Stupid Yearning
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Anger. Disappointment. Desperation. Envy. Pride. Resentment. Joy. Melancholy. Love. Hate. Friends. All of them. Available. Ever present. They crowd. An abyss. Called the mind. They occupy. A meaningless chasm. Called life. Their party. Never ends. The chaos. The noise. The deafening silence. Never leaves.
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So many lives. In one life. So many deaths. Relationships are such. They mirror life. They resemble death. They create. They destroy. They consume. They get consumed. They are warm. They are cold. They are beautiful. They are old. They are ugly. They unfold. They never leave. They come back. They remain. A reminder. Of
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Somebody. Who meets a stranger. In his room. For the first time. Kisses him. Lets him. Feel her. Just the lure. Of the forbidden. Of rebellion. An expression. Of disdain. Of boredom. An act. Of impulse. Of lust. Without regard. For the past. Without respect. For commitment. Just another moment. In a life. Where. Every
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Last night. I saw you. Old. Ethereal. Beautiful. Glowing. The future. Was. Exactly. As I envisaged. You. Me. Laughing. Crying. Bickering. Sulking. Always wanting. To stay away. Yet. Never a moment. Not together. The elusive. Road trip. Like our life together. An endless drive. Through every terrain. We arrive. Slightly scathed. But refreshed. Each time.
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I sit by the bar. Near the busy street. People pass me by. As I watch cars speed past. Leaving blurred trails. Of different colors. Red. Blue. Green. Amber. Diffused. Transient. One trail. Makes way. For another. Everything passes. The cars. The lights. The trails. The past. Life. The trails get muddled. They merge
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Longing is punishment. Yearning is torture. Unleashed by forces. Beyond our control. Motivated by a concept. Called love. Fueled by a nuisance. Called lust. Controlled by a demon. Called passion. I yearn for you. Long to be with you. Dream about us. Remember what was. Imagine what could be. Unable to endure. What is. Without
Hansal mehta 