Saturday, December 17, 2016

The apology you deserved

Dear you,
More often than not, I have been sad in my life. That is the thing about being sad. You get used to it. You get accustomed to it. It wraps you around like a fog and you cannot see things clearly. At first, you want to see the end of the road, you struggle, but then you slowly sink in the bliss of the feeling of being numb because you cannot see the end of the road and there is no destination anymore. The fog becomes your comfort zone and you don’t want to trade it with a sunny day.

The coldness in your bones begins to creep inside your heart and finds a way to your head. You begin to replay the memories and try to find out what was real and what was not? At that moment, I swear I loved you more than myself. Now, I feel nothing about you. What is real and what is not? All those precious memories I treasured are now equivalent to the teenager’s drunk hangovers. What is real and what is not? And what if, what feels so real today feels nothing tomorrow? What is real and what is not?

As my mind races through these question marks, I begin to realize how sorry I am. I am sorry from the side of the both of us for it took us so long to finally let each other go; that we held each other so tightly, we were choking each other; that we were so desperate to feel right about our choices that we tried to modify who we were just to feed our ego to prove we are right.

You deserved this apology from the day we met, from the day we took our shining hearts and turned them into rust with our tears. You deserve this apology for it took us so long to realize that when things don’t fit in the empty spaces you shouldn’t force them in because that’s how things break and that is how we got broken. It took us so long to realize that we were unhappy and it was happiness we wanted, not the people. This is an apology for it took us so long to realize we were just bruising and making each other bleed all the time through our rusty hearts.


Monday, August 15, 2016

The Aching Heart

They made it sound tragic so that they could auction their movies based on this feeling, trade songs for this emotion, write books on this topic, make blockbusters of this manipulative pain which they injected like venom in us.

But on the contrary, heartbreak is not sad. It is not tragic. Tragedy happens when the loudest of the cry cannot wake up the person sleeping silently in the hospital bed.
People come in your life when you are ready for them and they leave after teaching everything they had to teach, after their purpose for both you and them is done.

This pain that makes your spine powder to dust, this trembling chest, this siren in your head, this is not pain, look into it a bit deeper; it is just as giving up your baby teeth, it is just as growing beard, it is just as developing a hoarse voice. It is a part of the process of growing up, it is the part of the process of living. 

Because life is not stagnant and movement comes at a different pace. You are moving at your own pace and someone out there who you think is for you is moving at his/her own pace. Sometimes you leave them behind, sometimes you are left behind. And it's okay. It's more than okay.
It’s nothing to be sad about, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You are the same person you have always been. Your barometer of measuring who you are does not depend on them. It’s okay. It’s not tragic. It’s normal. It’s normal. 

Tuesday, January 12, 2016


Today I feel small. Today I feel that if the breeze was to blow even just a little harder, each of my cells would be scattered and my blood spilled so much that the Pacific would forget it was once blue. Today, I am realizing that it does not always take water to drown. You can drown in so many things: poetry, memories, love, your own red blood. Today the scars are all opening up and my soul is a balloon penetrated with a thousand bullets that are no longer scared to bleed. Today my heart is a bleeding machine manufacturing red paint because it has ran out of blood so long ago.

Today my pulse ranges from sounding like gun shots to a flat silence. Today my mood swings. Today I am about to collapse and my world is crying for a time machine that takes either to past or even to future because today is too much to handle. Because there is a limit to the pain the nerves feel. Today the body is pouring everything out because the chest cavity has a limited space to hold on. Today the word "forever" in the post card on the drawer feels like a bad joke which one cannot resist to laugh.

They say to stop a wound you need to stop touching it. But today I want to scratch every rash, magnify every scratches and show them to god and question his justice. Today my body is a witness of a living cadaver.

But today does not even feel like an exception, feels like everyday has been today. Today has now begun to feel like a friend. Today feels like home.

Monday, November 30, 2015

Bullets And Blood

Today the sky is filled with the vapors rising from the tear of the woman who lost her son who couldn’t get hold of the pills that could get his heart pumping. Today, the clouds are filled with black smokes because of the flames rising from the body of the police officer burnt alive. Today, you and I have lost all our colors like the woman who lost the red sindhur in her forehead on his husband being killed in his uniform. Today the red of rose does not remind anyone of the spring but of the blood of that innocent child who bled his life out in your clash. Does this sound like the music of triumph to you?

The owl now roams during days because it now takes a only a genius to differentiate between day and night. Today, the neighbor far away sits with a remote control watching our misery like a soap opera fitting into his dirty games. While the streets are painted red, we are still busy tearing the flesh apart of each other till one of our sternum has become dust. The marching line of empty gasoline cylinders resonances with the rib cage pulled inward because of air failing to make a push to abdominal wall. The news seem more of a horror movie than anyone ever watched which leaves the soul paralyzed like a tired tree waiting for winter to take it. Does this sound like the march of victory to you?

But my dear friend, the war does not bring peace. It brings blood. Physics says, when objects strike, only clash among them is possible. Whoever taught you, the strike brings peace, taught you wrong. For proof, look around you, the blood of our own brothers is everywhere.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Fighting Death, April 26

(After experiencing a massive earthquake of 7.8 magnitude and numerous aftershocks,I wrote this article within the tent I was residing in.)

The ghosts of death are flirting with us. We are trying to run away from it. Every single inch of us still wants to live even though life has always been a tear machine.We try to live so hard. But every other day, we choose death to life, we choose beds to table, tv to real world. Is it only the death we are scared of or is it the absence of life? Is it the trauma calling death which makes our bones creek like a cascade or is it the fact that death is the final whistle.

I feel like I am writing my own death note right now. Just when we thought we had conquered every last inch of nature, the nature has given us a bitter reply to each of us that we are her children and it has always been this way.

Some of the old folks said it was the god. Science says it was the tectonic plates. The angels of death are roaming around each of us. Each single moment we breathe, could be our last. The air which enters our lungs could be the last wisp of breath we can ever have. The buildings collapsed like cards in front of us.

We desperately hope that our bones and muscles are stronger than those cement and bricks. We hope that there are many sunrises waiting for us. We hope that we will be able to tell our grandchildren how me it through. We hope that this nightmare tomorrow after it is over will give us a glimpse of hope and courage instead of mourns. We hope that we will be able to cheat death, and we desperately hope that every single moment thereafter we will keep on choosing life over death. We hope nature will have mercy on its children.
-Samrat Babu Koirala(3:56 PM, 26th April 2015)

Saturday, January 24, 2015

The Final Prayer

That night when the stars bled breaking the clouds into my holy soul,
My soul dyed hazy brown from bright red,
I remember whispering some prayers unto the unknown,
But it echoed back, bruised and broken

My shivering teeth clattering with the taste of blood on my tongue,
Like the glue holding my pieces are vanishing, just tired of holding the things that can't be held,
My cells falling apart like a deck of falling cards,
The light falling on pupils like a whip, sun crawling my spine like shadows,

And you are up there shouting the slogans of justice?
Smiling with a victor's delight like a slave owner smiles on seeing his slaves,
Claiming yourself to be my saviour, when you've always brought destruction,
You have always been an assasin, heaven must be filled with blood,
Bleeding with the throats of those calling your name, by the thin thread connecting you and them,
When you were too busy spinning your web,
Delighted with your strength, mad with your power,
Looking at the white flags of your children, calling it a victory

Your lungs habituated at inhaling sulphur, 
Your heart that drinks blood,
Your eyes that see clearer only on fogs,
Your hands that produce clings of metal even with skin,
And you call yourself the symbol of justice?

Yes, yes I offer flowers in your face in the temple,
Not as a prayer any longer god!
But because I've been taught to offer flowers to the dead!!

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Hide And Seek

"I've spent ages hoping for sun to forget to comeback, hoping for moon to win a battle, hoping that the pores in the sky will not heal back so that stars can still reside on them."

Its 5 AM and people are now switching the lights on. The sun must be tying its shoe laces. The moon seems pretty tired from signaling the sailors the proper way, of radiating poems for poets, of providing romantic stuffs for lovers, dictating time to some cave men out there. The roosters signal  their lungs to be ready. The plants are all ready for the sunlight and their chlorophyll is warming up. They are all prepared. They are all ready. For them its new start.

But for me, the rays of sun on pupils does not fall like feathers. It falls like jail bars. The sun crawls on my back leaving me more colder than the freezing cold of the night. Take me back to the time when moon resides, back to the time when its dark. Coz for me, its not a new start, they are still moving. They are moving more quicker than ever and things tend to fall apart in the presence of light. In the dark I am all alone and I feel safe when I am alone, the ghosts hunt on days in crowds, not when you're alone and not at nights. The ghost does not live inside the bed, nor does it live inside the head, it lives somewhere in the crowd hidden and appears all of the sudden somewhere in the laughter of the class when I say the wrong answer, somewhere in unanswered text messages, somewhere during the movies when I realize its not her warm hand I am holding onto but the damn popcorn, somewhere in the newsfeed when I realize I wasn't called in one of my friend's birthdays. I've spent ages hoping for sun to forget to comeback, hoping for moon to win a battle, hoping that the pores in the sky will not heal back so that stars can still reside on them.

But then again, how can I wish for something new when my fists have always been closed like a frozen cascade refusing to get opened and I am out there still asking for something to hold on to, when the truth is that my hands have always been full. Full with all the gutter I want to get rid of, full of all the people I don't like, full of memories I want to erase, full of wrinkled jammed bones I wanna move. I want my hands to be free, free like the wings of birds when they fly, free like the butterfly is free from being caterpillar after ages in the suffocating cocoon, free like the hand of the painter moves on the canvas, free, free!!

So, no I am no longer looking at my calender like time bombs made from the gutter I've collected which I want to get rid of. I've always been so busy with filling things that I've forgotten to get rid of the dust formed occasionally which now is suffocating me. Its time to loosen up and let things go. So ring up the sun, will you? Yes, now I am ready!!

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Meat Is NOT Murder

"….. So vegetarians, it makes you the looters, the burglars, who demand for justice. You are the thieves who preach morality. You become the prisoners in the black and white stripes preaching justice. You are two faced people who with one face are grinning on seeing the material you are eager to loot and with other face you are shouting the slogans of equality and moral codes. Your one hand is busy stealing and your other hand holds flag of justice."

"Having meat of others as food just to satisfy your belly is inhuman", said my delusional vegetarian friend. But how is it inhuman when this is what we humans have been doing since the time we came into existence?

Just like these feminists preaching feminism outside BICC hall at the time of beauty contests, these so called animal lovers, they never say anything about meat except in Dashain. That’s when they preach us about non violence and make us meat lovers feel like some monsters.
But we are not monsters. These people who call themselves animal lovers are actually the ones who are against them. Because if it was not for us non vegetarians, the chickens and goats would have become dinosaurs way way ago. The entire purpose of raising these animals is meat and when one preaches against meat then they are actually preaching against the animals themselves. I can bet that if red deer could be reared and we could have their meat by law, their number would increase drastically.

And aren't you the ones saying all life forms are equal? Then well stand on your principles. Let calf have the milk of her mother, let honey bees have their honey back, stop using lipsticks (FYI they come from cattle), stop using shaving creams, don't keep the food in refrigerators and keep them outside so that bacteria and fungi can flourish. Just because plants cant scream does not mean eating them is justifiable. They are just as equal life forms. So stop them too and well, DIE in starvation.

Just because we can, what right does it give us to take life of another innocent creature? Well, same right which all the omnivorous organisms have. They are our food. And you cannot ask us to give up our food. You don't go after bears or squirrels or foxes saying, to stop eating them because they can live on the plants too. Do you? Then why is it so horrible and monstrous when all we are having is our food. 

Just because you don’t eat them, does not mean you are the moral ones and we are the inhuman evil people. I cannot  put it in simpler way than this, "we are having food." (tastier one than you are). And no, it is absolutely not monstrous to eat them. And even if it is, then you are exactly as much guilty as we are. Because by the assumption that if all the domesticated animals are freed, then so should their land be returned to them because one way or another the world was entirely theirs before we came. So it makes you the looters of their food, of their homes, the burglars who demand for justice. It makes you the criminals who cry for equality. You become the thieves who preach morality. You become the prisoners in the black and white stripes preaching justice. You are the two faced people who with one face are grinning on seeing the material you are so eager to loot and with other face you are shouting the slogans of equality, freedom and moral codes. Your one hand is busy stealing and your other hand holds flag of justice. Dear vegetarians, how is that better?

So, yes I eat meat. And no, I am not even 1% guilty of having my food. I refuse to believe that existence is an act of crime. I refuse to believe that having your food is an act of guilt, just as I refuse to be guilty of consuming oxygen. My existence is not something I can be guilty of and so neither am I guilty of having food to keep on surviving. As easy as that!! If having fish by bear, meat by squirrel when they could be surviving on the plant products does not make them monsters, then well neither am I. I am just having my food like my great great grandfather did by hunting. So, dear vegetarians who think themselves to have the moral standards of mount Everest, see to your sides my friend, I am also right there. My morality is just as high as yours.

(And dear vegetarians, your taste buds know nothing.)

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Tearing Down The Cocoon

"Look into my eyes and tell me you love me, till our shadows look a little longer in the falling sun that the white doves in their nest start to envy us."

Hold me; till your heart beat and mine sound together in resonance, till my pulse find a way in your veins like a wandering child finally reaching home. Look into my eyes and tell me you love me, till our shadows look a little longer in the falling sun that the white doves in their nest start to envy us. Kiss me; at the tip of my tongue so that the blisters from praying to god feel like they were not in vain. Lend me a hand and pick me up, and don't let me go and tell me there are no reasons to have bruises in the knee cap anymore, tell me my prayers have been answered.

Take me; to the horizon where the sun smiles and meets the moon. Together we will make them jealous. I will tell you all my secrets while counting the stars in your eyes. Let the sun and moon feel left out for a while, for the radiance from your eyes are more than enough to guide me through the darkest moments. Touch me, till all my nerves whisper your name, till the air in the lungs sing your song. It took me so long to understand that the pain which cannot be confessed are the hardest to heal. So heal me and touch me gently till I turn blue. We will sing the notes under the tree and add a life to the old man in the hill who has given up that love still exists in this world.

Because you, baby, you are a drop of crystal in this world of mess which has lost its clarity. You are the prayer in my lips at night when the wounds resurrect. You, you are the temple in my soul where I pray with the thousand bells ringing at once. The masterpiece in my canvas. The poem in my mind. The notes in my silence. The music in my bones.

So today let me swallow my pride and let me tell you that I need you. Like that little girl next door needs her teddy bear. I am tired of galvanizing my heart. I am breaking the pattern now . I've removed the layers and I've carved your name on my heart. So come and claim me. I am all yours. 

Saturday, September 6, 2014

The Shadows Of Unknown

"You are whispering some prayers but the god never listened to you, why would he listen now?"

It is 11:57 in the night and the demons have started crawling in your veins like terrorists making their way through a secret tunnel in the dark; one by one, slowly poisoning your blood. Your shadows seem more real than your face. Your face melts like ripe apple melts on being kept in an acid.

Your mother warned you there are no ghosts but no, the journey from your room to bathroom feels like it has been ambushed by the bombs that could shatter your atoms to all the dimensions possible. Your friend had told you how his friends saw something on the dark alley burning at the middle of a night. Your chemistry teacher taught you it is phosphorus that burns at night but, it does not take a genius to see something outside burning so bright that hurts the pupils. You try to close your eyes but the light is approaching you and amazingly you who used to get scared of dark finds yourself getting scared of light. You try to run but the trembling bones, they don't support the motion. The ligaments under your skin have given up the hopes like they are waiting to be crushed by an unknown force which you are sure is stronger than a thousand suns. You think you hear someone laughing, you think you hear someone crying. Your senses like a pendulum clock are dangling from bad to worse. You tell them to stop but they are traitors, they don't listen to you any longer. You are whispering some prayers but the god never listened to you, why would he listen now?

The light outside your window is coming closer. You are sweating every ounce of water you had drank in your life, you might not have tears to cry if the evil could be manipulated with sentiments. You try to stop them, but your skin, your skin feels like an inflated balloon penetrated with a thousand speeding bullets, any attempt to stop the spill would be absurd. The light comes closer. You see he is wearing a hat. It must be a human. But all the murderers in the movies wear hat. Now you wonder if you want that hat figure to be a murderer or a ghost.

All your problems suddenly disappear now. Jasmine has been ignoring you for like a month and you think she likes the new guy from another section more than you. It does not matter. Your father has been drinking a lot and talking loudly. It does not matter. Your teacher today insulted you on your face and everybody laughed. It does not matter. You failed the last test and your family does not even know about it. It does not matter.

The hat figure is three footsteps away from where you can identify him from your window. And now your lungs are giving up. You are hoping this is a hallucination but the clock earlier showed 11:57 and now it is 11:59. It can't be a hallucination. Two steps left. It could be a watchman. Yes, definitely watchman. But he went to his house in village after his mother died. No, not the watchman. Now you are disintegrating in pieces and your brain is ready for one last guess. No name strikes your mind. You call it quits. You inhale wondering if this set of air reaching your lungs would ever make its way back to your throat. You still want it to be a dream.

Final step. You can identify him now. You never liked your friends playing pranks but right now you desperately hope it is them or it is a dream. But it is neither. You see him. And the first thing that hits your mind is that it is over. His head looks like that of a lizard with a hat on. His tongue is rather long and seems to be soaked in glue, his saliva is mixed with blood. He has a broad chest with scales. His feet are stout and large and his soles are gigantic with many toes. You tried to count the toes but lost the count after thirteen.

He looks at you straight in the eyes and says, "You just scrolled and did not hit "like" on your newsfeed on the post on September 13 about me in your facebook. Remember?" Would you laugh? 

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