Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Pack Rat - II

I have felt the need
To find. Collect. Keep.
Store away.
Anything and everything.
To do with you.
As I sift through it all
I realize,
I've got a Piyushkin complex.
About you.

It is not doing me any good.
If you find out, it'll do me worse.
What can I do?
I hoard you.
If you say something hurtful,
I will probably hoard that too.

Waiting, I am
for when I know
how to throw it all away.
and just have you.
You see,
this is all I have
in your absence.
Stills of you
in the drawers of my mind.
That keep me company
in this abyss of stupidity.
A secret stash of you, I have.
Unshareable, it is.

My memory serves me well, doesn't it?
Does yours?
Do you store and sift?
Do you open drawers of me?
Tell me you do.
Even if only now and then.
Do you indulge
in that occasional daydream?

Greater value perceived than inherent
in a hoarder's items, they say.
How to argue with that?
Memories. Images. Sounds.
What value, hold they?
Immensely important,
Think not you?
I've been told that
I remember
"the important things".

I hoard. To remember you.
To tell you, you are important, still.
As have always been.
I just can't tell you.

Pack Rat - I

I close my eyes
You are looking at me.
So many times.
From so many months ago.
Fresh, however, in my mind.
Slowed it down
To last far longer.

You are saying something.
To me. On so many occasions
The words. Your tone.
Your gaze. Your smirk.
All the while being registered.
Now being recalled.
Replayed. Repetitively.
Reassuringly. Renegade is my mind.

You did something That one time.
Extended your arm.
In my direction.
Everyone around us
blurred till I
joined you.
our eyes never
moving away till then.

You sent me something.
A text. A mail.
A greeting. A wish.
Remembering. Reopening.
Revisiting the moment.
The joy. The anguish.
The embarrassment. The relief.
The comfortable silence.
All from you.

I open my eyes.
I eat something.
I listen to something.
I see something.
All transport me to
some catalogued memory
of you,
Coming alive again.
Stretched, in them, time to the hilt
till it freezes.
And I close my eyes again.
To reach you. 


Somewhere atop
with a helicopter view. 
Watching everyone enveloped
in mechanisms of breaking
their tolerance for boredom.
I'm enveloped in mine
by watching them all. 
Trying to understand
what ticks in them.
Makes them move,
each in their own 
unique way. 

Waiting for the time
when we break
our own envelopes.
Be with ourselves,
see how the self moves,
see what makes us tick,
observe larger patterns of
how we contribute to
the 'good' and the 'bad'.

Waiting for the time
when you come and 
break my envelope.
See my 'good' and 'bad'
and still stay,
and be enveloped and
together tick and move
in our own ways,
but synchronously.
Together break
everyone else's envelopes.
Make them see 'good'
over the 'bad'
and revamp the way
they tick and move.
envelopes, theirs and ours; 
them and us.

It is...

It is dark. 
There is only a small sliver of light coming from beneath the closed door from the hall outside.

It is quiet. 
There is only the noise of the fan whirring and slicing the air. And me typing this to you. 

It is peaceful.
There is only the restlessness inside me to somehow tell you everything I am feeling.

It is heavy.
There is only the lightness in my head as I go high on the rush of expressing this.  

It is slow. 
There is only my heart that is beating rapidly at the thought of you reading this.

It is cold. 
There is only the heat and suffocation everyone is facing and I shiver as I think of you. 

It is doubtful. 
There is only the certainty that you and I met.  

It is now. 
There is only the hope of the future. Of a moment. With you.