Glory Be

I can’t blame you, if I’m in love with the taste of being wasted. The utterly balanced delicate bite of the bitterness inside, with the rising bile, being shattered and glorious just comes naturally- it’s my style, I suppose, to be gasping, and blue, and asphyxiating on words I dare not tell you. Claw at my eyes and feel my throat wrench, as I force myself to swallow, as my stomach clenches. Rug burn, heartburn, cigarette burns, consterning, do the stars leave holes behind in the sky where they’re burning? Or maybe, that’s the price you have to pay, to be a thing of beauty, you have to blaze away.

And there you have it. That’s what we are. You are beauty, I am the destruction, and we are just as beautiful together, at a distance, as the stars.

❤️

Hi guys. I seem to return only to apologize, but I suppose life is all consuming that way. I’ve been very busy with some classes. The odd thing is, writing articles in class eats up a lot of my ‘word’ energy, and whatever creativity I have to burn, I seem to burn in short pieces these days. So I have been posting tiny write ups on Instagram. I’m at @calliopes_lyre. The other advantage on that platform is that I can occasionally go live on Instagram, which I can’t do here. So find me there, and I’ll find you- we have much to talk about.

Always loving you,

Yusra

Advertisements

Rock and Sea

Rock, and stone, and hill. The first step I take, into the air- I know this air. The first step I take, onto the ground- and I know this ground. This salt, this earth, this dry, cracked dust, this is what I learnt to stand in. This parched sky is what i took my first breath to. This tract of land, shunned and forgotten, is what I walked out of, the last truly happy days my childlike mind would know. This is the ocean, that let me sail away. This is the shore, that brought me back. And every night, where I sailed the restless seas of the night in the ship my dreams builds, I’d come home to rest.

No, my country. I am coming back to you- but I was never away…

The True Face of Assholery 

We’d gone to watch Annabelle at the IMAX here today, and these guys were sitting behind us. How did we come to know that it was these guys sitting behind us? Because we turned around to glare at them, oh, I don’t know, about a MILLION times.
Going to a movie and having to listen to frontbenchers whistling is okay, somewhat expected, especially if it’s a heavy Bollywood or masala movie. Clapping isn’t unusual in action movies either. But, motherfucker, in a god damned horror movie, these two women would NOT SHUT UP. It’s like they were actually cursed, that their lips would start sprouting tumors if they shut their mouths for one god forsaken minute. And I kid you not, I’m not exaggerating, they didn’t shut up throughout the damn movie.
It’s a horror movie. It’s supposed to be quiet in the theater, there’s supposed to be an element of surprise or at least the opportunity to be scared. Holy mother of god, not one person probably was able to focus on the screen with the nonstop babbling pouring forth from the manhole that this girl’s mouth was. The taller one repeated every single dialogue in the movie, as if she needed to desperately prove to the entire world that glory be, she’d finally learnt how to read! She repeated dialogues after the characters, read every single printed thing on the screen- it says ‘come in’ on a sign, she spells it out loud. A character tries to confess, she’s yakking in response to it. Like I don’t know if she was coked up beyond control or what, she was on word vomit mode throughout the damn film. And not just talking like a normal person. SHRIEKING, like a demented harpy, shrieking at the screen. And the other one, not talking as much but laughing like she was the possessed one, not the damn doll on the screen, at every line her incontinent friend was leaking.
I think they should give awards to audiences who don’t shower people like these with shoes.
What’s infinitely more irritating is that these failed abortions were clearly educated, well dressed, and looked like they’d duped some sorry ass into giving them a job. There’s a blonde on the screen? Let’s quote Harry Potter at the top of your voice. There’s a child in absolute darkness, waiting for a demon to turn the corner? Let’s talk AT THE TOP OF OUR VOICES ABOUT HOW THE DEMON CHANGED HIS CLOTHES. Or idk, maybe they were so surprised at being admitted into a public place with Normal people again that they were losing their collective shit.
And i suspect, trolling. They knew everyone around them was getting legitimately annoyed. Everyone kept shushing them and muttering audible swear words in their direction, and they knew it. People in their general radius were all moving away from them throughout the damn movie, to salvage whatever was left of the film away from their squalling voices. We changed seats twice, and sat way down in front. Had to crane our necks a little but at least the demon was louder than these bitches in the second half of the movie. The theater was empty enough for it. You could see them self consciously standing outside after the movie, too, trying to avoid the eyes of all the people who’d suffered through the movie because of them. Two hours in a theater with these bitches? Can the demon posses me next? Hell’s gotta be more peaceful than anywhere in hearing distance these guys.
Actually, come to think of it, that’s the only reason they sat through the film. If the theater had been any fuller, someone or the other would have gotten them thrown out on their sorry loud asses. The guy, to his credit, was not talking like the pair of buzzards he was with, but he didn’t shut them up either. Not once.
Or the lot of them were too drunk/stoned to realize that they weren’t actually sitting in their living rooms, idk. I’ve never wanted to slap the ever living shit out of a complete stranger’s face before.
Rant over. Smh.

To Kill The Sun 

It falls, like unwanted feathers, like sweat. Restless and stifling, the promise of rain like salt on my tongue. Luckily, I know how to wash away the salt. 
They’re kissing, god knows which number they’re on, getting more bodily, the couple in the balcony across my window. He fists his hand in her hair, and they push with the reckless of people who know no one is watching. I shift, to dangle my foot more freely across the window I’m straddling. I ash, and keep smoking. She sees me first, in one of her twisting glances. They slow down, glancing at me with obvious unease. She whispers something into his shirt, and he shakes his head. He goes on kissing her, and I keep watching. 
I light another cigarette. I turn back and he’s waiting for me to look. He blows me a kiss, with a cocky grin. She doesn’t like that at all. She fidgets against him, while he waits for a sign of approval or encouragement from me. I give him none, and stare back at his deadened eyes with my own leaden stare. He will carry me to the ground. For now, we tread the air. The girl is going back inside. I pour another drink. 
He comes back out, a bottle later. He’s buck ass naked, and evidently dissatisfied. There’s a splinter in my thumb, and I worry it with my teeth. He’s the one watching with unconcealed interest now. He rests his hip against his railing, and lights up, nodding at me. I stare, and slosh two fingers into my glass, and raise it to him. He smiles half heartedly, and turns fully towards me, watching. We watch each other. The sky dies. 
Poor bastard. Guess we’re both staying lonely tonight.

Wisdom 

If I knew any better, I’d see you starry eyed.  
Instead of laughing at your wit and sharing our mutual disparagement of an abundance of topics, instead of reading your work out loud in my head as I know you do mine, and having the full satisfaction of understanding as much as being understood, of being as hopeless and defeated a romantic as me- of being as defeated by your own intellect and perception as me- instead of the realization of these things, if only I had wonder instead, I could love you. I would love you. I would love you with the potency of our singleminded writing, the intensity of furrowed brows stringing words in breathing sequence, in the light of quiet sunsets of two people who understand- god, who understand! I could love you- I could! 

If only I could.  

I look at you, as you look at me. Two people who should but are plainly not meant to be. We stand on two neighboring shores, you chasing your ocean and me, drowning in mine. We hold hands in our solitude, both alone together, with love to find, and love to divine.  

Till another time,

Cookie ❤ 

Electro-Cursive Therapy 





Electro-Cursive Therapy 

There used to be a beat, 

at the back of my head

A song that went somewhat awry 

And the words that used to dance 

At the whim of my demands 

Decided that they needed to fly 

So a-one a-vowel went up, 

A few inches ascent  

The other three slipped a verse or two 

And I told myself no, 

It’s internal, not infernal 

And well, poems don’t have to 

Always rhyme, you’re just learning

Your style’s still disconcerting

so what if the endings don’t match 

And fist meets pissed just fine 

No serious writer minds 

A sonnet that’s slipped off the tracks.

Well, now,

screw that. 

The problem with prose is 

It’s more ‘lose’ that rose, it’s 

Pretty, but just so wafer thin 

And I miss poetry 

The kind that sustained me 

Verses deep enough to drown in 

Of balls and ballads, I 

Cannot more defy, my

Visceral need to straighten, organize 

These six line limericks, these 

Odes epileptic 

Today, this rebellion dies! 

So please do forgive me 

if my renaissance is clumsy

My syllables are a little slow to revive 

 

But I’m treating this first 

This arrhythmia of my words 

Because- how else is a poet to stay alive? 

©yusra 

24.08.2017