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Posts Tagged ‘talk’

Cut the line, if you do not want to hear what I’m saying.

Burn the page, if you do not like what you see.

I don’t have the habit of repeating myself

over and over again just to be understood.

 

Somehow, there will come a time that explanations

are not required. Questions are left unsaid

out of courtesy, while your mind is bubbling

with doubts, you need to accept me of who I am.

 

Like this, we talk on the phone without expression.

The heavy tone of your voice means a disappointment.

You’re definitely upset when I can’t catch you. And you

can’t catch me as we are both lost in translation.

 

Let us stop this virtual war. This undue vexation

of words coated in the niceties of being cerebral.

Can’t we simply talk as normal humans do,

caught in the flimsiness of conduct and etiquette?

 

You see, I didn’t plan to have more than five

stanza to this poem and keep on intellectualizing

on how stupid it was to win our every argument.

You know, sometimes you do not have to fight

 

every battles you are invited in. Just choose-

the best one. And argue with me. Fine.

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I can talk about my universe

like picking a good book

from the bookshelves and pretend.

As if my mind can fill the spaces

left as a void and of dusts

collecting at the edges.

Since the day I had let

somebody in.

 

I could leave good pictures

about art. About dance.

About the food and the drinks.

Of nice and pretty things

while you won’t discover

how tricky it is to conceal.

How easy it is to speak

about the avant-garde. 

The dead writers. The music.

 

I won’t show you the bookmarks.

The synopsis of chapters.

The highlighted paragraphs

almost torn to the leaf

where the watermarks

from my tears had faded.

I won’t let you read it.

 

I will let the cultured noise

suffocate me in silence

on something that begin

to reveal themselves.

Leaving handprints

and start mending

the pages of my heart.

I won’t let you do it.

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The past are days

like pages in a book.

On the first few pages

you can’t figure out

what the story is all about. 

 

Prologue.

 

“There is a man struggling

to find his place in this world.

Had his share of hits and misses.

Of crossroads where-

it is hard to decide

which road to walk into, and

on which doors to knock.

Afraid, that somebody may not

be there to turn the knob.

And open up.”

 

If only, these eyes can pause reading

and stop for a while at these words

that almost made me yawn and sleep.

Insignificant hours of keeping on.

Hoping this story will not lead

into another unhappy ending.

 

“Why do we have to be serious

all the time?”

 

Don’t ask me. It’s your problem.

The questions still left

hanging in there, moments.

When pages stood unclear,

incomplete with the sentence.

Waiting for somebody

to knock the door. I’ll open up.

 

“Is that all?  Is that all?

Is that all there is to wait

and it all boils down to this?”

 

Tempted to return to the first few pages.

Back to the parts when I remember

breaking down halfway through a paragraph.

As if not knowing how did it start

somebody talking to me. It should have

been better not to have read at all.

No clues from the beginning.

 

And the countdown to the hours

remains. Finish reading parts

on the last chapter- I confront.

Today- no happy ending.

 

 

Epilogue.

 

“And fear creeps in like a mirror

he have to face everyday.

There was a time when he need

to jump into the pond of uncertainty.

Searching the man in his reality,

faced with nagging bouts of questions-

What’s next? What’s on the other side?

What’s the  future?”

 

I can’t figure out.

What this story is all about. 

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