forgotten love
beyond those untitled cassettes, I’ve been searching for the forgotten love song. The one which brought memories, fresh of a teenage love, of those unwritten love letters and hesitated exchange of chocolates. They are fresh, still as a blossomed rose, with it’s fresh fragrance included. let those boxes stay where they are. They may be left there, but not totally forgotten.
- mister whi.
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in the wake of the night
3am it is, and the night crawls itself into dawn.
Thoughts - dark, along with the darkness creep in.
- mister whi.
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calm
There are many therapists out there.
Find one, and open your mind.
Don’t hesitate, because your calmness might have a cost at times.
It may be economical now, may not be so later.
Take the right call, when the time is right.
Speak to someone.
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possession
Some people possess you.
With their attitude, with their care
among your solitude, brushing your hair.
You carve a place for them.
Because you find them a gem.
Determined, they are, through your tough times
Rooting for your growth, through good and bad rhymes
Make them feel worthwhile, because they will stay.
However you want them, every time you need them.
They will stay.
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darkness
Have you ever tried to focus your eyes while sitting in darkness?
Your pupils will hurt a little, because of the absence of light.
This is exactly how one feels, while having a troubled mind. It’s an infinite vastness around you, and yet you can’t see a thing. It feels as if you’re in space, floating in nothing but vacuum. Trying hard to grasp something, when in fact, there is nothing to grasp.
- misterwhi.
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nightmares
The ones which surface every time
inadvertently, without any notice or chime
with every passing second
it creeps into your mind, with memories bland.
is it because of the past?
the one which you are trying hard to forget?
is it because you still linger
in those days gone afar
what exactly do they want
within the crevices of time, lying dormant
and igniting those memories
every day, every hour.
Let them go, my mind screams.
Throw them away, into those endless pits
of your heart and brain,
and never to rake again.
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hungover
yesterday night’s whiskey is still in my head
I got it out of my system, but I want to stay in bed
I read the papers, like they are wobbling universes
I scratch through my hairs, like their entangling cobwebs.
What really did happen yesterday? I fail to remember.
I remember smoking the last cigarette, putting out the ash.
It was probably my fifth one for the night.
But, did it really make me high?
Cause I was seeing things crystal clear.
The red light, inside my room
The golden lights, out on the street
The black of the darkness, all engulfing me
in a nature of steady resentment.
I take a moment to pause, to think
of the events leading to my sixth glass
where exactly did I start pouring?
and how did I start emptying?
- misterwhi.
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is water free?
its everywhere, yet scarce.
the ones who actually need it, never get it.
on a planet which has >70% water, we
live as a species, which doesn’t have access to it.
ironical, isn’t it?
we strive harder, build planes and rockets
to explore, unknown lands
and unexplored territories
to make our marks, in vivid colors
and structured paths.
yet, the ones who need a drop of water,
barely make to drink it.
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curves on the road
tarred, scarred and barren.
the roads are witnesses to many stories untold.
without any judgement, premonition and prejudice.
they witness what passes - on and besides them.
they take that effort to not meddle
with the ever-going story called humanity.
cause, how can the roads beguile it’s creators
they just wanted to be carriers.
of people, of journeys,
and for shortening distances.
but in the end, the roads have witnessed
many more stories of separation and distancing.
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doesn’t mean that.
that one conversation,
doesn’t mean that’s all they’ve got to talk to you.
that one moment of anger,
doesn’t mean that they hate you to the core.
that one straight walk, without a glance back,
doesn’t mean that they don’t want to look at you again.
that one cold smile,
doesn’t mean that the fire has extinguished inside.
that one kiss,
doesn’t mean that they will love you to the end of the world.
that one tight hug,
doesn’t mean that they don’t feel lonely at night
that one cigarette,
doesn’t mean that they’re doing this to die.
that one drink,
doesn’t mean that they’re trying to forget someone.
the impression isn’t everything,
people could be fighting a battle inside and still want to hide it.
everything around, is temporary, and in a state of flow.
some don’t like it’s disruption, some don’t like it to glow.
- misterwhi.
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a conversation apart
sometimes, the heart doesn’t want distance. it just wants the other person to be a little far away, but yet not talk with them.
Maybe, they’re overloaded with all the recent conversations. That can happen. People do get tired talking. The energy, the focus - everything is too laborious at times. And after all that, one just wants to stay quiet.
reigniting with a little “Hey..”
or a fickle voice saying, “Listen..”
sometimes, the heart just wants your person to be away, but just a conversation apart.
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atypical short forms
in our day-to-day lingo these days, we have a lot of short forms of long words
forever is f/o
without is w/o
right now is rn
in real life is irl
don’t these kind of short forms of words, take out the emotion which is being conveyed while we write these words? doesn’t it make them void of feelings and the exact human touch?
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the hunt in the night
We all have these vivid dreams, which are like a treasure hunt. Blurred memories, constant running and eventually, waking up in the middle of the night, startled, shocked and with the tiredness of a marathon just finished.
and I’ve often found myself witness such dreams at night. never when I’ve slept in the middle of a weekend, or while I’m on a flight or any other transportation. maybe because the mind is indeed, wandering at night and trying to course through the most eloquent path which it can take unguided and free.
perhaps, it’s on a hunt of it’s own, to find out a memory from those dark corners of our brain. or awaken those fearful sights from our conscience. or probably, shuffle our tiles of memory, and bring to front those happy memories, which will make us smile and rejoice.
maybe, it’s similar to the shuffling of a deck of cards. let the best card be at front!
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did the last drink help?
you wander like nomads,
on streets which you frequented
but now are alien to you.
you don’t belong here anymore.
those random street names,
pegging you to wander into them.
aren’t you tired to seeing those
black-and-yellow name boards?
they will stay there.
it’s you who’s got to move.
away from those tarred paths
towards those graveled roads.
to have a better discovery, or
a rather insightful epiphany.
of truths and different realities
hard yet, essential to their core.
take the glasses in your hand,
you don’t owe anyone anything.
this jar of elixir, may help you erase
memories, etched deep down.
bottle it down, drink by drink
let’s not keep a drop balance
until it’s just air remaining as evidence
of the destruction of deposits of visuals.
it may not be all too aiding towards
the intended emotional rejuvenation.
but let me still ask you,
did the last drink help?
- misterwhi.
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who can be who else?
A woman can be a woman, while a man remains a man.
Read it twice. And we must understand that the eventual uplifting of any gender shouldn’t be at the cost of another. Let’s collectively bring up humans from all genders/sexuality/race, together into a spectrum which we call humanity.
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Quotes from books are a different kind of high.
The words make their way into our hearts, ever so slowly. And then, they reside there.
Like a pet dog walking towards a corner of the house, and lying down there, silently.
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where is the light?
does it matter that the darkness is acute
with millions of rays, unable to penetrate into
those tiny freckles of hope, and unable
to hold on to what’s dear to their soul.
where do the words go away
when I have you near me, and yet
it feels as if the whole world is shying away
from the ability of conversation.
the detonations inside me, scream
for attention, among this large detention
feeling like an endless parole, in tough
and desperate measures of valiant wisdom.
- misterwhi.
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