Love story

I love you.

I love you.

Please baby!

But it hurts!

But I love you!

But it hurts!

You said you love me!

But it hurts!

I will be gentle.

But it hurts!

Do you feel better?

Hmmm

Yeah?

Hmmm

Did you come?

Hmmm

I love you.

I love you. 

Thedailybeast.com

A Hungry Heart

Between the Emperor and the Gladiator, one would think there isn’t room for another warrior on the world stage. And yet out of the ashes of a difficult injury prone career, the dark horse has scripted a comeback! Perhaps it wasn’t as popular a comeback as Federer and Nadal but it is no less a story of perseverance and hard work.He was hailed as the tennis’ upset specialist in the US Open 2009 beating both Nadal and Federer at the top of their respective game. What followed, however, was a wrist injury in 2010 followed by 4 surgeries and murmurs of an early retirement.

The 2016 Wimbledon was the rise of the phoenix and while the world was still looking at the indomitable rise of Djokovic, Wawrinka (even in his loss) acknowledged how happy the world of tennis was to see the dark horse rise again. Perhaps it was the love of the Latino community in the US Open or the love of the millions in Argentina praying for one man, the quarter final loss at the tournament against Wawrinka was a historic moment the sport would cherish for a long time. The crowd celebrated his return to the echelons with chants of “Delpo, Delpo” as a teary eyed Del Potro served for his last game of the match. He missed this, who wouldn’t?

The story of his return is the end of a long love story in which the fans of the game have played the most important part. Unlike the greats like Federer and Rafa who have managed to for a large part motivate themselves to script a fairy tale comeback, Del Potro’s story of comeback all centers on the love of the crowd and the love of the game. We were all in tears in that US Open quarters, because we had willed our Dark Horse back to life and here he was for another fight.

While 2017 was fraught with back injuries and personal losses, here he is scripting a similar 2009 story. Just as the two giants of the game have scripted a comeback meant for the history books, I would spare a thought for the heart of a man whose career was stolen from him and yet he stands on a court strewn with his tears and those of his beloved fans with a quiet smile on his face.

For all my love for Rafa, I wouldn’t be entirely heartbroken if this Dark Horse wins. I eagerly await a semifinal between the raging bull and the hungry heart.

The Road to Wrath

road.jpg It is here I walk tonight

Despair on one side

Pain on the other

Moving on towards…

 

What, exactly?

 

I am walking in unknown

Loops; the road painted

The same shade of red

Each turn weaponized

 

With swords of rage

 

I pick one up for guidance

All I see is blood!

My former lover

Dying on the side

 

Cuddling his Pain

 

My mouth smiles gazes ahead

I walk on uphill

Hope casts a shadow

On the crimson way

 

My Wrath awaits

 

P.S: Even Moses 

Chased the Mountain

For his God.

A love letter

Everytime you open those doors

You ebb and flow like waves

Kissing my mind’s sandy shores

Pulling my words away 
You are my medium

My spirit spelling myself

Outside my heart looking in

A spectator of each of my doom
You are also my Sceptre

A glory otherwise unknown

Scribbled on ageing paper

Regailing folklores of a different time…

Obesity

Bring me the largest size in the store

For I skinned my heart and ate it whole

My skin is waiting for room to explode

But I wasn’t always a food whore
Mothers loved me as a child

For a never refused a morsel 

Girls hated my body’s guts

For it welcomed every kind of filth 
But it never showed
Now I roam the nights alone

Through the bright light of my phone

I’m too ashamed to explore

My body’s unsightly folds
When did it come to this?

That girl in the mirror wonders

I rarely see her these days

Can’t meet her eye
Because I never slowed 
I tell myself I’m not old

I still have time to atone

These sins of a skin too tired to hold

This bag of filthy food and bones
The girl she sighs – walking off the mirror

She’s given up and so have I 

Every time a void is filled

With chocolate muffins and cherry pies
But I tell my soul
One more bite and I will be done

One more cake and he’ll be forgotten 

Eat broken hearts and feel none 

Feed my anxiety to calm it down
The girl in the mirror is back with her evil smile

Telling me how vile and ugly I was at every bite

I’m down a rabbit hole now aren’t I 

For she was the reason I ate my pride

The Artist

She sits in the corner of the room

You think she is waiting

For some kind of life to start

But little do you know

She is not sitting waiting for life

For she IS LIFE

 

You see the emptiness in her room

She sees the wind

Carving a story in the space

A story waiting to be told

Through her weary body

For her body and mind are one!

 

I have always wondered what that’s like

Mine denies me every time I hold a pen

Hers just flows like the river

A constant stream of emotion

She only owns herself

For she knows she is the best prize

 

You have a word of the day?

She is that word

The first line of your favorite book?

She lives that line everyday

The world tries to drown her voice in its insipid silence

For that voice can only be heard by the brave

 

So I’m back in this room

Looking at her from afar

She gets up; walks on over;

And everything behind her is a shadow

She doesn’t know she’s a ray of hope

She doesn’t know she’s a star…

A Letter from my Childhood Room

You were ten when we first met.

You were fighting with your sister for me

I was the bigger room

It was always about bigger things – better things

Younger ones are like that among your kind

You were no different

 

But my four walls were never enough

At ten years nothing is enough

It was the first home you owned – all four of you

“You can scribble in these walls”, your father said

Admit it though

You were still scared of sleeping alone in your bed

 

I was there

When you father told your mother, she was a terrible cook

You wondered why you loved everything she made

But You kept quiet

He was more important to please

So you became his perfect little girl

 

I saw him, so did you

But you let your silence win

Each time he raised his hand

Your father was always right, right?

Your sister had made a mistake in math

She “deserved” the punishment

 

I was there

When you were angry coz your sister wouldn’t come out and play

She is being a snob, you told yourself, why else?

I knew why

Back then you didn’t know the meaning of rape, neither did she

Little girls aren’t supposed to

 

I saw you learning every prayer your father taught

You were perfect in your efforts of winning him

I was there

When he decided to leave the house for 3 years

He left to buy you a better life

I saw you miss him everyday

 

I saw her –

Your mother fighting your teenage self in vain

Your sister becoming the man of the house

She bravely chased the rats away

She was always your knight

Her armor would never grow a chink

 

I saw your mother confide

She wrote in her diary

“Am I a bad mother?”

At the age of 11, you had made her wonder

Were your lies her fault?

You may’ve been a child but you weren’t easy

 

You invented stories by the day

Yet you were scared they’d come alive at night

I saw you read your sister’s suicide letter

She had torn it up and thrown it away

You walked outside her closed room that night aching to hear her breathe

You heard her move about and then you went to sleep

 

At 14, you’d wake up in darkness every night

You’d see a shadow on your doorway

You were not really scared of a nightmare

You were just curious as to why you cherished them some nights

The shadow wouldn’t say anything

It just stood there – a silhouette of a woman

 

You left me when you turned 17

By now even the house wasn’t enough

You were angry at everything

Angry at your mother for her silence

Angry at yourself for yours

Angry at your sister for not being angry enough

 

I lost you for a while

You slept without dreams and nightmares for 10 years

You grew up

You brought up your heart

You trained it to forget the fights, the beatings, the masochism of it all

You grew out of the anger

 

You stashed your pain away in boxes

You only shed tears for your friends

Your own sorrows didn’t deserve them

Your sister was still your knight inside your temple for Athena

She’d passed on her armor to you

There was no room for weakness now

 

And here we are 

You are 30 years old

You peeping into me from the doorway

You fear the darkness inside

You think you see her – the ghost of a memory – that 14-year-old girl

You wish you could tell her

 

It’s not you, dear girl

It was never your fault

You see that’s why you were never scared of nightmares!

You know now

These shadows at the edge of the doors are just pictures of you years from now

Now you wonder why that silhouette stayed in the dark?

 

You didn’t know then what you’d look like now

You didn’t know then you’d forgive

That you’d promise to fight for your sister when no one fights for her

That you’d promise strength to your mother when she’s crumbling

That you’d promise forgiveness to your father when he’s lonely

Above all, you promise tears for yourself

 

I see you

You’re a woman, a little rough around the edges but mostly nice

You – you look beautiful

I see you

You were my child too, if only walls could talk

I’d say I’m proud, dear child

I’m proud!

looking back at time.jpg