the thing about beautiful worlds

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~
an unwarranted gloom sets in —

i tried to find a rug for my infantile,
bare room. my accessories include
doubly-pasted post-its, a yoga mat
unused for months, coffee-colored,
chocolate-textured curtains, and books
stowed in a cupboard atop each other
in prayer. i wanted something new
to add, to subtract despair from
this unmatched permanence.

i am emboldened by the monsoon
drains, how everything has peaked
into a kind of a nuisance, habituating
all my vices and sins — my world
is a beautiful place of longing, of
plastered cacophonies, of free agents
who take away from these chipping
walls, a piece of my unpleasant candor.

and all it takes to remind me of ugly
fantasies are the red lines that want to
restore my british spellings to american
ones — a hegemonic control over my
bearings. when did i start becoming
a product of capitalism? one too many
copies of me carried by bored crowds,
flipping through my innards, spitting
in my eyes to reach the end (for fuck’s
sake) already, of this half-way written
carrion story.

oblique — i resort to a redundancy of
words, and rusted thoughts — my world
is a beautiful place — vapid, stringent,
liquified to its last remains of nothing.

~

 

For Midweek Motif at PU.
Edit: Linking it up with dVerse OLN.

Image source: at the horizon of the strange world by Katja Reetz

***

I have been working on a new Insta handle for over a month now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

Life, right now

Okay, it’s been a long time coming. It’s strange how this place used to be a repository of all my horrid experiences in life and how it provided me refuge from the insurmountable grief of being alive and wading through the darkness of my mind, and how I stopped doing that entirely, focusing instead on something that came out to mean a lot to me. For a change, I am reverting to the original intent behind everything, perhaps behind every word I have ever written.

I know and I acknowledge that living is not easy. My college education made me aware of the social condition of so many people and communities all over the world. My experiences pale in comparison to those who struggle to even survive — death, illness, starvation, violence, war, et al. govern their lives and their actions every minute. I am so privileged to have a roof over my head, regular meals and clean drinking water to keep my body alive, healthcare provisions when I am sick and financial support for basic amenities and some leisure. How I live may deem to be luxurious by many and I am often ashamed of that. I try to be politically and socially conscious, raise my voice in whatever way I can against destitution and exploitation, and care about people around me. This is of course not enough.

I am not enough, even when I have all these privileges and luxuries. I am constantly fighting my own self, my own condition, my own mind, my life which seems to be adamant at breaking me down. Perhaps I am complicit in this internal violence. And it hurts at times. Otherwise, I have in a way blocked myself from feeling, from dealing with my own emotions or expressing them in a way which is direct and confrontational. So, I am doing this to try to undo my own resistance to the acceptance of my condition. Intrusive thoughts are a part and parcel of my everyday existence — panic attacks, suicidal thoughts and social anxiety are so inundated in me that I no longer heed my own pain.

Yes, I had to deal with some situations and circumstances which have left a deep impact on me, made me snivel and cry in the corner of my bedroom, holding my own self to get through the hour and the day. ‘One day at a time’: I had come to believe that as a dictum to help me through every day. What a limited condition to keep alive!

I finally had some control because I was busy for three years with my education. There were times when I would find myself in a dark chasm, but I could find my way out, find a light at the periphery of my vision and get on with it. Since completing that, it’s been three months and it seems I am back to where I was. Life has come a complete circle and I am still reeling from the things I had come to ignore and bury within my psyche.

I am not doing good. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I find myself not caring about it. Incidentally, a friend brought it to my attention after a pitiful thing happened to me today. She said that I am displaced from some solace the routine had provided me and that I am giving up now and that is making it worse. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I may be giving up on everything, and not just my career or romance or other sensory experiences.

And yet, I am not able to do anything about it. I don’t know how to take care of myself anymore. At least I am waking up every day, trying to read and write, having one or two meals, drinking plenty of water…

I am putting it all out there just for the small comfort that I am sharing it. How I always have this need to be understood! This is the only thing that keeps me going, for now, to be able to express and reflect upon my own breaking.

That is all.

funny story

it’s kind of a funny story-
how disgruntled life can be,
in short passages, we lose,
find a reimbursed amount
of despair, the ache to let go,
not dragging anymore one day,
a step taken where winds await,

a story told, yet is unknown,
the body counts, owe nothing,
the end doth come without cure

(For Ned Vizzini)

.

It was sad to know about the passing of Galen Haynes, aka G-man. May he rest in peace.
Linking it up with Flash 55 at With Real Toads and Poetry Pantry at PU.
Image source 1, 2

“Life can’t be cured, but it can be managed.”
Ned Vizzini, It’s Kind of a Funny Story

A self I have that kills when I am looking away

there I am decaying in

garbled words that escape my mouth,

divine intervention necessary

to keep me balanced on the ground,

as I burst open my tongue

throwing darts of mantras of

the language inherent in my nature

(which I would understand but I couldn’t),

.

that replies to stories of the future devised

that coils around my toes, up my thighs

piercing the heart with screeching pain

of ability hindered by self

that disintegrates with the slightest touch,

.

I am wicked, wane, vulturous, picking,

biting into my own putrid flesh

that reeks of ignorance and curse

of being the being that I am,

.

the night doesn’t offer condolences

but hypnotizes me in a lullaby

and the day virtuously smiles

keeping me adrift on a rowing boat

that only stays afloat to be falling apart,

.

they come and suck my vicious blood

to be cursed with my curse that is,

they arrive and leave their marks

which I rip apart to flow more of my self

as a bait for the poor enemy to consume me

before I dissect myself into pieces

spread on a broken road, lungs deflated,

stomach churning feet away, and my heart

in my palms, leaking, shrieking, as life

strangles it into numbness and there’s silence

.

Image source

Available For Free!

Company: Life Co. Ltd.

Brand Name: Durable Depression

Tagline: A hollow darkness is what prevails in the end.

.

Free! Free! Free!

available absolutely,

adamantly free,

whisper in your friend’s ears

or shout out loud

spitting on your microphones,

let everybody know,

let anybody and everybody know-

the dying man at the pier,

infant in the nursery,

the troubled actress,

the senile scientist,

masochistic husband,

a gullible wife,

stern mother-in-law,

the don of the mafia,

a middle school bully,

shy little girl who believes in fairies,

the eunuch who wants a new life,

a chalk addicted rock star-

let everybody know,

.

a poet’s soul is available for free,

come on dip your rags and

your dirty fingers and

the sickly nails of your toes,

drench your shampooed hair

in the filth of the words,

seeping out of this damaged soul,

take away with you-

some pain,

some lost compassion,

some torn dreams,

some of the bloody emotions,

some of the misinterpreted anger,

some of the unacknowledged hatred,

also that repetitive imagination,

those fervent wishes never coming true,

don’t forget the prickling thoughts,

or the ice-cold dead voice,

and the monstrosity of those feelings,

or that numbing numbness-

take it all away,

empty this tank of every single thing,

not a drop to be left behind,

it has no use anymore,

but for the hollowness,

that would be left behind

perpetuating forever

in its hollow state.

.

*For dVerse Poetics where Brian has prompted us to use slogans and catchphrases in poetry. I couldn’t think of an entirely written poem of slogans.