I wish I was MEDUSA, for once.

Most of the time, 

I feel damn proud of being independent.

But then,

Sometimes.

When people begin to grow taller with their words

I feel so tiny that I stand wondering if my left finger is enough to fill the lonely gaps on my right .

When automatic advocates of others vouch so strong

I wonder

...

If the spasmodic cringe within my ribcage is my imagination or really, solid.

If the blood in my mouth is sour as I taste or just a delusion.

That when would it cease to happen

That will a day come when I would feel strong someday without having to bite my tongue.

That someday my spasms will no longer by killed by my morality

That someday, will a strange voice from my back protect my front.

I wonder why do I feel pain when independence is such a dreamland for me.

Will I have to cut my tongue and bear the masquerade in the face of civilization ... Forever? 

That someday, will heavens open up

And shout 

and 

Scare

And scream

And lash every soul that trembled me.

I wish to be strong.

Strong like I imagine myself as

Strong like I believe I am.

Strong like I see myself as.

Will it happen?

My imagination grows without the colors of confidence. 

I see no future, yet I feel

Someday, 

If not my flesh or bones,

My shadow will grow taller. 

Then, vouch for me.

How long will I have to fight my battles? 

How long will I have to polish my sword day after day in pitch black night with a grumbling stomach on my own. 

How long will I have to wage war against the darkness? 

How long will I have to dream about light looking at the dripping bloodthirsty weeping angels?

How long will I have to try meditating with heinous hyenas camping all around me. 

How long, 

You.

God.

Oi.

Om Shunyata.

Oh, my west wind. Will you bite my fears, just Once.

So that

Finally

I can stop looking for the neverland.

Times like these, I wonder, 

Am I for real? I mean, perhaps I am a devil in disguise. A devil with Alzheimers. A devil in Coma.

I am so tired.

My sweaty thin life-hanging rope broke a long time ago.

I fell and hit the rocks.

Then I, 

crawled down the cliff

And picked up my organs one after another.

I sat down for centuries and sewed it all back. 

Head for feet and 

Hands for Chest. I sewed. I couldn't find my eyes

Or my skin.

I am so tired.

Would you Gods have mercy on me and Kill me? 

Just once.

You've heard me ask this since I was the li'lest.

I am so weary.

Tired.

And worn out.

Lift me up. 

So that I will never have to feel my feet touch the beneath.

So that I can just stretch and let the world pass me by. 

Please, just once no.

Kill me now. Just once.

I am so tired. 

I am proud to be on my own.

I wish my bones were heavier. I wish I was a giant.

I wish I was a hummer with a JCB body.

I don't wish to be a man. I wish I was not a Girl. 

I wish I was MEDUSA, for once. 

A rollercoaster called Moving On

I oathed that I will not think of you.

Like, every oath about you

After a while

 … One gentle breeze ruffled
 through me.

It pauses and paints itself with your face.

How can I ignore your lovely eyes, whatever may have become now.

I leave everything and grab it, the wind. 

Then gently …

the breeze starts a rollercoaster
From 
All the way up above the sky. 

Everything,
all over again. 

I hope what they talk about time is true. 

That, with time I will no longer remember that feeling when you held me safe in your malnourished arms
And made me dream of your home in Thiruvananthoram,
That someday I’d felt invincible holding your nimble hands.
That unforeseen, yet delicious kiss that once you took from me,  just after your puked.
And, how I remember that as the best kiss of my life. 

I wonder, 

If you ever felt the way I did. 


The rollercoaster landed with a thud. 

And I grabbed the good ol’e breeze that reminds me that, I am delusional just as I was after I met you and before I met you.

And

Gone are the days that you're welcome back. 
Au revoir! 

Last of the Memories of #AA.
The cogwheel of moving on.

#leftoverlove
View the Poem on Hello Poetry- A rollercoaster named Moving On 

Operation Anonymity for World Peace from Ceida Uilyc

I'd decided that I will slowly shrivel into anonymity (with Calcutta).
But, well, just the last day I thought, why not do it now. Even though I see the ones around, it is my choice whether to sight or heed them

Or not.

To all them, except parents and the ones who never saw this.
Do not call, come to my flat or send me emails with a 'hi', 'bye' or 'what'sup'
Because you will get no response.

Reason: I always disliked people. Once I thought it was the virtual reality that I hated the sense of
- chatting without hearing the sound
or
- talking to impress only with dead souls in their tongues
or
- Calling without touching another
or
- videochatting without ever seeing the subtle crease in the other's brows.

Now I know.
Its not that I hate the company.

It is just that ...
There is so much of euphoria and boredom or euphoric boredom/ boring euphoria in conversing with another.
There is usually no pure reason. It is all mostly a ploy.

Unlike most of the time. That's it. I am not going to rant on. :P

No byes.
I will only be available virtually.
If you have something productive that cannot be done without me, let me know, I will be here as long as I breathe. :D
This is too personal, yet every word or glance is too personal too. No offense, de facto-
#Belated World Peace Day 2016

Good Day!
-Signing out
Ceida Uilyc 

a bare halfhand in a story frost

She came. But, she never conquered- Yours Sadly Sessions

She told me that she wanted to kiss me.
I’d swooned over her curves since a long-long time
Dreamt of the moment she was ready to say yes to my 2-year long request to share her warmth.
So, I jumped with joy, but was numb to say anything more.
I thought, she’d be different.
I thought, she’d know.
I thought she’d understood nothing more, yet nothing less
Than what I’d always said-
At the end of the day, leave me alone!
Like most people,
She too thought that this was merely ornamental.
And she said that I hated love because I’ve not been loved enough.
Gwaaah! Such lies.
Such coarse hopes people prison within and dream more about the torture.

But, there was a difference.
I was not one among them.
I had no rousing dreams.
I did not want any romance, I merely wanted her body.

No.
Co-existence without shite was prettier.
Wetten. Fuck. Ejaculate and Clean it off with a gush of the jet.
Like most liars, she too lied that she hated commitment.
And echoed with me.
Like more flimsy folks, she was flaying too.
She was not my falancho.
So when I finally told her that I didn’t have time for her.
It was with a heavy heart because I had time for her body, but no time for her emotions. Or mine to be shared.
It’s a burden to even think that I may start it all over again.
So ….
When she told me that I will never see her again,
I was smiling inside. And I silently told her,
Fuck Off!

I had such dreams about living with her.
But, she was just another leech, looking for love.
Just another man in women's tender skin ...This Poem on Hello Poetry

Is it too late to let go?

A strange wind tells me

                                                                ­  its time to open my hands
&
let go.

A stranger rain tells me
                                          
                                            Howl together.

A strange lightning strikes me
                             I Howl with a knowing that ...
                                                                ­ ....I should've let go
just a second ago.

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How decayed is my inner soul?

Ever seen a man die?

Old man from the bottom of my poesy ... 

Miles past, on the road ahead,
I saw the man pause while on pace-4 speed,
And fall down,

Through my balcony.

He was not that far,
Just as I’d caught up with the twists and shrinks
On his face, cheeks and limbs on a bare whole.

He looked at me.
He told it all.

Yes.                                       From miles past my window,
I could feel his gaze, no, the silver strands of his corny memories.
Coming to me,
Without a stamp, seal or crossed arms.

                                                               ­       Searing through me.

Without an apology, fear or want, he fell with a shushed thud on the tar.

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