There is a Reason,

other than bipolar disorder,

which causes moments of extreme ecstasy,

followed by insurmountable grief

and that is Love.

this, for the greatest weekend of my life.
Nov  5th to Nov 8th.

-eeda

Smell

Sunday, 4th January 2009.
2:30 p.m
Itwar Bazaar, Clifton.
Karachi.


Loose gravel between my toes.
The smell of paan,hours-old chai, sweat of small pashtun boys,green yellow brown rotting vegetables.
Women haggling over clothes, shoes, cracked precious stones.
Men snarling, swearing, spitting.

Staring.

I trudge behind ammi, clutching my chador with one hand and a zillion blue plastic bags with the other.
Evading eyes, fingers.

Someone with oversized pants and overpriced sunglasses pushes past me.
Before I get a chance to raise my hand to curse him out, I ....
Smell.

His smell.

I couldn’t have frozen faster had someone doused me in sub-zero water and then coated me over with instant cement.

In the middle of that dingy muddy pathway in the deserts of Karachi,
in the grimy heat and nauseating stench,
in the pummels of a heartless throng,
in the air left behind by a mysterious rude stranger,

His smell.

................................

Saturday, 14th December 2008.
4:30 am.
Four Points Sheraton Hotel, Long Island.
New York.


His Smell.
Sweet, without trying over-zealously to be so.

I bury my nose in the little hollow beneath his left ear lobe,
the curve of his jaw line.
I breathe....

..........................

They say smell is the strongest sense linked to memory.

What if smell overcomes memory? What if all memory became nothing,
not even a fragmentary speck of elusive imagination,
but just a nostalgic smell inhabiting the hollows of your mind?

...........................

Breathe.....

Each breath inhales in a little more of him.
Each breath exhales out a little more of me.
With each breath I etch him into my air my blood my soul my being.


Breathe.....
.........until everything I possess; my mind my thoughts my memories

become him.

........................................

Friday, 30th January 2009.
2:30 p.m
Home, Ash Street.
Vancouver.


I rummage mindlessly through my purse, removing boarding pass stubs, gum wrappers, one dried out pen,
a scrunched up draft for a poem, a fading yellow rose petal tucked into one of its many crevices.

I delve deeper to find a crinkled white tissue.
Memory rings.
The tissue envelops crimped leaves, dried flowers....


These are for you’, he says, and hands me a fragrant bouquet. A kaleidoscope of baby pink and white petals, bright red yellow white roses.


Memories.

I am caught in that silent moment of eternity between torn leaf and fading petal.
That moment when eternity itself holds its breath lest
it unleash its own power and scare itself into non-existence.


I hold my breath tight,close my smiling eyes in fondness-
Apprehension.
God, the slightest whiff of this smell can……


Already, I can picture the petals
rising like crimson phoenixes reborn from their own gray ashes...


Petals like fine paintbrushes,poised to repaint the black canvas of my eyelids with the.................

.........gray of the trolley wheels, the silver of his car,the pitch black of his jacket,

the glitter gold of him.

This smell,
His smell..


With barely-contained anticipation,caressing that stiff, delicate tissue paper like frail velvet cheeks,
as if I too, were nothing more than a frail tissue paper...
as if I too were blank, and wanted...needed... to be smoothed, scrawled, written, drawn,
painted
painted
painted
all over again..

i hold my breath.

shatter your iridescent glass phials into me, spill the molten silvers in rivulets, let run the glowing golds....
revive my memory with all the colors of you.

I, I, I, I...

Breathe..

.................................

yes.
cheesy.

bt pst.

this is where the emo ends.
yespleasesorrytobreakyourheart. You can step over the line now.
That post above didnt quite have what i wanted it too.. that feeling of pent up anticipation, and resolution.
ack. must re-write.

Isn't it funny that the smallest whiff of a smell can suddenly through you in a tizzy of emotions,
recreate an entire atmosphere from scratch?
I could almost feel the airport tiles zooming in beneath my feet, my plastic blue bags being replaced by my trolley, the stalls and shoppers vanishing in thin air to be replaced by weary travellers, excited relatives...


Anyhow, more later as i drum up my brain into existence,

-eeda

hinbin-ur so head over heels.
me-huh? about what?
hinbin-u know....


there is a gaping void in the parts of me i used to find u in.
i search for u there,
but it's as if uve already left, and only the hollow echoes of your presence remain.
somehow i can feel you physically unraveling away from me, tearin' apart piece by piece.


i shy away from my own reflection
because even i remind myself of you.


u were right.
for now,
Everything has tainted.

for

for

for

for better

for worse

A Pill to forget: Can a medication suppress traumatic memories?

Observant doesn't mean silent. It means speaking forcefully in measured tones about what is happening.

God forbid you be an ugly girl, 'course too pretty is also your doom, 'cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room.

forlorn; ,desolate, godforsaken,lorn,
		marked by or showing hopelessness; "the last forlorn attempt"; "a forlorn cause"

forgo : to do without; lose or lose the right to by some error, offense, or crime;
refrain.

      
Will not be shaken and jump into this,
And be persuasive, 
Just carry on,
And make my mind up,
To go through this,
Or be firm, 
And sit in silence.
So turn and (don't) forfeit.

I'm not afraid of death but oh
What will I do if you leave me?
Do not forsake me,
oh my darlin'
You made that promise as a bride
Do not forsake me, oh my darlin'
Although you're grievin', don't think of leavin'

attempt at erasure poetry?
all the 'for' words are significant, out of context.
(words are randomli chosen from the 10th page of google searches.)


new mantra:-
forgive her forget him forgive him forget her


-end emo-
eeda

Dad

of a million faces
of bear hug icons in skype conversations
of coats hanging on the edges of every door, too high for mum to reach
of holding my head from the top and telling me to stop.thinking.so.much.all.the.time
of cigarette ash that ended up anywhere But in the ash-tray
of the crinkly eyed smile that bought out the glittering opals in his eyes and lit up his entire face
of listening to wayyyyy old indian songs in the car
of listening to wayyyyy old indian songs in the car on FULL volume, when we complained it was boring.
of making me fall in love with mukesh and rafi and kishore and lata and the other old crooners
of never caring about what you wear and how you look just to please others
of waking me up at 8 am to crawl into bed between mum and him because it had been too long
of reading books on islamic history and old urdu literature with a light propped up on his bent knees and his grand-father type glasses
of insisting we sit on EVERY roller coaster on EVERY amusement park we ever went to
of crying softly in bed while half asleep, the night after i left for Canada
(ohh yes ma told me)
of standing up to whoever, for what's right
of falling off from the jet-ski out in the middle of the sea and coming up spluttering and laughing
of laughing again when i was clinging on for dear life and asked if there were any sharks in here
of stroking our hair and patting us ( a little too hard) to sleep
of taking me to the sea in the middle of a storm because i felt like it
of random big one arm hugs and asking me if everything was okay
of random big one arm hugs telling me everything was okay it'll all be okay
of long-winded discussions in the car about politics and economy
of dancing on the sidewalk, at the beach, at 12 am, in his most expensive suit, in the rain, because he felt like it
of making the entire family visit ALL of his cousins and extended cousins and aunts and great aunts and their neighbour's son's dogs EVERY time we go back home
of teaching me family is the most important thing in the world
of always smelling of Aramis and faint old cigarettes.

there was a guy next to me in the bus today who smelt strongly of Aramis and old cigarettes.
he wasn't dad.

i miss you.

-xo
eeda

ps
sehri=nostalgia+mush

a day in the life.

missed work again
because ended up talking to her till 4 am.
called her again at 9 am cuz missed her too much.
at 3 pm to wake her up for school.
at 6 pm to check up what she was upto
at 9 pm to talk to her on her way home, talked till 10 30.
at 11 pm to talk to her after she was done with dinner
went to sleep at 1 am
back to work at 8
again.

ab to aadat si hai mujhko..
-Jal.

I can't get enough i wanna eat you up
i wanna have you for dinner, left-over for lunch
don't go
o don't go
i love every lil thing about you baby don't you know.
-Sunshine, by G.Love and The Special Sauce.

thanx goldie for that song :)

-eeda
(is confusedciusly happy...or happily confusedcius. )

Helpless.

Dad- I'm very sorry about your visa beta.
Me- but it's not your fault at all!


i can hear the pain in ur voice too baba...
u were never as amazing at being obscure as u think u are.

8 months and counting..

Gold.

few things are Golden.

dad dancing by the sea at midnight.surprise 16th birthdays. fine sand on a beach.old married couples holding hands.tinkling laughter.glowing tans.ancient bells in old forgotten churches.wedding bands.
and long back massages.

to you, you know who you are.
Thank you SO much.


i hit heaven.
no seriousli. i can actualli breatheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee again. im moving and nothing hurts! and it feels SO mad precious. SO liberating. i don't want to move at all or else i feel like ill jinx it.

There was preserved
in her
The fresh miracle
of surprise.
-Jim Morrison.

this one's for u.
'cuz i dont forget things in a hurry.
and it was very very veeeeryy appreciated.

xoxoxo
-eeda.

Moondance.

just cuz.

[20/07/2008 10:37:25 PM] eeda says: the song?
[20/07/2008 10:38:43 PM] drug* says: for youuuuu
[20/07/2008 10:38:52 PM] eeda says: aaaaaaaaaaaahahaha..
[20/07/2008 10:38:56 PM] eeda says: cupcakeness.

*name changed. no just kidding, his name's cocaine.
LAMEness.

Well, its a marvelous night for a moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
neath the cover of October skies
-Moondance, By Michael Buble.

Yeh.good times.


i will dance through my days to ballets of pink sunrises and to ballads of clandestine sunsets.

jeez. gettin all poetsy arent we?


me- 'sometimes i feel like i don't grow older by a single year, more like 5 for every 1.'
sabs- 'slow down slow down slow down. let the rest of us catch up.'

yeah.

i don't want to come in the middle. i need just 10% of you ,she can have the rest.
bartering friendships.
tough.
u can't run away from drama can u.

i miss ignorance.

and i stare pointlessly out the train windows and the smoke rising from the factories across the river reminds me of white curly hair coming out of old men's ears.
the kind of old men whose hair looks like floating candy floss.

our relationship has ceased to exist past the are you eating well?sleeping well?
i tack on the quiet miss u's quickly before the click of the dialtone. almost like a cracked ornament. almost like im disgusted to admit the weakness.
three little words.
three little re affirmatives of something much more fierce inside.

I Missed You.

sumtimes i feel like a gushing water hose held tightly at the mouth.
eeeeeeeemmmmmmmmmmmoooooooo.

if it helps , the above was meant in a strictly platonic way to members of family.

i want to see your hands with
my fingertips.
trace out
your palms like a
fragile, torn
map.
i want to
tiptoe across your
intricate woven paths and
find an
eternal perdition
in your
fist.

don't ask me where that came from. on the spot little thumbelina inspired thing.
blah.

time to sleep.
-eeda