While waiting for classes that don't happen

I have a pretty romantic campus. Because it’s devoid of human emotions when I corner myself from human contact. There is only wind blowing through the thoughts of seclusion when I look up towards the Chinar trees. Such is the beauty of this down-trodden place. There is ambition imbibed only in hearts that reach out to it. Otherwise, the wind just blows. If I want, I can colour pictures of earthly desires and laughter, smiles and smitten ideas because it won’t stop me. I can close my eyes and dream of nothing at all. I can be simply looking into space and it would say nothing to me. It would just stay and offer a place to be. And yet, this very stagnancy has made this so much more intriguing for me. There are no conditions for being. There is only a reason to be. A reason to see inside yourself when you look at the benches and lonely estranged people here. People are only a tool. People are only a reflection of your thoughts, once you elevate yourself above the menaces of daily life.

Repeat after me: I am free.

For in freedom there is a sense of belonging to someone. Someplace. A reason. Maybe.

Freedom.

How can people be free?

The wind’s turning cold. An indication to turn down rolled up sleeves, and accept that which is obvious. Believe in myself but give up so many things. So many things at once.

But I won’t. Oh, I won’t.

Oh, you. This reflection of my soul etched upon the autumn leaves strewn on this quiet ground. I crush the leaves to leave hurt residues. And listen to Unforgiven. And lose myself.

It’s these moments of momentary stillness and carelessness that define what this heart is fighting for. This heart will keep beating long after the people dub me gone.

There’s work to do. There is tons of work to do. Submissions, deadlines, an excuse to display shamelessly, your hopelessness for this world. But how do I explain that this is what I want. And its strange because it is a paradox in itself. This struggle and survival. The music and the noise. The words and the paper-frills.

Keep us loved. And I’ll pray we never die.

Never fade away.

Strong gusts of wind that blow whole pictures away

An image of your destiny

Sown on grounds that you hated.

And you have to sow because there is a way to be

A way to say that I loved thee

And then I stopped looking at you

A way to say that I understood thee

And then I stopped listening to you

Because the wind is too cold for reflection

But still I reflect

Because it is in pain that I see

It is in strong bouts of deprivation and helplessness:

He answers.

Mountains and their backdrop

The layers of survival

Peeling off of grazing minds

And I want the last layer

They call you unbelievers

And you admit

Not knowing what to say

Not knowing what to be

(19th December, 2012)

I love this freezing wind. It frosts me to the bone. It kills the weaker emotions inside. It eliminates all shards of doubt. It produces me. Without you. Without anything else. Without us. It reasons me. 

And everything comes back, when people make their presence felt. Human contact.