Nothing is silent here, Vai B. Charm [100 best novels of all time TXT] 📗

Warning : This might make no sense.

I never realise how it happens,
but at times I find myself
sitting and contemplating life
with my jaws shut so tight
that it hurts
and when my throat starts to go dry
I realise
that I wasn't breathing
for the past few minutes.

Ever saw reminder posts
telling people to drink water
and breathe deeply?
those are for me.

Last time I was happy enough to laugh so hard that it hurts,
I was faking it.

To touch you was heavenly,
sitting in your lap that day
I thought I was finally going to cry.
read again, I thought, just thought.
.
(i am trying to talk about things which are of some importance to the world but....)
.
The first time I wept freely
I was a newly born in the arms of my father,
the last time I did so
I was a mess of arms and legs
with one other human being.

Here I am again
scribbling about stuff
which doesn't matter much
neither to me, nor to others
(to me it does matter, but this fact doesn't matter in itself)

If I could write about things of importance
at the time when they are important,
it will be a different thing altogether.
.
//let this be the end, otherwise I will end up telling you how a galaxy ate up another//

Letting go?

There's no remedy for broken pieces

No plasters to put on hearts

No bone to be set right

This lump of muscles
breaks so hard, that irreparable is a small word.

To describe the pain is to waste ink.

It's poetry this pain,
as they say,
Art.

If broken and damaged means art, then be it so.

I can't....
I don't have the energy to pick up the pieces now and solve this puzzle.

This is not a jigsaw puzzle,
the pieces don't fit.

One is lost for sure
the others I myself stepped on.
(sorry I was sleepwalking in daylight)

It's hard to imagine, but people live in pain alright.

Don't show me that happy face, I can see the underside.

The upside down crescent moon is up today,
pale light goes all over but my heart.

There's an ongoing night inside,
Long
as if on poles
always cold.

There are only two seasons I know.

One is when leaves fall,
the other one is Winter.

Gloom floats in the air and on doorways it lingers.

I am not waiting, I am myself going.

I don't have energy to wait now, nor the will to hold on.

I am not letting go, that's not me.

But, I have lost you for ever it seems.

Sadness

 

what does one know of sadness

grief doesn't exist outside you, to swallow you whole

it originates from your insides and wraps you in its long arms

holds you underwater long enough to loose breath but not long enough to die

grief is the time you spent sitting under the shower yesterday trying to cry

weeping isn't grief, but not being able to sure is

the fights between you and your conscience are food for it

grief lives right behind your eyelids

but no water is formed when it comes out

grief is what comes out of you when you weep reading poetry

grief is what Agha Shahid Ali felt for Kashmir

i can't express what grief is or what pain feels like for that matter

there's this beautiful sadness surrounding my horizons

where sun sets every morning and I rise with hurt

to live with all things black is not healthy but then to live with all things blank isn't either.

Imprint

Text: Vaibhav Sharma
Images: Vaibhav Sharma
Publication Date: 07-11-2019

All Rights Reserved