The Hazy Road

We're still alive. Facades have healed the burnt skin underneath. The delirium has subsided. Life has survived. I'd tell you how this happened, of course I would. I'd let you in on the Secret, but you'd have to die for it. A million times. And emerge stronger each time, like a golden Phoenix, resurrected by spirit and reborn with resolution. You'd have to breathe deeper than your lungs can take in, and let reality take it all out of you. You'd have to wish this made more sense than it does now, and pray there is a destiny. A script to direct your next words. And decide your next epiphany. You'd have to scream, and you'd have to smile. And most important of all, you'd have to honestly, deeply, passionately fall in love. You'd have to love. That's how we stay alive. how to stay alive Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: facades choke you, but sometimes they teach you to smile]

I keep having this recurrent dream. You come to meet me. You wave your hand, and I smile from the window. You go into the building to climb up the stairs, and I rush to the door to greet you. But, somehow, you never make it. Sometimes, the mind plays tricks on you. It finds the one thing you're addicted to, and then uses it to break you apart. There must be a good reason, because why would the mind want to destroy itself? We're all addicted, though. We all know that. Those who don't, are too addicted to find out. April 16. I tell you I love you. You just... smile. Communication was built to avoid exactly this, Lila. Addiction is a trap. June 18. You look at me. I look at you. We smile. We look away, together. Addiction pulls you in slowly. It gives you joy. Peace. Whatever you seek. September 14. You tell me you love me. I... freeze. Almost like I'm capturing the moment, to hold on to the moment before it flies away. I tell you I love you ...

I see red all over- bloody wounds. Last night was hard on both of us. I see black out there- insomniac blindness. Sleep is a stranger to both of us. I see green around edges- mouldy letters. Last loves still hurt fresh for both of us. I see yellow outlines- nonexistent hope. Illusions can only fool us so many times. I see white layers- afraid skin. Last breaths are hard for both of us. I see you. Broken, hurting, dying. You see me. Choking, lost, dying. We see a glow. A trail. White. Yellow. Fiery. We close our eyes. It is time. We kiss. Breaths in sync. Fainting, even as the world grows louder, Even as the world turns quieter. Reassured that all I see, All you see, Is each others' eyes, Each others' smiles. burnt diaries (or, posthumous accounts of the apocalypse) Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: every apocalypse shall find for itself a story of mending]

Words left your mouth, but never reached my ears. Time left us broken, but always let us heal. You left, but never looked back at what you left behind. Do I look up your lost words, or my lost mind? i think i only lost my mind Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: look for the truth. always]

I'm writing love poems again, Without really saying that I love you; Without telling you your hair is messy, And that I like it curled and hanging and confused, And cut and tied and rebellious, And that you look away too much, When you talk to me, So I have to stare longer To see you see me To see you see we, To see you in glee; Without ending phone calls when I have nothing to say, Since nothing is my forte anyway, And we need nothing, nothing else. I'm writing love poems again, Distracted by the distraught disarray of distance, Recoiled back by bullets of wishes shot into the dark. I'll explain this: I'm staring at the ineffable sky, Thinking, if I shoot a bullet above, Where will it bury itself, And who will it hurt to fulfill its purpose, For, you see, when the War was on, The accuracy of the bullets never mattered, no; What mattered was where they would plant themselves, Which life they would uproot, when they fell from the sky; My w...

I don't know when I fell for your music. So many words were skipped in the playlist of life. We left worlds un-described, so they crumbled into memory, cocooned by the natural memory eraser: life. There was comfort in not saying, no truth in saying now anyway. It was late, no, too late. Far too late. So many lost songs, midnight sparks of eureka, half-asleep moments of revelation, all remarkable points of life's elevation: when this energy you feel in your body makes you feel alive all over. A truth in plain sight, revealed. The intimacy of night makes the heart revolt against its inclinations of day. It happens slowly at first, and then all at once, and before you know it, the night is your new inclination. A road just meant for the wanderers. The seekers. What did we seek? What did we skip? Where did we slip? I should know, but then, sadly, I don't remember how we got here. I only remember wandering away, not wandering to. I don't rememb...

And, my dear, your scars are old, your heart's turned cold the summers don't shine enough on you your tale's all told your destiny sold you owe the alive some more company so kill and burn and scream but don't you dare say you're meant to only weep. The mirror lies And the reflection sighs And the world's all spectacled So put on your smile And walk the extra mile Life is a precious trouble. The pen is mightier The sword rarer The books may tell you that Ask the dead what chopped their heads: The sword is still finer. So wage your war and lose your fight To the demons on earth Hell is for another day and heaven a myth Come with me tonight. the Satan's melody (or, another night at the bar with a random stranger) Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: mirrors shall find you, someday. may they find you happy]

"Take the sky in, let the rain pour. Let it fill you till your tears of happiness are one with those from the clouds. Feel the rhythm of your heart with the pitter-patter of rain, almost slowing now, and then suddenly rushing again. Hear the quiet in the white noise, the truth in the black sky. Smile and jump a bit, and jump again, and again. Pause. Notice the melody of the world replacing the humdrum of horns, and tiny faces looking up at the sky, all expectant, all hoping for something. Yet, the storm listens to none, it remembers no one, nothing. It touches you for that brief night of your life, and soothes your skin for a while, and then it leaves without a sigh. It leaves without a goodbye." "She was my rain, I made her into skies." when the storm arrives Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: may you find music in the rain, and light in the floods]

With heavy heart and long-held breath, I let out the words, "I am not done yet," Or so I am wont to think, For all they hear is gibberish. I recollect some instances Of follies old, deep regrets, Held back, half-wrecked; A ship unaware of its end. The sorrowful roads run their coarse, Quietly delivering screeching remorse To travellers just passing by, And rejoicers ignoring life. But all I am is meaning, Yet to be understood; All I have are words, For you to see it too. the search for the right words Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: the search shall never end. may you still go on]

Lila,  Three hundred and forty days ago, you looked at the sky, and then to me, and said, 'I love you from here.' The lilacs of the old, red house with the barren garden still smell musky. The flickering streetlight we would lean against when it rained, and pretend it was not raining, and that we were warm enough, and that our hearts were warm enough, too; it's still there, only, fixed, shining bright every blue night. And the 23 pictures we took at that small photo studio with the vintage camera? They're still there, waiting to be collected. Love takes people places. How long has it been? I ask not to seek an answer. I already know. Lila, you were my vacation. I just wished it would never end. And I wished I would wake up relaxed every day, in the calm of you, away from their hurricane reality. And then, slowly, I ran out of wishes. And then, suddenly, I ran out of you. Am I back from the vacation? I'm not sure. I'm still going places. Wherev...

​A History of Unfortunate Events Would be a thick book indeed, For mankind's ever so careless. The Sagas of the Dead Would be a great band indeed, For the dead left too much unsaid. But these are not my concerns: For they do not exist; I care not for what couldn't be, And so shouldn't you, For you have better things To give your heart to. Look up, dear, into my eyes, So I can peek into your soul; And then look away, sigh, So I can long, again, for more. You know not your history well, For you are yet to read this: A Series of Life Altering Moments Consists of just you, me, and bliss. A Series of Life Altering Moments (or, established facts for the unaware) Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: may you never run out of books to read, and chapters to create]

I'd write you a poem, but it's too late, It's cold under the skin, inside the heart, And a beer is just a minute away, And you, a million; my words slip away From my mouth, and my tongue is left longing For something to fill this emptiness, It's just another night, it's all a mess, And all I have to enunciate is morbid silence. And I'll tell you something, if I could, It's not the words that hurt the most, Sometimes, it's the silences that choke The life out of your lungs, leaving just smoke To breathe into- the smoke of oblivion: You try to take it in, to forget, mark under "Trivial." But it hurts to breathe, to let go, to live. And it pains to wonder, if all I do is wander with no destination. wanderers of the dark Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: you shall always find the right silence for your playlist]

I'd tell you about misery, love, And how it rains here every night And how I sit at the window to watch The monotony distract me to thoughts Of the world, but mostly, my world, you; And I'd tell you about the things I wish to say, love And how the sun kissed puddles Remind me of broken reflections we'd make in them Until one of us tried to push the other, Laughing, playful, maybe even happy; And I'd tell you about the nights I couldn't sleep, And you seemed just a call away then, But I haven't slept any better, And you're a thousand miles away now; But most of all, I'd tell you about the 2ams The sad, broken 2ams of yore, and now, When you'd say, like our own little tradition, "Nothing good happens after 2am," And I'd whisper, as I still do, but to the rain now, "And I love you." 2am Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: you shall always love the rain]

And we'll walk down city streets we don't know Playing songs we don't know the lyrics to Awkward, giggling, smiling randomly, because we can You'll look at me, and pause And I'll say curiously, "What?" "Nothing," you'll reply softly, And look away Into nothingness Nowhere. And in these nothings you'll steal time  To stare at my cryptic eyes And maybe, just maybe My damned soul. Treasures you hope to find Are not locked away Inside any chests Or hearts. Unravel. Ease in. Breathe out. Sigh. And please, oh please Let yourself dream a miracle. the letter of promises Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: conversations are important]

They talk about us, my love, In books and in trains, In wet window panes of homes, And on streets of the sane, And the papers and morning coffee, All carry the same name; Some hide in their cocoons, Some curse His bloody game, Some rejoice at the mercy Some run for cover, for space; They talk about us, my love, They know not our pain, You left teary when it was raining, And love, it's the same rain. the sky and the clouds (or, confessions likely forgotten) Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: rains fill you]