Tag Archives: Trauma

Someone Like You

11 May

Why is it that the last thought before I fall asleep, and the first when I awake, is being wrapped in your embrace?
How is it that you take away my peace, unless my head on your shoulder lays?
Why is it that the thought of two weeks without you, causes so much pain?
Why do you make me feel at the very beginning, that I’ve lost the race?

Why in your tight embrace, do I feel so secure?
Each time you leave, I’m left feeling so unsure?
Why must I strive to distract from thoughts of you?
How am I to break from your allure?

You are so perfect, in every which way.
You listen, you laugh, bring out the best in me each day.
Make the right noises, without giving  much away.
But how am I to know if you are really here to stay?

Your home is my temple
Your bed is my shrine
Your visits are a blessing
Your presence is sublime

The sound of your voice
The touch, feel, sight of your greys
I bask in your wisdom
I strive for your affection, more attention
But wonder if it’s not only for me?

You fill up my senses
My heart and my mind
Do not leave, let me rest in your
tight, tight embrace
Even when the sun has set
and risen
and set again
Let us just lay

Letter

30 Dec

Dear Life,
I get your point.
I’ll never find love, in someone who will love me back.
I will never be satisfied with what I have, no matter how much I coax myself.
There will always be some situation at work, to make me unhappy with my job.
I will always have at least 10 people around me to remind me how I’m responsible for my own situation, because of my own lack of initiative.
And you will not give me courage to kill myself in the time to come. But instead tons of agony and confusion.
I hope you’re enjoying yourself.

Afterthought

10 Jun

June 2001

The luxury car cruised beside the vast ocean. The waters rippled softly towards the shore as the waves broke against the rocks and receded into eternal blue.
“This stretch is called the Marine Drive,” she swerved her finger. “It’s also called the ‘Queen’s Necklace’. At night, when the street lamps are lit, it gives the appearance of a pearl necklace.”
He listened quietly and nodded. All of 13, he scarcely thought he would remember the buildings she identified to him. But then, he hadn’t been brought up to speak his mind.
He sank further into a corner, intimidated by the sole company of his affectionate cousin, twenty years his senior. He turned his gaze toward the ocean, watching the waves ripple softly towards the shore.

June 2007

“This is unpleasantly surprising and extremely unexpected.” Her tone was stern and grim. “One always thought you were raised as extremely well-behaved and disciplined. These outbursts at your parents are confusing and unsettling.”
He listened quietly, his insides squirming at the tone of her voice. He himself could not completely understand the reasons behind his outbursts, and what resentment he held against his parents. At that point, everything was confusing; the past, the present and the uncertainty of the future.
Her eyes glared at his face in a feeble attempt to decipher. He looked down at the table, seething. His parents, and all others, sat at the table in uncomfortable silence.

June 2010

“The resentment I held against my father 3 years ago was for not earning enough. It stemmed from the expectations my mother has always had of me. If we were wealthier, she would not hold those expectations and I would not be in a position to let her down,” he said, breaking years of silence.

“Why did you think you would not be able to fulfill her expectations?” he heard her question.

“Because I didn’t know for sure if I would always remain part of the family, once they came to know about me. Because back then, I probably thought most of us walk down that same road. That there is no acceptance. Today, I’m not so sure. Father seems loving and accepting of deviants. Mother may not seem so now, but she’ll understand eventually. Back then, I had no hope. I rebelled because I wanted to reject them, before they could reject me. Today, I’m not so sure.”
More silence followed, interrupted occasionally by the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks.

“I wish I could have told you all of this while there was time.” He turned to where she had sat 9 years ago, and beheld the void. All he had now were memories. Memories of her in her resplendent grace as she had stridden through her abruptly short life, leaving behind a grieving mother, widower, family and an innocent young child. A perfect life. Her perfect life.

“I wish I could have given you 30 years of my life. You had everything; the perfect husband, a beautiful child. A doting mother, a loving family, eternal wealth, a beautiful life. All I have is impending gloom. I wish I could have given you 30 years of my life.”

The luxury car cruised beside the vast ocean. The waters rippled softly towards the shore, the waves broke against the rocks and receded into eternal blue.

Cowardice

7 Jun

I want to creep into this blanket and stay,
I don’t want to face the day,
I woke at the break of dawn,
To realize that you were gone…

And yet, true realization is yet to sink in. Why do I feel there is no grief? Haven’t I been grieving since forever? So why is it that when it finally happens, I feel so empty? So empty…

One perfect solution…

30 Mar

… yet, so many obstacles

Changing attitudes

29 Mar

Three weeks ago, you said “I wouldn’t want you to be troubled because of me”… and insisted, “Tell me what’s troubling you”…

and then when I finally come around to saying “I don’t think this arrangement will work out”… that you could take out only one hour and fifteen minutes for me in 2 weekends, you spontaneously jump to “You seem to have made up your mind… Take care” and “I don’t find any use of probing the matter when you’ve made up your mind so I won’t ask”?

I didn’t imagine people changed this way… hard to believe that you changed.

The Late Show With UsP presents, “The Unsung Psalm”

25 Mar

Venue: Unsung’s Bedroom
Date-Time : 25th March, 2010 at 3.50 a.m. (i.e. VERY late!)
Guest : Unsung Psalm
Interviewer : UsP

Transcript :

Q. Hey Unsung, how’re you doing?
Ans. Not very well, UsP.

Q. How come? Why’re you up so late?
Ans. Because I left my window open last evening to let in some fresh air, when I went to the gym.

Q. Ahhh… huh?
Ans. I left the window open to let in some fresh, cool air from the outside. I left the light turned off so as not to attract mosquitoes. Then I  came back in later, and turned the light on, forgetting to close the mosquito-net window.

Q. So the mosquitoes keeping you up? How many are there?
Ans. About 35 dead, and roughly 500 alive of which 400 are healthy and 100 are recovering from the trauma of having escaped my vicious yet unsuccessful attack.

Q. How long have they kept you up for?
Ans. Since 1 a.m.

Q. Why don’t you pop on an All-Out or some other repellent?
Ans. I don’t have any. Never had required it in these 2 months. Even if there were mosquitoes in my room, they did not come buzzing around my ear with the kind of vengeance they have adopted today. Then again, it could’ve been a 2-month Action Plan that is paying considerable dividend today.

Q. Isn’t there any other way to drive them away?
Ans. Yes, I could leave my fan on at top speed, as my sister does (in addition to her all-out) and that would sort of blow them away from the Unsung-inhabited area.

Q. Why don’t you do that then?
Ans. The Bangalore Electricity Corporation thingy finds it appropriate to conduct load-shedding from 3.30 a.m. at night. There is no electricity.

Q. Why didn’t you speed up the fan between 1 a.m. and 3.30 a.m.?
Ans. The thought didn’t occur to me till 3.32 a.m.

Q. So how’re you dealing with it?
Ans. I’m personally killing each mosquito I can get access to. And I’m blogging about the ordeal.

Q. Don’t you have work tomorrow?
Ans. I certainly do.

Q. That’s not going to go too well, is it?
Ans. I think I’ll survive. Will catch several forty-winks in the cubicle in the restroom. Or at my desk, whichever.

Q. So what does the battle scene look like right now?
Ans. There is blood on the wall, floor and on my person. None of the blood is my own.

Okay, some of the blood is my own.

Q. Are you the only person awake at this hour?
Ans. No, there seems to be some religious procession this side and people are screaming and shouting on the street outside and bursting crackers.
I’m not being sarcastic, it’s really happening.
And my flat-mates may have been awakened by the sound of constant slapping emanating from beyond my bedroom door.
Also,  I think I woke up Mr. Possible when I smsed him some time ago. Didn’t know he was a light sleeper, and that my sms would wake him up. He responded to my sms with a feeble “:-)” There’ll be hell to pay tomorrow. This is going on my permanent record.

“Thank you for joining us on the Late Show this evening, Unsung. I’m afraid the laptop battery is running out. Enjoy the rest of your… morning. Get those bastards. Happy swatting!”

“Thanks, bye.”