Alone in the universe

 I don't belong anywhere.

Not this place that I have to call home, not that place that I left so long ago.

Where do people call home, those who have fallen in between the cracks of geographical fault lines?

I guess you could say that people make or break the place, but what about those who really dont fit in either way? Even in Society.

After 15 years, I still struggle with identity crisis. Not that society defines me, but it's the need for acceptance that we all want, don't we? If we don't have "our people" whatever that looks like.

Where do these kindred spirits come from, now with the age of social networking alienation?

With everything that is forcing us into other people's faces, it's most natural for people to find ways to still maintain their private space, which has acquired a frankenstein-ish method of apathy and indifference to natural affection. Something that existed way before social networking took over all our lives.

But, in spite of all this, we all still want to be needed. And the need grows stronger every year, with abating hope for it ever happening. Because we live in an ageist society now, on top of everything else.

"Old" is happening younger and younger.

Where do genuine kindred spirits come from? And where can I find just...one?

Was it worth it?

 It's a devastating feeling ...to know that I betrayed my authentic self, to allow someone else to decide when and where my life would change direction.

Having gone so far off course, where am I?

How do I find my way back amidst this fog?

 Was it worth giving up the water, to try to live on dry land?

Behind locked doors

Painful memories, that once were so sweet to think about.
Why do feelings turn rancid and ache so...
The worse part is knowing that I am now a regret, instead of a pleasant memory.
It feels like a gavel, delivering its sentence.

The mind is truly a prison.

Ransom

Morning breaks
the silence of the night
the flowers smile
Birds take to flight

A stretch, a yawn
a shuffling of slippers
splashes of innocence
Before the day stirs

Standing before the coffee pot
Watching the bubbling gold
Staring out the window
Waiting for fantasy untold

Illusion takes flight
Clipped wings still soar
The prison still has a ray of light
One day he will open that door.

Nucleus

She knelt down, to pick it up.
A shard pricked her finger
The tiny teardrop of blood blossomed
shiny, free...visceral.

What use is blood
when it runs its course, in vain
never arriving, never leaving.
always an indelible stain

Holding together shreds
Fighting demons
To which the body caves
Only to fail, in the end

Give me a love
that cannot die
that cannot live
with deadened will

Give me a heart
That will beat with mine
That will ease my ache
That will make me whole

Persuasion

White space
Fighting for my words
Crowding my thoughts
Confession:  I cant do this

White space
Handcuffs gently snap on
Mind bending
Finger strokes
Stuck in tandem

What happens when
They are let loose
Smouldering oblivion
of unspoken desires
Unspeakably drenched

Wake me up
Unleash me upon you
Let me be unhinged madness
In your heart, in your eyes
When you begin

Where I end.

Memories of My grandma to hold on to:

My grandma passed away yesterday. I didnt get to see her. I wont get to see her funeral either. Living so far away and not being able to afford a plane ticket has destroyed me by not being able to see her. I wish i had called her more often. I knew she was old and dying, and fear of losing her, somehow froze me into not wanting to hear or see her condition because i couldnt bear to see her pain. How does that even make sense!?
So here is an incomplete list of the memories i have of her. I didnt bother to make it pretty.

• Feeding me food separated into sections and pretending i was a tiger about to eat.
• Sewing different clothes and mending others day and night.
• making Malpua, cooking Appam sitting on the floor next to a portable stove.
• Making pretend OOF! sounds when i would playfully pinch her.
• Helping me to clean my underwear when i first got my period. Many times she would do it herself just because I was 9 years old.
• Eating and bathing at strict times, dressing up in a fresh sari every evening at 4pm before tea time.
• Chatting with me late night until we fell asleep. 
• Me cuddling next to her on the bed , listening to all the Raja Rani stories she would tell me each day.
• Making Muri Moa ( sort of like a Rice Krispy Treat but instead of marshmallows, caramel sugar was used to stick the rice puffs together.)
• Telling me about her childhood. How she came to India from Bangladesh with her father and 4 sisters.
• Getting married to a much older man who she didnt know.
• Getting beaten by the same man whenever he got drunk.
• she was always humble. Although she was sure of what she knew, she never pretended to be better than anyone else.
• made hot food for me whenever my mom wasnt home.
• Played Ludo with me and was merciless.
• Enjoyed whatever music i would play, nodding her head to the beat even though she didnt understand the song or language.
• Always ready to listen to anything i had to say. 
• She loved me like a mother.