I'm not okay - YourQuote6

I'm not okay - India Poetrical Tour

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'Things I Will Never Tell You' by Nayanika Chatterjee | English Poetry |...

I forgive him

I ache to talk to him, Across a cup of tea or out on the roads or under the blankets – anywhere. I ache to have a conversation with him.

About everything.
This universe. Destinies. Roads. Why black is his favorite color? Does he zone out at work? What scares him? Does he believe in alternate universes? What is his haven? Us.

That’s the thing about him – more than love or happiness, I find safety and comfort in him. I don’t feel hesitant or I don’t have to be someone I am not. It’s okay if my hair is not washed or my legs are not shaved – it’s okay as long as I have him. Had him.

But he just comes and goes. And when he goes, he takes away my sense of okay. As it is, I don’t know how to be okay most of the time. I can’t not-be-okay because I don’t want to answer the hundreds of why-are-you-not-okay, so I pretend to be okay, but actually, I’m not okay.

The times when I see him smile or laugh, those are my favorite moments. Like, it’s okay if we are not together – I will find a way to go on.  I don’t hold on to grudges – I forgive him for all the empty promises he made, for pretending to pull me together and then breaking me worse, for not loving me as much as he showed off; I forgive him for not even willing to fight for me – I forgive him.

Just don’t let the smile drop.

It makes me happier to see you happy.

Sea shore

Strangers don't hurt you
Unfamiliarity can't break you
It is always someone close,
someone you consciously chose
to let in through the walls,
and hold you through your falls.

They come in and make themselves at home,
walking carelessly over your house of foam.
They put up their feet on the coffee table
where you knit your countless fables.
They bring in blizzards,
and snatch your blanket to keep warm.
They turn off the lights and snore,
while you lay curled on the cold floor.

But you don't ask them to leave,
because you can't ask them to leave.
You can't turn your back on your kin,
you are supposed to stay together through thick and thin.
Even if that kills you every second of every day,
you will sell your soul to make them stay,
until there is nothing left of you anymore
not in the sea, not on the shore.

The end.

Endings don't come with
clear, dark border lines
where your colors
shouldn't overlap.

Endings don't come with the
ticking of a time-bomb
about to explode.

Endings just come.
Faceless. Soundless.
Sometimes, timeless.
And when they do,
you just know.

You know it
deep inside your heart
that there will be no more
last-things you do
or goodbyes or
farewell in any form.

Whoever said endings
are beautiful, is
simply fooling with poetry.
Because they are not.
Endings are painful.
They kill you.
They rip you apart.
They feed on your remains.

Endings are intangible.
You don't see them,
you don't hear them.
You just feel them.
The dead. The end.

I will not fall for you again

Don't look at me the way
your eyes had pierced mine
that rainy evening
under the pink lights.

Don't give me those
above-average tight smiles
like there are so many words
held back by the rigid
boundaries you created.

Don't talk to me in
cryptic phrases and one-liners
just for the sake of conversation.

Don't laugh out louder than required
just to make me hear the sound.

Don't hold your gaze
when our eyes meet.

You wanted to leave.
You wanted to stop,
You wanted to end.
I let you.

Then why would you half-quit?
As if, deep inside, you're at war with yourself.

If you want to go away, go away completely.
There's the door. Just leave.
Don't look at me. Don't talk to me.
Don't be near me.
Don't pretend that you don't know
what I am talking about.

Because I've been through hell
and I have no intentions of
dancing on burning coal again.

I will not return your long gazes,
or smile when you talk to me.
I will not walk over to
where you're standing.
I will not.
Never again.
I will not fall for you again.

I will not guess your thoughts
and second-guess my decisions.
I will not try to read between your words
and judge your actions
Because honestly, I don't have
that kind of energy for you anymore.

So, when I try to undo the mess,
here, stop redoing it.
Because you're hitting a rock.
I will not fall for you again.

It always comes back to this.

It always comes back to this.
The rain will stop pouring,
on this barren land.
The lightning will stop tearing
the skin of the sky.
The thunder will stop destructing
the silent cries of the crickets.
The wounds will stop bleeding.
The pain will stop killing.

And when it all stops,
it will come back to this -
this nothingness I carry,
this nothingness that I have
been carrying for years now,
this nothingness.
It always comes back to this.

A Town of Memories: I would never know

A Town of Memories: I would never know: I stood under the lamppost reading out a letter to you. My back was to you, so I did not know if my words reached you. I would never k...

I would never know

I stood under the lamppost
reading out a letter to you.
My back was to you,
so I did not know if
my words reached you.
I would never know.

I brushed the tip of my fingers
over the calluses on your palm.
You brushes off the tears
that rolled down my cheeks.
Whether you felt the connect
when my skin touched yours,
I don't know.
I would never know.

You pulled me close
and I hugged you as tight as I could.
You told me to be strong because
letting go is the right thing to do.
But letting you go was perhaps
the hardest thing I have ever done.
Whether you knew this or not,
I would never know.

You lit one cigarette after the other
and I felt my soul being burnt
and rising up hand-in-hand
with the smoke from your stub.
Last night has been the saddest,
coldest and loneliest of all
sleepless nights.
Whether you slept well or not,
I would never know.

There are so many stories I had to tell you,
so many scars I had to show you,
but you would never know.
It all came down like the
necrotic yellow leaf
that broke off from the tree
and landed quietly on
the cold, gray road.

Whether my necrosis is as quiet as the leaf
or the noisy drum-roll inside my head,
I don't know.
But my necrosis is the right thing at the moment.
Or so you said.
Whether you actually believe it or not,
I would never know.

Twenties

The 20s is the most confusing phase of your life.

Everything seems disoriented, chaotic and rushed. You live in the extremes - your nerves constantly on the edge. You either can't sleep because you're so heartbroken or you sleep all day because you're so severely hungover.

There are times that take you high up on the clouds - dancing-in-air, so happy, and then there are times that pull you right down to the bedrocks and you think you'll never recover.

There are days you plan for the weekend or this is where we'll go next month or we're going to do this next year - your mind so active in those long-term plans that you have already decided what to wear on that vacation. There are also days when you want to bury yourself under the blanket, shut down the world and just wish you were dead.

There are times you are so angry that you can feel the world charring at your touch and the walls retreating to escape the wrath of your fury. There are times when you just take a deep breath and let it all go.

Some days you have so much love to give - the warmth and fuzz and liveliness being too much to wrap around the world; and some days you think you would catch a cold from the ice inside your soul.

Some nights you can't sleep because you think there are monsters under your bed; some nights you can't sleep because these monsters are poking from under your skin; and some nights, you give a damn.

There is a question mark in every breath. Clarity is an alien term.

All our lives we're finding things - a misplaced key, a lonely sock, pen caps, safety pins, phone numbers, Skype IDs.. but in our hearts, we're all ever only looking for answers.
Answers to questions that jab you and nab you and prick you and nibble you. In the end, you just want to feel okay. You just want to live one more day. You just want to sit at your window with a cup of coffee. You want to stare at the rain and feel the caffeine spread through your veins before the questions hit your brain.

Every spoken word, every action, every reaction will have an impact, will have a consequence. If I do this now, that will happen later. And we don't do it now because we think we're not ready for the consequence. But have we ever been ready for the consequences all along? Have we ever been able to predict yesterday that this is how today is going to be? No - things have happened to us and we have dealt with them, good or bad, right or wrong, and we're alive. Still going.

I'm 22 and I spend half my life thinking how things will be at 25 or 37 or 50.
I'm sure you do that too.
Let's all stop.

Stop wasting our time thinking about things we cannot control.
Stop being beaten by our pasts.
Stop carrying the baggage.
Stop pretending.
Stop procrastinating.
Just stop.

It's okay.
It's okay if you eat a double cheese burst pizza.
It's okay if your abs are not showing.
It's okay if you have failed a subject or two.
It's okay if your hair is frizzy.
It's okay if you date someone with no intention of marrying them.
It's okay if you want to dye your hair a weird shade of blue.
It's okay if your periods are late.
It's okay if you have exhausted all your money in a pub.
It's okay if you have thrown up after just a peg.
It's okay if you have broken someone's heart.
It's okay if you part.
It's okay.
It's all okay.
Trust me.

It's okay because you are doing it while you still can.
Don't worry if it is right or wrong, if he'll stay or leave, if this is how things should be, if this is how you ought to be -
don't think.

Because now is the only time when you can do things without thinking them through.
Even if you're marking mistakes, don't hesitate to make another. This is the only time to make mistakes. Collect your scars and wear your wounds. Bear the pain, but go for it again.
The only thing you shouldn't have later is regret - regret that you wished, you could have, you should have. Do it while you can.

And even though your 20s is the most confusing phase, it is also the most happening, most unpredictable and most adventurous phase of your Life.
Live it while you still can.

A Town of Memories: Meet only to part

A Town of Memories: Meet only to part: Imagine a universe where the full moon never called out to the tides; or where the gentle breeze didn't kiss your skin on long ne...

Meet only to part

Imagine a universe
where the full moon
never called out
to the tides;
or where the gentle breeze
didn't kiss your skin
on long neon rides.

Imagine a universe
where the waves never embraced
the sand on the shore;
or no flying embers
of a cozy bonfire
as you listen to ancient folklore.

Imagine a universe
where the clouds never
sent down rain;
or the comfort of
a wound healing
after scars, scabs and pain.

Imagine a universe
where the trees never shed
themselves in autumn;
or no beautiful rainbows
created out of the fusing
rain and summer sun.

Imagine a universe
where the moon never
awakened in drowsy daylight;
or where you didn't
have to hold on to the string
to fly your kite.

Imagine a universe
where the graphite of your pencil
never touched the paper;
or the brief connect of
two mountain ranges
where the sides taper.

So many things
in this world
meet only to part,
and there is beauty
in the separation -
in the chaos, there is art.

We only have what we have -
why get into the nitty-gritties;
you and I are atomically relevant
in such bigger infinities.

Coming undone - again

What we have

what we want

what we can have

and what we wish to have

are four continents separated

by endless oceans of

murky decisions,

ruthless situations,

foggy vision

and repeated fission.

Whether you listen to

the heart or the head,

you can feel the beats ebbing,

the texts unread,

so many stories unsaid,

and you return every night

to restless sleep on a cold bed.

The cracks peep again

only the light that was awaited

never found its way in.

The cold rain fills the gap,

the chill hitting you crisp like a slap.

The conscience blames, the guilt melts

but pain, my friend, demands to be felt.

I stand at the bend of the road

getting drenched in the showers 

I let on upon myself.

I pull the sleeves right up to the fingertips

stare at the shore and the disappearing ships

I pull myself closer and breathe into my fists

and welcome the downpour, the chill and the mist.

I'll be okay but at the moment

it's all a little insane because

I am coming undone - again.

 

When people tell you to "Move On"

There are two words
that are heard more than courtesy calls;
words that are meant to deep
but rarely do they seep
beyond the skin
because they're hollow,
they're shallow
and no amount of intensity
can make you act upon it.

How can you act upon it
when every little thing,
sight or sound
takes you all the way round -
back to where it started,
back to where you parted.
How can you?

You get used to the pain,
the emptiness inside,
the rawness that pricks
every now and then
reminding you
yet again..
of everything you so wish to forget.

Pints of forgetfulness don't help,
they only give you a lasting ache
throbbing at the back of your mind,
in the center of your chest
of the mess inside your head -
all that is waste.

Then one day, someone walks in
through the doors
and you see light
after too many dark nights.
It could be the sunshine
you were craving all this while,
or it could only be a flashlight
breathing until the batteries run out.

People will keep asking you to move on
even after you have moved on.
They will point out your flaws,
voice your insecurities
and shove you down.
They will shake you and break you.
But if you listen to me,
Take the chance, call out to the light-man.

Can you teach me to unlove?

Everywhere I look -
I see the grey clouds romancing the horizon;
paper boats sailing happily in puddles;
a young couple holding hands;
a lipstick-stained rim of a half-empty coffee mug;
dew-covered pink flowers smothered with mud;
everywhere I look the planet is spelling love
and I think of him.

Everything I hear -
the crickets calling out at night;
the thunder guarding the sky;
a similar honk of his bike;
the sound of rain kissing the soil;
everything I hear is reminding me of so many - yesterdays
and I think of him.

There are poets preaching love;
artists spreading love through
the strings of the guitar
or the strokes of their brushes
or the jingle of the ghungroo-s..
there are how-to books on love!

But, I'm running away
from the memories,
from the yesterdays,
from him.
I don't want to love him,
can you teach me to unlove?

Blind date with my job!

Butterscotch walls
and a hundred desktops,
Formally dressed in
Painfully high heels,  no flip flops.

I walk in with my heart in my mouth
All self consolations rapidly heading south.
Self doubts grow and choke me like climbers
The fire in me dying down to embers.

I take a seat
Trying to hide my trembling feet
Waiting for whosoever is to come
Ticktacking on my phone and chewing gum.

He arrives at last
With an unpleasant blast
He hasn't even started
And the inner me has already retreated.

I want to run away before
The onset of the rain
But for a little monetary gain,
I will subject myself to this mental pain.

But maybe if I ran away now
I would never learn how
This works,
Maybe I would like it
Maybe I wouldn't,
But how much time is
Enough time?
I hope I understand
Before I burn down to sand.

I know that I will see you - again.

It happens too rarely

in Life that we are sure

of certain things.
Neither reason works 

nor logic,

there is no paradigm;

but the complex workings

of the heart have rarely

followed a pattern.

I am uncertain of my tomorrows;

an identity crisis haunting me;

there aren't many things that

I am sure about - except this one.

Don't ask me why or how

For I don't know that now..

But out of all my unknowns,

I know that I will see you - again.

Someday, somewhere -

and I know I would still care.

It could be tomorrow when the sky is uneven

or it could be years until we are sixty-seven.

It could be your favorite blue tee under the pines

or it could be your cane with laughter lines.

It could be a coffee shop

or a mall or the airport;

or it could be the same place 

where I had seen you last - 

across the road.

But I hope I see you later,

much later -

when were both stronger,

smarter and better;

because if I see you now,

I might fall for you again

and you will wash over me 

like the gentle rain.

Don't ask me why or how

For I don't know that now..

But out of all my unknowns,

I know that I will see you - again.

Patch me Up

The diffused sunlight spills
onto my palms as if saying
their final goodbyes,
it will be a long time
before this sunshine
touches my skin again.

I had come in
with a heavy heart
because I had to leave
home to be here;
I leave tomorrow
with a heavier heart
because I am
leaving home - again.

I leave with the intention
of coming back,
with holes in my soul
and I know you will
patch me up.
You will heal me
and one day,
I will become
this diffused sunlight
spilling on somebody's palms.