Thursday, 29 June 2017

Hiraeth

My home.
Existed in a very familiar place.
You had seen me there often.
Remember, when you stood over me, 
screaming, trying to grab my attention, 
while I appeared to look through you,
swinging on the hammock. 
You called me insolent and stormed away.
I was inside my home, the walls were sound proof. Pity you couldn't see them.

You must have seen it! 
Maybe you didn't realize then. 
The day you walked in on that ugly, screaming scene. 
I haven't forgotten that look on your face.
You did hear my unspoken mollifying though?
I later heard you had said that I appeared thick-skinned.
That I had stood there with a silly smile, so not 
appropriate for that particular clip.
No! you didn't hear! Neither did you see.
The curtains that buffered and butchered 
every ball of hateful, scathing, blame before they reached me.
I didn't have to thicken my skin.
I had my home.

My home.It was mine alone. Built out of will.
Peaceful. None paralleled the blanket of comfort.
Cost me not much. Except a few labels that
at times a little hurt. You know, some financed by you...
Self-centered, Drama queen, Rude and oh yes!
Volatile, Fragile, Stubborn Egoist.
But when has a home come free?
I had invited you in too. Often.
It was only right, for you helped me build it.
A few bricks in there were yours.
Where is it you ask.

It was! Right there you know. 
I just had to close my eyes for a second.
Two deep breaths and I would be in.
Now, I can find it no more.
I try time and again. Revisit familiar paths
in my mind, that in the past I had taken.
But, nowhere are those walls, the windows.
That strong door and that roof lit by a thousand stars.

Gone are all the shields.
What remains is Hiraeth.
A yearning for that comfort. 
Bring it back. 
Anything in return...


Tuesday, 20 June 2017

Inked

It is funny.
The way my actions belie my words.
The way I etch on my skin
what brews in my heart.
The three, they don't match.
They are the fragments
Of the split in me.
Confusing, lying, laughable.
Or maybe it is just the dark strain in me.
With every little prick on the skin,
I dig the words deeper.
A reminder. A benchmark.
Of this is what my life has been.
This is how it will always be.
So the words I say and the words you see,
See the link? What about my heart then.
Nope. Heart ain't always a mushy pulsating lump.
It can be battered tough ball of strength.
That goads me to ink the words.
Funny. It is painfully funny.
The way my actions support my words.