there will be...

hold up hold up while i sort out my mind.

i must suppress this female tendency to subdue the gory, and speak for what it is,
(perhaps to feminize the honest rot will make it appear more pleasant, tolerable)

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

the doctor of brains tells me he does not know how it is;
can i capture it how it is, can i say it how it is?
when all else fails but for the tears, he says. be a student. that comes first, right now.
i protest. but i am also a daughter!

you will always be a daughter.
(you are a student first)
it is this capitalism that they inject in my bloodstream, coursing like poison, but also the antidote to the grief at home.

things have settled down in a plastic,contained sort of way. bound in strips of clingfilm and social gatherings; we are a-okay.
..........................................................

my brain twirls gently between throbbing membranes, interlocking
spider veins, steely tendrils to hold
it in place.
my face
an empty spot
between the faces of others in photographs,
the blank space i wish i could fill,
but cannot erase.

i look at ghost albums displayed
frivolously
at my windowsill.
still moments of shock, surprise, shared
passion,
i will never feel.
locked, Pandora's box, my
heart,
concealed.

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

and just like that, the words that were tumbling over each other in my mouth to rush forward onto the keyboard and stain it greyblackblue; silence and disappear.

i want to thank Gunther, u've been there since the very start, and ur message meant the world to me. i think i'm too much of a coward to actually ever run, but ur offer was sincere, and truly touching. thank u.

-eeda

your tone remains consistent mellow purple

mauve lilac lavendar

the subtle shades insinuate

your anger, displeasure.
.

i await bated blue breath

for the calm the storm or even

being stuck in your epicentre.
.

callous caring can indeed

be worse than cruel indifference,

or overwhelming love.

im learning by degrees,
-eeda.

Converse

.


to feel your skin
against mine like papercuts
to the bone.
dew lips soften taut
strings of flesh,
blood clots ease, flow
beneath your earthy hands.
undress my flesh, my heart
to your ear,
i can hear
you kiss words to my core.


.

.

red gold dipped mornings drag themselves out of
pots of paint and sheer bluey skies
slash colour and hue across my open window i am
yellow gold blue on the outside red black broken
on the inside
i wonder if colours can explain feelings states of being
in ways words cant.

red is anger and black is grief
im spun of the twain, consumed
beyond relief


.

Cigaretteburnt.

there is something oddly alluring darling,
in the way grey smoke escapes your lips,
gently let sideways, cascading into summer swans
eagles, through the holes in my soul.
fine lines, tight lipped, half sly smile.

barely concealable how your indifference,
seductive so, melts me into quiet rage
sometimes.
some other times,
intense yearning.

inconsequential your white
tshirt unshaved shadows the tie rack
behind you the golden cube round
your neck.
inconsequential
my observations but for the fact
they are about You.

everything has Meaning.

pinky edged nightmares bloom
into roses, violets, sunshine darling, when i
wake them to thoughts of you.
my nightmares cascading away like smoke darling,
away like ashy eagles, radiant grey
swans.

there is much to say
and not enough in me to declare it
i wish i could just
rip my heart out
onto this page
let the red rivulets map their own course, spell out
the way this feels inside right now.
your absence
makes heart sore and snap in
wooden splinters, newspaper shreds, glass shards,
sheer motes of
knife sharp dustsandblood
splashed on this blank white canvas.
elements forming stories, confessions,
vulnerable exposes of
spirit skin and soul.

(spiral red stains)

after all,
visual
graphic devastation
needs no more
feeble
poems, words,

explanations.

i am shattered like crushed butterflies coloured red
smeared across blank white walls my wings
splutter and fall under your feet
cement and marble
tiles and tears
there is no compassion in your voice
in your feet.

Night sounds.

Shut
the world out .
pillow cover.
cereal crunch.
snores. tinkle
train passing by.
I
had high
expectations of you.
You
are breaking
all of them.
.
Pierce. Shatter
glass heart.
rustle blanket dream echo
sleep.
.
randomness. there's too much in my mind to make coherent sense.
this was the best i cud do.
-eeda

wrote this yesterday evening in the rain at downtown .

i am the lovechild of glittery gold city night lights and illusive melodies on the subway.
urban child. city child.
child of the chaos. child of the beautiful .

child of the constructions which
lace gray-stone pavement
and gray-stone heart

stone smiles in gray water puddles.

stony gray imprints of people's gray souls.

to be continued..

5 days till brown-drama showdown!
aka eeda flies to Paki-land!
:D

more later,
-eeda.


p.s
walking in the rain= heaven.

p.p.s
photo credits:
the image is photo manipulated.
originals - city_lights by zifengw and The_City by paperboogie, deviantart.com

eloquence evades me.

i find myself distressed, because i cannot
spew out pearls of such intense clarity they make
jaws drop in awe, eyes bulge with wonder.

write to me some summer lines.

write to me an ode to the days of yore.
when words and daisies
lined up my street with white sunbeams,
golden dreams.

now even happiness leaves me uninspired.
oddly content. oddly hollow.
bated breath and tip-toeing eggshells to see
if it (when it) ends.

suspicion.
superstition.

hollow laughter in hollow silences.
hollow words.

i become become become
speechless.

i wish i could
slit my wrists and lie in my own pool of blood till it burns black brown blue you.
i want you to mix in with my flaws my imperfections my weaknesses my vulnerability my blood me.
flow back in
pulsate
pound
rush
flow
throb along my clogged dry calloused sinews veins arteries heart and beat with me,
beat with every heartbeat every broken pulse every long withdrawn breathe that fails to reach my lungs and my heart.
beat with me as the oxygen runs out into the pool i lie dying in of life and love and you.
beat with me as you flow around and see this happening but feel just as suffocated and trapped and utterly utterly helpless as i do.
beat with me when i struggle for breath.beat beat beat my name in every cell.
beat with me and urge me to stay awake to the dying dreams of u which dapple like shadows skirting out of sight shadows that bid adieu shadows of blue in shades of you
beat with me as this body that you loved and cherished wracks its way to skies wracks its way to heaven to hell wracks its way tiptoeing on the fingerprints you left on it , the fingerprints on the burnt brown bruises where you calloused my tender skin with salty lips and broken promises.
beat with me. beat me.
beat
till i know not nothing till i know not numb till my mind turns weak and bleak like an unsung poem
beat with me
till the blacks and the blues and the many hues of u choke my eyelids my nose my mouth until all i see is a faded blue
all i see is me and you.



those are not my wrists.wish they were.

'Those are pearls that were his eyes'
-from The Tempest.

pearls falling from the sky like piercing arrows
pearls whispering softly against milky throats
pearls hard to find
pearls in aquamarine oyster shells
pearls that scatter over chipped marble floors
pearls that hide at the corner of eyes wide
pearls for the blind
pearls strung through tangled auburn hair
pearls in transparent glass bells
pearls like crushed sand on a silver beach
pearls in a spirited rhythm
pearls of quiet wisdom

eeda, think think think before you speak
and stop being so defensive all the time.
people are just trying to help.


my pearl for the day.
xo
-eeda :)

ps. any other pearls anyone?
photo credits-miss pearls by ~digikitten.

in hathon ki masti mein..?

There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of Hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
-from The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock, by T.S Elliot




Hands.

Hands that curl and uncurl around soda cans.

Hands that hold onto bus poles, hold on like

they’re clawing, clambering, drowning,

To let slip is to let go.

Hands that

are tiny, and fit into a palm

and curl around a finger

for security, for safety, for

Comfort.

Hands

that follow like a breeze around her waistline

as he steers her around the crowd, steers her to

make her his own.

Hands

that lay twitching on lonely table tops

twitch to the beat of loneliness, to drawn out breaths

to the stranger who never comes.

Hands

that salute to power, hands

that pluck out flowers, hands

that dig graves for the brave, the old, the forgotten,

and the Cherished.

Hands

that flourish pens, pencils, praises,

Hands

that she gently raises

to the Heavens every night in prayer.

Her hands

that pray for peace, for patience, for her

Salvation.

Hands that tell stories,

the fading lines unravvelling off your palms.

the poem thingy was meant to have a happier ending but oh well.

and ws meant to have nothing to do with girls praying for salvation and all that crap.

that's just ..u knw..unconscious rhyming.

yeah.

i've always been fascinated with hands. and not just because they say the size of a guy's hands is proportional to the size of his..er..em..wee-wee?

hahahahaha..no i like drawing hands. think its..beautiful...

no, that doesn NOT mean i like drawing a guy's..well u know whut i mean

think ima shush, im just digging my own grave right now.

yeh.

and im sorry the format of this blog is off, cant fix it.

no more hand-ing now.

more later, on hands and things u can do with hands,

(like bake cakes...whut were U thinking u pervs? aaaaahan dont deny it i KNOW u thunk it.

and thunk is a word cuz I said so.)

lol.love,

xo

-eeda.

ps: photo credits Hands, by Enslavedbymetal from deviantart.com

today i write of death and dying.
today i write

of broken dreams and allusions
of glass castles shattering into minuscule shards
of crystal chandeliers exploding like knives into brilliant white light
obliterate obliterate
obliterate me from memory

today i write elegies of you
of the beautifully trivial
the beautifully mundane.

i write of nostalgia
i write of the going and the gone.

today i write
i write an obituary
of us.

today
i write

i write The End.

first week of uni

lyrical.

On new students.

its like a parade of masks
facades
i get lost in plastic smiles
hollow eyes
flash all too briefly in my eyes.
surprised?
not quite.
it is Fall, and they, like me,
are unsure of who to be.

till then let's all dwell
in meaningless laughter.
Ricochet off the walls.

On some remark by the World Lit,prof.

it is hardly paradise
if not golden.
hardly
if angels persist
on moldy wings.

On some new girl in tutorial.

her eyes dance
around the room
almost
making us
insignificant
she glides alone here
with her gaze.
dancing the tap dance
in rubber
shoes.

On sum other person in tutorial

sit a little too composed
for comfort.
A class act
practiced all too many times
before.

The meanings of words are not in words,
They are in us.
-Hayakawa.

Reading the Odyssey for World Lit class.
Fun!

Abu says, itna hee pasand hai to English kiun nahee ker leti?
i dunno..
*starts getting indecisive again*

-x0
eeda

.

i seek profundity.
hidden behind fullstops.
in clouds like popcorn across parking lots.
in the words of the great, and the dead and gone.
in the mindless utterances across a million blogs. in the
little rhymes i find scribbled in old notebooks, myself undone. in
your eyes, when you say
you'll stay.



that came out of nowhere. on the spot rant.
This road does have a dead-end.

And in short, I was Afraid.

Taken shamelessly from Elliot's Prufrock. Again.

I will wait and watch and see
your words slip through my fingers.

-eeda.
Be. Live. Believe.

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

Lyric.

lyr·ic-–adjective Also, lyr·i·cal.

1. (of poetry) having the form and musical quality of a song, and esp. the character of a songlike outpouring of the poet's own thoughts and feelings, as distinguished from epic and dramatic poetry.

i've been thinking for a while to do a blog in pure lyrics.
(some of these are mine, some by others)

I can see these fading lines tell stories.
Memories
Etched deep.
Into the crevices of my palm.

Figures lie. and liars figure.

How is it that
you're an asset
and a liability?

'and nothing can stop me except divine intervention.'

I can already see the story spelt out
across the sky.
I'm my own oracle.
I sense disaster as it comes.
sense Disintegration
of a bond. a habit. a feeling.
Knowing you care. Knowing you're there.

Realism will be my downfall.

When i miss you
i sing
bring
memories into my
mind
find
sublime
joy at things
we used to do.

and i'll put you in a little box and store you away.

Sometimes I feel like a MS word file.
stretched taut to the sides of the page.
fully justified
of every breath I take.
I am predictable.
Written.
My full stops, question marks are all in check.
I am margined.
My personal bubble
1.5 inch
The white sides roll around me like a shroud.

Happiness is knowing when to stop.

Hate the bluntness.
Love the Realism.

Lesson Learnt?
Be Very careful of what you wish for.

Meeting you is a tedious task.
I remove this mask behind masks.
Face behind faces.
I come undone.
Naked and vulnerable in your judgement.
Burning in the embers of your eyes.
Trusting.

Illusions are lethal.

That blind thing


Remove
me
from the glass shields.
the numbness has gotten too Real.

Riotously Ablaze.

Half flung lines
Half sung songs of glory.
Too fast. Too soon.

You are neither here nor there.
Like a soldier fighting two battles.

You are my breath without breath. .
Life-source without oxygen.

another stone i put into my shoe.
another stone, to remind me of you.

I hate to segregate.

Regrets.
I look back and I'm thinking.
I could have done without this.
It's too late to fix.

Silence. Solitude. Serenity.
Peace.

I lose myself in tiny things.
scrabble. random chats.
The superficial. the fake.
Live in my alternate realm.

Assumed Blindness. Not written in stone.

So I saw your eyes today
On another man, passing by.
They
didn't quite see my soul.

don't douse into the uncertain.

I need my
Mother Theresa,
my Edhi, my
Gandhi.
My Saviour.
Emancipate me.

Belated Relapse.

We're the class act.
I hide behind your shadow.
Blend in. Invisible.
Almost like I didn't ever
Exist.

Door-mat issues.

i wanna remember you
like sand caught between the toes.
not quite heaven, not quite hell.


sweetest downfall.

and from the centers of your clenched palms
I will draw out rainbows.
I will splash them on every easel in the world
and ill dip the hues with pieces of you
and paint you
in a million shades.


p.s that sounds like mohay rang de basanti expanded. LOL


-all for now,
eeda

.