Down with Aspidistras

Memories of a lost one...

When I am gone...


When I am gone life would be so much easier for you
To wake up in the morning no longer with the bitter taste in your mouth
Except for your bile and last night’s drink
To listen to music with no one screwing up her face
To no longer receive endless flow of meaningless scribbles
(that too with bad grammar)
To wake up to a soundless morning except for the rhythmic yells from silver discs and your friends’ rantings
To be able to set off without anyone throwing angry tantrums
To have your house free of my traces all across your floor
My filth staining your spotless home
My clothes over your chair
My animal presence fuming at the corners of your rooms
My silliness spoiling your happy moments
My sinking into banality when you even cease to hate me
My staying here and coming back and staying here and coming back
And staying here
My rude phonecalls
My barrage of cacophony
My put-on concern, my affected friendliness

When I am gone life would be so much easier for you
To cease being at the vortex of my attempts to entertain myself
To cease being hated, loved, respected, looked down upon, being abused, being praised, being talked at, being talked about, being written to, being written about, being thought of as meaningless whose existence matters least to the world, being thought of as talented and who must be encouraged, being the one whom I really care for, being the one who means nothing to me, the one knows me and knows that I know that he knows that I know that he knows me, the one who is such a conceited fool to think that he knows me, the one who is understood by me, the one who is always misunderstood by me, being the one who can never hurt me no matter what he does, being the one who inevitably ends up hurting me

When I am gone life would be so much easier for you
To be just the sweet little boy
And not the one who can be bitter
One who is hugged and kissed
And never slapped across the face
One who is good to be with
And never a source of agony
One whose cheeks are too tempting to pull
And not to be shouted at
One who is written to
And never is written about
One who will wallow up in normalcy
And not to face the ‘excessive stupidity’ of insanity
One who is extremely nice and pleasant to be with
And not the one who will shout out ‘fuck you’
One whom everybody will love
And not the one whom a fool thinks she understands
One of whom everyone will have fond memories
And not the one about whom a moron with a bloated ego thinks that she
Was the best friend you ever had and harbour the illusion that you will miss her whose muse you were and who is really thankful to you for that

Man, I kinda feel sorry for you.
29th January, 2003.
Almost two at night
8/10 Roop Nagar

After Loosing You, My friend...


Mourning the death of my dear friend,
I sit alone,
Driving others to frantic search.

I come back;
Accusing eyes face me, ‘not very good on your part’
------- they say,
Somewhere from the dark, a woman chirps flying accusations,
I become angry .... because can’t be sad.

The phantom body of my friend comes floating inside,
Having had paid too much attention to the surrounding franticness
He decides to ignore me completely.

Bundles of anger fill up the corners of the room,
‘how could you?’ they say .... ‘how dare you?’

Then everyone decides to dance to the tune of gaiety.
No one cares to invite me, or perhaps they don’t dare to;
The music getting filled with life and joy,
Only I remain to remember the dead.

Oh my dear friend, how do I keep on remembering you?
Perhaps a black band on my wrist,
Being alone would drive others to hatred.

Meanwhile girls decide to take the floor,
Round and round they go.
I get up, decide to join them;
But how could I dance, when you, my long awaited friend, is dead and gone.

Phantom bodies all around me, wilderness in the air ---
Sexy damsel breathe down my face,
‘will you remember me?’ she asks ---
Of course I will, I am cursed with memories,
As you, my friend, always blamed me.

Tomorrow is another day, they say
Perhaps it is so ---
And tomorrow is for another search
---- or perhaps not,

I treasure my pearls of fear for my poems
As have been to tired of being in the cemetery for so long.
14. 12.2002.
almost two at night
8/10 Roop Nagar.

posted by Bithran @ 6:53 PM