#3 excerpts of a book I’ll never write

1. august sits by the windowpane. her tiny hands softly clasped around her ceramic mug. she watches september choke upon her sobs, but refuses to leave her seat. i ask her why and upon this, she rolls her sleeves up. bruises of both fresh and faded shades sits upon her skin. i look up at her and then see september sit up, just to waste scribble another verse for her lover. august sighs looking at me, “you never learn, dear. you just never do.”

– for you, even hurting feels like heaven.

2. how many apologies do my bones have to carry to my grave just to have another treasured heartbeat scribble my name upon his list of regrets. how many knots do i have to untie just to find myself lost in unwarned tides of faces and flashbacks. why do winter still linger at my doorstep everytime i manage to get you back; waiting (and wanting) to take you oceans away from me (again). do you find me pretty only when i let july burn melt in my mouth? if yes, do you promise to come back next summer?

– cries of a winter child.

3. october nurtures another heartbeat inside her womb, carving unwanted poetry upon my flesh; but i do not complain. for she was my mother. i hear my grandfather says that my sister should be named “hope” while i bite the ends of the thrown away chocolate wrapper. the crushed corner of the foil leaves a little cut at the corner of my lips. i sit there in the deafening silence as i feel the hint of blood on my tongue. “what is your name?” i remember my kindergarten teacher asking me. throwing the wrapper back to the bin, i watch the smile that sat on my mother’s face. she was hope. i was havoc.

– october’s first born.

4. her stories were the kind that time preserved in its hidden back alleys, which mankind forgot. aayat. her name felt like delicate blossoms. like the tufts of unsung verses from my journal, finally melting in the arms of their muse. she recites Ghalib under her breath and braids my hair as the moon keeps a close eye on us. i feel her fingertips run down my spine as she says whispers how worthless i am. seconds later, she’s picking up her clothes. i sit there helplessly and watch her leave. while walking out, she turns around and smiles at me; as if she could pinpoint the exact moment when my heart broke.

– if you are reading this, my verses still ache for you, aayat.