LETTING GO.

So, hey. Me, again. As usual: it’s been a while. University life has a tendency to keep you either too caught up with the all em’ endless deadlines or too mentally-drained to sit down and write some words, no matter how direly inactive your blog’s been. And I know that’s such a typical excuse for basically being one heck of an absent blogger but you’ll just have to accept it because YAY DISAPPOINTMENT….?

Random browsing on GoodReads led me to this quote

I am awfully sentimental. Of books, belongings, people, places. It matters very little how positive or negative the experience was. If it shared some meaningful time in my life, I’ll have trouble letting go.
― Beau Taplin

and OH BOY OH BOY, did it REALLY hit home with me. I seriously am very obviously sentimental since who knows when. It is weird though, because I can’t exactly explain the logic behind it. Guess there’s just something I leave in places and times and people and things and moments, kind of like shedding a bit of who you are in that moment and just leaving it there. And then it’s like automatically everything has a connection to who YOU are/were and the thought of moving on is more than just difficult.

That’s why, perhaps, I tend to write a lot directly/indirectly on the concept of time and it’s magnitude of presence and the ever increasing reduction of human life, shredded by the second. I mean, it’s hard to fathom a clock as a stopwatch, even though it pretty much is. Not that I am necessarily daunted by the future or what it holds. But more so, just the realisation that tomorrow would mean leaving today…replacing today, being ok with leaving behind something that once was so important to you, only for this to happen over and over and over…that’s what I find troubling.

Eventually, every step ahead becomes bittersweet and hell nah, 

I don’t like bittersweet.  

wrote and illustrated weeks before i read the quote. still holds true, i think.

time kills clocks, too. 
and you wonder why
i’m sentimental.
buddy,
i wish i knew.

-rizwana

a

can’t

everyday
you put on a brave face
for me. for us.
but i’m choking.

(can’t you see?)

it’s killing me;
this pretending. like
you’re still just as
brave? we both
know that’s
not true.

ignorance is bliss
but having to ignore is
pain.

and as you walk out
the front door,
for me, for us,
i don’t know how
not to notice your 
hands become
frailer,

and frailer.

(i can’t let you see.)

remembrance

i, remember, too, the times i remembered you. 
as i put water into the kettle or
picked up the little broken spoon from within
the sugar pot
both acts, i agree, too mundane to mention,
alas, these too, i’m left, alone, to do.
i remember; i’ve remembered you.

-rizwana

Questioned.

IS

happy

it ok to wonder
about the days
we spent planning for
the days ahead
like alright,
it was wrong
to think you can
plan 

EVERYTHING

 

perhaps peoplesad
& priorities

don’t go
as well
as I’d
thought.
& that’s
somehow
supposed to be

FINE?

-Rizwana

limitless combinations.

I look at a bustling street to realise:

never will
the same people be
at the same place
as once.


and I
can’t help but wonder:

isn’t this telling of
the lives we’re living?

a few steps here or
a few steps there
and my life is a new life
and your life, too,

changes?

-Toto

p.s. wrote that last night. just random stuff.
oh & last exam left. back to frequent blog posts soon!
🙂  

Wistful.

everywhere
you go, won’t be
what is no longer
and yet every time
you try to find that
lost
home,
never will 
something,
feel dearer. 
For what
ensues 
the ache
is worth

everything.

-Toto

In your debt.

Wrote this a while back, as gratitude for a teacher who helped in more ways than her job required. 🙂


The first poem
I wrote in
English Class
encouraged me
to be a less
horrible poet.
So I wrote to
impress you 
but who knew
you taught to help
us.
Not through those
‘frame sentences’
I loathed
but the time we
spent
supposedly
wasting
and ended up
making it
something 
I still
long for.
Not once, not twice
but countless times
you being there made
the difference.
Perhaps, it is no wonder 
then, that every poem
I write since when 
you made us write 
that very first;

I owe you.

Then again,
I owe a lot
more too.
<3

-Toto

Figured Out.

Better a cruel truth than a comfortable delusion.
― Edward Abbey

perhaps uncertainty is not so foreign after all
and we remain determined in proposing
that you and I reside in a place far more
orderly but look around to see the crowds,
a messed-up mass of people voicing this
confusion to sound all normal, like lying
to ourselves has become so supremely
human that you and I abide to those who

rise above others
proclaim beyond measure:

“we’ve got it all figured out.”

oh we, practitioners of delusion,
have perfected our methods, at last. 

 

-Toto
p.s.  featured image is the
 japanese symbol for ‘truth’