Your Lullaby

Over and over, you take it again.
There's no one around you, and you wish for the same.
Down in those memories, unfathomable depths.
You try to sustain and you try to express..

To yourself you will be, right here in my dreams.
And you know that it burns you,
do things that demean you,
But that's where you'd be,
that's where you'd see,
your lullaby.

Somewhere around you, you look for a magazine,
something you denigrate and say things you don't mean.
You sing your elegy and you miss every part of me.
I know you'll live up, I know you'll reveal..

To the world, you will be,
in your future with me.
You know that it burns you,
and its all around you,
but that's where you'd be,
that's where you'd see,
your lullaby.

Don't cry no more, I'll be there one day.
Don't call out my name, shed out your pain.
Don't disintegrate, don't fall...
I will be here, after all.

With you I will be, right here in your dreams,
In your lullaby.

Broken

Silently sipping her coffee, eyes intently glued on her cell phone, she sat there, waiting with her swollen, sullen eyes, full of questions seeking answers. The melancholy had gripped her since quite a long time and today was going to be it. Her hair was untidy, left to fall on her shoulders and seemed to have lost their lustre, like her face. She restlessly shifted in her chair to face the painting of a woman subtly seated in a palanquin, and the memories came back to her, one by one. It was half past seven; she'd wait for a while now. As the time seemed to be fleeting away, her heart raced with every tick the clock made. She pulled out a paper napkin from its holder, put it to her nose and found herself travelling through a trance. As she closed her eyes, a tear slid down the corner of her eye, she pressed the napkin against her nostrils. It seemed like she couldn't get enough of the whiff of the past. She crossed her fingers, and turned to see the time on the clock. She shook by the mere thought that he would not come. Nothing was like it used to be. She just had to imagine his presence, and there he would be showering her with his insatiable smile every time she wanted to see him. It could possibly be her desire that lacked the same willingness to see him or perhaps his attention that she had now failed to attract. The connection had broken. Mentally exhausted, she quickly scribbled a note, and left it fluttering under a tall flower vase at their usual restaurant table. She expected his arrival, if not now, perhaps later. Aditi walked out, observing a sudden change in the atmosphere, the scorching heat biting every bit of her, as she began her search for a Taxi. Fortunately, she found one soon enough to get her back home before anybody figured out that she was out. “Ah, the heat seems to have gripped you.” The taxi driver said. “Yeah. It’s quite… gripping”, Aditi said wiping off the sweat on her forehead with her t-shirt sleeve. Her pounding heart kept reminding her of the situation she was stuck in. It seemed to be playing a little match with her. The thumping of her heart was being constantly accelerated and decelerated, while she sat there thinking about how he’d respond to the unexpected note. She requested the taxi driver to turn off the radio, as she played music on her old, cello taped, brittle phone whose screen occasionally came off. As she listened to broken, she turned to look out the window. Because I’m broken When I’m lonesome And I don’t feel right, When you’re gone away. It was over.

Slurp

I ruthlessly tortured the keyboard as I saw my Ford GT run at the speed of 92 miles/hour. Go for it, go for it, go for it, my brain perfectly synchronized my hands and my eyes. But I failed, yet again. I grabbed a bunch of crackers and gobbled them up, one of which silently fell on the ground. As I pushed the chair back and got up to leave, I crushed that tiny piece of cracker with my bare foot. Hastily, I tied my deteriorating hair in a bun and dragged my body into the kitchen. I hugged mom from behind and mumbled “what’s for dinner, mom?” “Chicken curry and rice” My stomach suddenly felt empty and let out a wild dinosaur-like sound. I just wanted to put those gravy coated leg pieces mixed with jeera rice inside my mouth, and allow every taste bud to touch the mingling juices of the chicken and rice. Dadimaji always emphasised on chicken being my favourite food for two weird reasons- “All Punjabis are hardcore chicken lovers”, she would say that it’s in the blood. She’d also say “When you were in your mother’s womb, she’d only eat chicken, and so much that she delivered the same cravings to you”. I would innocently suffice myself with her answers and the chicken while sitting by her side. Each time, I would lick the plate clear, not even worrying about the traces of vim bar in the carelessly washed dishes. “How long before it’s prepared, mom?” “An hour, at least” The greed was making me restless, and I lost my way into the kitchen every five minutes to check up on the dinner. Yes, I was a big foodie. However, I soon realized that it was going to take longer than I expected. Dragging my slender body back into my den, I fell with a thud on my bed and stared up at the computer screen. I hit play and focused my eyes on my Ford GT. In my head, the fear persisted stronger than ever, I knew I was killing too much time, and fat was building up in the wrong places. I was playing NFS, yet my brain was concentrating on how my body was rusting with every passing day. My brain was very little consumed, my body had started aching, and my back could barely stay straight for 10 seconds. Reflexively, I would bring it back to relax in the leaning position. I was going nowhere with my musical dream, I was growing shallow with each passing day. It was the easiest to just let things happen automatically without any stress and burden, or perhaps, it was the easiest to let events take over my life. My thighs were beefing up noticeably, and the only closest thing to my heart was my laptop, it had swiftly replaced my previous lover, music. It was disgusting but I hadn’t combed my hair properly for the past 6 months. I was terrified seeing my first grey hair, I knew something was wrong, and I knew what it was. I also had prominent love handles and my once flat tummy looked like a soon-to-be-potbelly. I scrawled a few to-do notes on a parchment and left it fluttering under a deodorant bottle. The guilt was killing me, I’d wasted years corroding my brain and building castles in the air with some exquisite shining blue magical powder. There was no powder that would miraculously fit things perfectly into the puzzle.