Night Routine

I take a walk at night
To the end of my street
I ask the dog to accompany me
I gaze at the sky
I count the stars
I think the thoughts I couldn’t allow myself to think all day
I tell my racing heart to shut up
I look at a labourer retiring for the night
Her son skitterish at my arrival in his crook
I walk away, back under the streetlights
I consider going back home
I stand
I miss all the people I couldn’t allow myself to miss all day
I lament that I will never be 14, 15, 16 again
I will never go back in time
I crouch down on the road
I scratch my dog
I wonder what I will do if he runs away
I wonder if he’s scared to loose me
I wonder if he loves any other dog
I remember it is late
I say goodbye to the trees
I push down everything to a place I will never be able to reach again.
Next day, I will wonder why the moon makes me terrified of the future
I think about that character in that show
(Today Prince Charles from the crown)
I wonder if the scriptwriters know the lonliness they make him portray
I hope they do, so that I am not alone
I am startled by licks on calves and barks
I remember I am never alone
I look at the bushes
I promise  to walk in the morning to them
I see my mother through the window
I smell the tea
I smile at her
I say bye to the dog
I tell my racing heart to shut up
I carry so much grief in me
I never know why.

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I wrote this around last week, while in the bathroom. God bless technology, now I can record my shitty thoughts while shitting (okay too much Tanu.) And I wrote the last two lines first, trying to reverse engineer my way to a beginning. I was retracing my steps on my nightly stroll as a way to retrace my thoughts to understand just what let me to crying in the aforementioned bathroom at midnight. I often just say “I’m in the bottom half of the sine wave” to my diary. But others don’t seem to live life in a sinusoidal function. I think I knew I will not get to the bottom of this from the beginning, because I was right. I never know why. I sat for another hour in my bed that night, trying to tweak this poem to discover some undercurrent of a greater metaphor, but there was none that I could find. This is it, people. Just me talking about my favourite street dog.

Soon

Some nights are beyond poetry

Some thoughts are beyond words

This tear-stained page is an ode

To that rupturing sob into the dark.

May you find peace soon.

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This is a sad one. I’d say bordering towards pathetic, but then again, the real question that will arise with that declaration is why do I think of crying as pathetic. At least I’m expressing myself, albeit privately.

I keep trying to write something these days, but I don’t want to bother anyone. This is me forcing myself out of that slump. I have a lot to say, I know I do, but I cannot see the point of it. It’s not that I think that others don’t value my opinion, I think that I don’t value my opinion anymore. What right do I have to be angry? I keep waiting for some tomorrow that will enable me to write about now with a sense of detachment. I crave retrospect. But to quote John Green, retrospect is a thing gained over time.

I try to write a poem about the sky and it’s angry. I’m angry. At the sky, at my friends, at my parents, mostly at myself. I am angry and I cry when I am angry. I’m angry at myself for crying all the time. When outside, I smile, but deep down, I’m angry at the universe for not being the way it should have been. I’m angry at the lemons I’ve been given. I’m angry because I’m not going to get to wear a saree to my farewell. I’m angry at my past self. I’m angry at my friend for not caring. I’m angry at my present self for caring. I’m angry that I have 3 back to back tuitions today. I’m angry at everyone for not noticing how angry I am.

I’m way too young to feel this old.

(On a lighter note, this is my 69th post. Nice.)