until one day you realise that it is at the verge of leaving your organs.
That day is the day when you truly understand that with it gone, you will stop existing.

That's my dear reader , Love is.

Silence

I am dragged to one secluded corner of the room by an unknown woman,
I don't think I know her,
She looks like my mother but is too brave to act like her.

Well, the story continues...

While she dragged me, I had a vision
In which the abuses he hurled at me in the past were visible,
The most recent one being called a bitch.
A child born of your blood is called "bitch", Well that's unfortunate I thought and stopped the train as in haste.

What do you say, my dear reader, was I right?

No, I don't mind being called one,
Should I let the opinion of one man leave an ugly impression on my mind?
Sometimes I think I should let all the abuses be absorbed,
Some day I am a little braver,
And pity him for his words.

To be frank, I find the later section more courageous, full of valour
So, I tend to hear from an ear and take it out from another.

But the woman today made me stand in a corner,
Went back into the room
Asked him if I deserved the words he spoke to me?

I apologise but it doesn't make any sense,
Why is she talking about me?
Doesn't she know I have learnt to live without being affected?
Yet I heard her
And remembered someone telling me It's alright sometimes
When someone decides to stand for you.