What Do I Do?

Did you hear that sound? Like something fell off from somewhere? That drop of water falling onto an uncleaned dish in the sink? Hear those steps? Is somebody coming over?

This flutter in the heart! Oh, God!… What is happening! Don’t we say gut feelings are never wrong? Then what calamity is about to befall me? What is it that could go wrong? I should probably do nothing today, nothing at all, and stay here. Staying indoors would make sure nothing can befall me. And nobody can know where I am if I just stay in bed the whole day.

But even when I am in bed I just can’t sleep. Sleep could have helped. I just could be without any reality, without any realization of reality.  But then, this damn sleep, I dunno where it went. I am just so sleepless. As if I have been sleeping for years!

What happened to my tired body? Did it not yearn so earnestly for sleep? For some rest? Some respite for the heavy schedule and the constant busyness? Where did all that tiredness-induced sleep go? Why just could I not sleep and get respite from my talkative brain for some time? Why can’t my brain just leave me alone?

Oh, some dog is barking somewhere! Did it see a satan or an angel? Or is it a mere stranger that is making them bark like this? What if an army of satans is coming to take us over? Would we all sin? All indulging in stuff they have been resisting for a while now? Things that they have been denying themselves?

Why is there this sudden thunder? Where did clouds come from? Is it raining? Would it rain? The dogs must have left to find shelter. There is no mourning, no barking anymore. Did God intervene? I can hear the rain now. Slight pitter-patter. Rahmah as it is seen. Did He ward off all the satans? Did he protect humanity?

But my heart is still fluttering. If the satan has been warded off, then why this fluttering? This anxiety?

Why can’t I just fall asleep?

And this fluttering, why won’t it end. Just why? Now it is even escalating. I suddenly find my heart sinking. As if something just went wrong. As if I felt some devastating loss. As if I am the only mourner and all of the grief is meant for me. And I am sinking deeper in this every minute. Every passing second. I can feel the blood drain out of my hands, my limbs. As if my core needed all the resources around. Yet I have no idea of what is causing me this agony, this pain. Why am I being tormented like this? What sin had I done to call upon myself such strange feelings?

The feeling of being trapped. Of being isolated.

Sylvia Plath. Wasn’t it she who wrote about a glass container that stood over her head, constantly, and separated her from everyone else. Maybe from her own self too. Bell Jar. She called it bell jar. Is it this jar hanging over my head too? Is it this glass that is segregating me from everyone? Preventing me from communicating, from connecting, from forming relationships, friendships? From anything human?

This sinking just won’t stop. I want to scream. Scream all this pain out. This strange feeling. This helplessness. This urge to have someone and the desire to be alone. This need of talking to someone, having someone to listen to me and yet having nobody. Hating all those people who keep asking what happened? What do I tell them what happened? Nothing happened, did it? It is just me, and my brain talking to me. Driving me crazy every passing second. Getting onto my nerves. Making me anxious. What do I do?

I just want to run away from all of this. All of this pain. People keep asking what it is and I have nothing to tell them. I just want to run away to some isolated, some uninhabited place. And scream. Scream till my lungs are numb. Till no voice can come out anymore. And with those screams, scream out all this helplessness too. This helplessness of not having any words. Of not being able to express what happened to me or what is it that I am going through.

Would those screams, that loss of energy help me? And even if it does, where should I go? I even don’t know a place that is isolated enough. What do I do?

I have no place to be myself.

Maybe I should get over this urge of finding a place well-suited for me. Maybe I can never fit in.

Maybe I should just stop thinking and sleep!

 

For Half a Year or More

Half a year I couldn’t talk to you…
To anyone.
I dread a conversation now that I can.
I got no answer for how I am
Or have been all this while.

I am reduced to be a memory
No one knows I still exist

I have no words anymore
I falter at your questions
Grope around to find words
But all is dark and I find none

I run away!

An Endless Wait

A moonless night
A curfew
A fresh fear

All is still and my room is lit
By the light across the street
Everything else, dark

No sound penetrates the silence tonight
No soundtracks in a groom’s caravan
No dogs howling…

The city is locked down
Again.

I look at the dark sky, wondering over my plans
And now, silently,
Awaiting my destiny to unfold.

Ready to Die

Every day I see people worked up
Looking for something, searching
Cursing, complaining, swearing…

I look at nature,
the clouds moving, the sun hiding
The birds happily chirping away

I look in the mirror, standing, staring
Looking happy and content
Maybe I should die

Oblivion

This oblivion. Sometimes it is good.
Many times, like now, it is killing
Like it were alive.
Stabbing and jeering at us. As if we have been enemies since centuries

 

Free of the Stabbing Pain

You know that fancy,
Having a broken glass in hand
Sharp, and striking it through the wrist
Over and over again!

Tearing everything in the path
The threads, the skin, veins
Gushing blood and moments of pain
Counting till the last

Visions of all the was
the knives that stabbed
cups, full of poison
and that helplessness…

And now free, free of everything
Free of all the stabbing pain

 

What Pinched Him?

It is raining. I am warm and cosy in my bed. A cup of coffee and some books add to the pleasure. And I guess everyone using Facebook now is equally cosy and at ease.
But some people aren’t. Some people are being thrown out or beaten just because of their identity. And the fact that something happened in their area, in their they had no say whatsoever.

Even they aren’t the reason for my post this time. The reason is the constant revenge posts in my feed. My six years of NCR gave me a lot of friends who proudly call themselves Indian. I am glad to have them. But after the Pulwama attack everyone, almost everyone is posting solitary with the soldiers and how they want revenge. From Pakistan and from Kashmir.

The 45 soldiers who lost their lives might not have deserved this. But did anyone step back for a moment to consider why a 20 year old youth would want to blow himself up? He wasn’t raised in the so called Afghanistan and told killing people will bring him to Jannah. He was raised in a village in Kashmir where I am pretty sure he was told, and it was emphasised that suicide is one of the gravest sins. That once committed, the doors of jannah are shut for him. That this suicide results in eternal hell.
Then why? Why would a person having his life ahead of him take such a step?
Why wouldn’t he consider the fate of his family after he is gone? Didn’t he know how families of militants are treated? Didn’t he know that even if PM wouldn’t say anything, army would avenge itself? Would at the minimum burn his house down. Beat all the Male members up and harass them at every opportunity? In a fit of rage, his mother and sister could be raped?

Or was it because he had had so much of this pain and trauma that he couldn’t hold back?

After all, does it not need immense strength on part of a person to just blow himself up? How many of us can survive that thought without tearing up? How many of us can could the time, the seconds till our death? And then cause our own death too? How many?

Or was it that he was already so dead inside that no heaven or hell mattered to him anymore? That he had seen enough to blow up not just himself but 40 other people too?

If he was so traumatised didn’t he know the families of these people would be in pain too? What had happened that rendered him numb to everyone’s pain? Tears?

Did anyone think, or ask for his story before asking for revenge? Did anyone even care to seek out the wounds inflicted on him? The reason that he drove to his own death?

Tormentor

I sit with him, Ah! the pleasure
His eyes, the way he smiles
chiseled biceps!

He asks, I speak
The trauma at my heart
What is it that keeps poking me

I speak of red,
The spilled colour
The bundle of joy dead on a street

I speak of a bed
Devoid of rest
Haunted by nightmares

I speak of rooms;
Painful, brutal sounds
Electrocution

I speak, unaware
the words incoherent
the ache, constant….

My tormentor, moved to tears
I, unphased, numb
unaffected

Difference

Remember the last time you said mother? Parent? Care? Oh! So much of concern. How you should be aware of their feelings, and how our lives should revolve around them? Remeber saying they should be the centre of our world? The very thing that we should be constantly aware of? Careful of? Mindful of?

Remember saying that our lives should be dedicated to their care, paying them back for what they did for us as children? Remaining indebted and trying to make things even. More out of the intent to repay their favours rather than out of gratitude…

Why could they not understand that gratitude is not always shown by doing as the other asks. Gratitude is not giving someone control over your life. Gratitude is doing something for that other person out of your own personal will. The way you want to.

But when it comes to giving up control and freedom; when they ask to specifically take instructions and do whatever they say, this is not paying back or showing gratitude. This is enslavement. Under the worst pretext available.

There is a great difference between gratitude and slavery.

Mine!

I see the Beloved
Joy
Indulgence

Somehow a name escapes
Someone on his mind
I turn mad

Ablaze,
How someone could adore his lips
Unbearable

I take a dagger
Confronting
Wound her through and through

A dull ache, I check
My wounds oozing blood
I kill myself