Skip to main content

Undeservedness

It is only months later that i realise
How long i have spent without
hate for myself
for long
and how it felt to forget that.

I now see a cold oily skin
sallow red eyes
hair i don't even like
automatisms that i walk in and out of
all day and all night
a stodgy body and a walking style
belonging to a sailor.

i had learnt earlier
when things looked like this
that the pleasant fuzzy optimism of
childhood
was a false lie.

I know.
How it feels to loathe
where i have brought things to be
how naive and enchanted
i'd have had to be

to have been saying and minting
positive feelings and optimism
about a decidedly bleak future

that stares down when i look at
sparse basic abilities
coupled with a lack of hard work.

How intoxicated i'd have had to be
to convince myself of deserving
pleasures that fell upon me
by a sheer combination of luck,
coincidence and proximity.

There was nothing i had done
to deserve fragrance.
speed. music.
Here they still are, in my life
mocking me not from their beauty
but from my incapabilities
and undeservedness.

Popular posts from this blog

लाल वस्तू

महाराजबागेतल्या गुंजेच्या झाडाखाली आईबरोबर बसून घालवलेल्या संध्याकाळी गुंजेचा पाला खाताना गुंजा वेचून, गोळा करून, घरी आणून सजवताना तशाच लाल गुंजांसारखे मखमली किडे पाळताना, त्यांना पावसाळ्यात पकडताना त्यांचा पाला गोळा करताना त्यांना लाजून गुर्फटताना बघताना, आईला दाखवताना मला थोडेच माहिति होते की हे अनुभव, आणि ह्या आठवणी कधी अशृ होतील आणि लाल शर्ट घालून त्या पावसाळ्याची आज तहान भागवावी लागेल
Read more

angry

my grandmother used to spot in us a hereditary anger the chest learning to well up blood learning to leap and breath learning to crawl foreheads burning with heat of little children the attempt of anger to become disgusting raging energy that will occupy every living stream. nobody wants to hold an angry person rage drunk, getting bigger and bigger until other people are invisible like ants and you can dissolve them in your hot blood and things around you break and shatter at this point she would hold. a violent hand shaking her away Ya I remember my grandmother used to spot it in us as children already And hold our hand "until you get over your rage I will not let go of your hand"  hold VERY TIGHTLY "I will not leave your hand until you learn how you should calm down" i would fail despite that gesture  to understand what was happening and i could not receive love at that time because i have so much anger But the act she is doing is still that of HOLDING
Read more

dumb tweets

are dumb tweets poetry? those about comical self deprecation? those about absurdity of lunchtimes the absurdity of predetermined systems the shit that is the economy the shit that is self preservation of social groups and the shit that is my period. aren't these the footsteps of revolutions built upon the personal that is the political a naked lump of clay - the self that has no rights without its body and identifiers. weren't the beats just writing tweets words, that fill up the spaces in empty cultural discourse a space for, a valence towards charged and electric words ionic words words that seem appropriate words in a new absurdist language a torrent, a warm current of intercontinental symbolically void and poisonous words. that live for a small slice like us and cicadas, chirp and die.
Read more