I Was Flying Over The Clouds

Colour red

You think you can tame me

Just because this pendent of your name

Is hanging from my neck

You think I wouldn't cross the threshold

Just because the sound of my anklets

Are more loyal to you

You think my identity belongs to you

Just because the bangles I wear

Is marked by your name

You think I would obey you

As the commands of those Gods

Just because you coloured me red.

I was tired of this unending race

So I paused to take a breath

The exhaustion,

The weighing down emotions

I took a minute to acknowledge it all.

But when I opened my eyes again

I was stranded in a land

Lost in time

Couldn't find a soul

Be it a friend or a foe.

The world can always find ways to disappoint you, even in the things you have no expectations in.

Many came before me,

Many have yet to come.

To profess a velleity,

To seek direction,

Standing right here,

Where you can see

The light of hope

Rising from the horizon.

Ever wondered what it feels like to breathe under the ocean; to taste the water from the grey cloud; to touch the seven colours of rainbow?

Ever wondered how it feels to live in a world where days start with shadows or exist in a void to that makes you practically weightless?

You remember that day, I saw you in the park?

You were sitting on a swing with a little girl on your lap. A goofy smile was plastered on your face, so real that it burned my heart. I know, you sensed me watching you as you abruptly looked my way.

And I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I looked away before you caught my eyes. I'm sorry that for a little while, it dimmed your charming smile.

The truth is that I'm jealous. Jealous of the way you embrace life, when I feel so burdened by it. Jealous of how brave you must be, to be able to smile in a world like this. You seem to have mastered the art of living while I'm still figuring out its meaning.

Isn't life a little strange?

We all know how it begins and ends

But we still want to live through it

Is it because how we live matter

Or 'cause that's the only thing in our hands?

Or maybe it does matter

Not for us

But for the people of the future

We all know that

The epilogue has already been written

But wouldn't it be a victory for us

If on our way, we could make the path

A little less hard

A little more clear

Not for us

But for the people of the future

Insignificant, like a dust, that's what I am.

Hate me

I won't blame you

If you shred me into pieces

I won't blame you

If you skin me alive and spit on my face

I'm a waste of space anyway

Undeserving of your love.

A sinner by birth.

A blackened heart,

That's used to the rage and hatred,

It can't build something so sacred.

So leave while you can

Before I stain you with my rust

Like everything else I touched

And turned it into meagre dust.

My heart sinks with some unknown feeling,

Whenever you look at me

for not being worth more than dirt,

not being worthy of your unswerving love,

For every beautiful moment you give me

my masochistic soul screams from inside

"Don't torture me by giving me hope,

Just hate me like I deserve."

How does it feel

To be alone in a mourning

Amongst the crowd of people

Singing and dancing

How does it feel

To be not be able to scream

While your heart is being sliced

In thousand little bits

How does it feel

To be burning in a sea

And concealing the scars

Behind a polite smile

How does it feel

To finally realise

How insignificant

Your life truly is

How does it feel

Wanting to be erased

From everyone's mind

While craving the attention

At the same fucking time

Misshapen

Sometimes I feel a weird kinship

with those misshapen clay pots,

That lay discarded and forgotten.

At first like a new born baby,

It too sits on the centre of potter's wheel,

Soaking up all the attention it needs.

But as the life goes on,

And the wheel of time is spun,

Just like the clay in the hands of potter,

We are strained by the hands of humanity,

Bending to the world's whim,

Smoothing out our deformity,

To be accepted by the society.

But when after all those pottery,

We still turn out misshapen,

Just like those deformed clay pots,

We're easily discarded and forgotten.