Conspired.

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I’ve been conspired to be trapped into situations which make me dwell into places, far away from you.
I have been away from you, frequently enough.
That now,
Being with you seems like a hallucination;

 

To have your arms around me, seems quite expensive now.
I steal moments from my sleep to greet you in my dreams.
Biased dreams.
And on the days when I require your presence, desperately.
I simply pretend like I didn’t notice that inner voice.

I’m afraid, I’ve been conspired to believe that it’s all inside of my head.
It’s all not true.

 

-Ayrisha Sepaha

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Talk Me Out Of Sorrows, My Dearest.

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Talk me out of sorrows, my dearest.

Let me hold your words from the edges while you drag me out of darkness.

I do not demand anyone else’s words, for the magic your words have is medicinal to me.

 

Talk me out of sorrows, my dearest.

No other presence, no other touch.

It won’t suffice, for the kind of spell you cast on my soul, that is essential to me.
Let me hug your sentences, while I fall asleep.

I desire to wake up next to the bundle of joy, which you are.

Tiny world, petty stories.
Rusting our timeline.
Pull me out of this,
This quagmire.

Talk me out of sorrows, my dearest.”

Diary Of A Terrorist.

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“Eh, I don’t greet whatever it is, day or night, I barely care.
And oh care, what does that word mean, again?

Although, I do have a good memory, stuffed with knowledge, my big pals with big guns gave me.

People in the world, they go to school to get education.
We, here get indoctrination.
And what happens after that is pretty cool.

I, along with my mates, get to know the ‘Purpose of life’.

I don’t understand how majority of the world’s population is seeking it in adventures and other activities, nonsense.

My ‘big guns brother’, he knows it all.

However, the best part actually is that I am fortunate enough to know the road to heaven.
(And no, these do not diverge in those yellow woods, R. Frost)
These are real machines.
Jokes apart, I know about Robert​ Frost as many of my mates are spies, disguised as students in the Eastern parts of Asia.
Anyway,
So it’s simple.
All you need is this cool bomb jacket (DIY, with some American funding),
Fix it in your T-shirt/shirt.
Next, find a crowded place, carefully get in(the only time you gotta care about something is when you are getting past the security)
Then after you pass it, throw that care in the nearby dustbin.
You can even call up your big brother (head terrorist) using your supercool techie watch, which is also a phone, if you face unusual circumstances.

Then, find a centre which looks like a corner,
Say those golden words of prayer(this one is mandatory, without this your registration for heaven fails)
Then,*boom*(hit the button.)
Then die, obviously.

After this, begins your real life.
Wine, girls, casinos, food and lavish houses are waiting for you.
Fly until you reach the doors of heaven with your formless soul.
But oh, do not forget to introduce yourself.
When the guy at the reception asks you, “what are your achievements, dear child?”
Tell that looser,
“I KILLED A THOUSAND PEOPLE.
BUT, TEN THOUSAND DIED AND A MILLION CRIED.
NOW OPEN THE DAMN DOOR.”

 

 

-Ayrisha Sepaha

I Confess

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I’ve read the texture of your skin.
I’ve read your warmth, when you breathe closer to my presence.

I confess, you are an exaggerated thought in my mind.

 

Intimacy is a funny concept.
It takes you by yourself
You see, I have created sketches of you in my mind.
And oh, I can’t even draw a straight line.

I confess, you are an embellishing thought in my mind.

 

I’m sure, I must be smitten with you. As, foolishly I dip my hands into dark colors, wipe it recklessly on a beautiful, blank canvas.

I then,
Think of you and it all shines.

I confess, you are an overwhelming thought in my mind.

 

I let this formless soul inside of me, to attain a from
To confirm to your kind.

I confess, you are a disastrous thought in my mind.

 

I’ve watched emotions shape your expressions.
I’ve admired those lines anxiety draws on your forehead

I confess, you are an incorrigible thought in my mind.

 

My dearest,

I’ve seen you bloom and I’ve seen you blue.
Only to conclude that there is no side of you, that I dislike.

I confess, you are an extraordinary thought in my mind.

 

– Ayrisha Sepaha

Patterned Melancholy.

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“I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.”
– Charles Baudelaire

 

“I’ve been uncomfortable for so long.
Now,
Comfortable feels abnormal.

Defense mechanism is one brilliant thing to utilize, the more you strengthen it the less you feel.

But isn’t it what you desire? To feel nothing and get everything.
Yes? No.

You don’t desire irony, you just practice it.
Of course, without giving a hint of it.

I’ve had concerns, concerns I take to bed and discard as tears, big tears.
Only to look hung over without any beer the next day.

I’ve been meaning to sleep to escape, but you don’t really sleep when you are tired, you need a moment of peace to shutdown​ the system in your head.

I’ve been reading about minds and humans. I have found how far both of these words are in reality, from their conceptual definitions.

I’ve been silenced, tormented and reduced to zero, all as a part of growing up.

I’ve walked the ways I never thought existed.

I’ve had second thoughts,

all my life.

I fear, I have known how little these currency notes help when we actually look for something worthy.

I can sometimes feel the nervous system of my brain just like I feel my elbow’s bone.

I’ve lived too much on some days and not at all on other ones.

I’ve been disappointing myself and consoling myself equally.

I’ve been so intense that everything else seems routine.

 

Tangible seems intangible and intangible is what I can see.

I can feel how earth is spinning playfully and we are taking it too seriously.
Calling it time, the potent one.
Calculating it, like it matters.

I’ve have created things I wasn’t looking for only to be distanced from my centuries old desires.

I have been less human and more of what I wear.

I’ve been so much inside of my mind,
That now this world seems like an illusion to me.”

 

PS- The image is of an eighteenth century French Painting.

Powerful/Powerless

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“Dawn and dusk could have been twins. However, the only difference is, what they transform into.
Perhaps, it’s all pertinent to transformation.
Or how fearlessly you face your fears.

I feel, letting go isn’t an individual activity, it’s rather a prize you receive when you eventually decide to move on.
Moving is the choice, letting go is the effect.

It’s ironic and embarrassing how we cling to petty parts of the very story.
While we keep forgetting the entire story, numberless times.

Moments, phases, timelines.
Aren’t these just small and large proportions of time?
Time, the most valuable entity.
Present, the only reality.

We rush, and get no where.

Funny it is, how we are superior, powerful and everything. Yet, not enough.

What else can we control more than our lunch menu or dinner dress?

It’s funnier how it all goes according to it’s time and we, inside of our minds are confronting bloodshed battles.
Giving up and giving in each day.

Living and dying each day.

Some make heart breaks their scars, others break more hearts to heal their scars.

Which approach is justified, which isn’t?
Who terms the night and days, who decides?

If we all are bestowed with similar flesh and bones, who makes us different? Or who provides us with this urge of being different or maybe at least special.

We all wish to be precious, respectively.

We all know our utopian desires clashing with real, bitter world each day.

Weekends are just days like Mondays and Tuesdays, they are just spelled differently and hence, lived differently.

You see, we created a pattern to get rid of the pattern itself.

We created a parallel normalcy to jump out of normalcy itself.

Achievement? Or complexity?

Depth or lack of knowledge?

Who decides?

This entire journey from a single particle, to a physical form to finally, fossils.
This, we call it life.”

That.

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I saw the end even before it arrived.
And that panicked me.

I lost major sentiments to trivial pains.
And I carried this fire which burned me more than it illuminated me.

My imagination reached the stratosphere yet reality threw me hard on the ground.
Having those anti gravity thoughts.
That panicked me.

I longed for places where I never belonged
I did more than spreading love, I emptied it
Self desertification it was,
and that panicked me.

I skipped living today to accumulate life tomorrow.
I believed on a lie today to be hurt by the truth tomorrow.
I drew sketches of possible outcomes and I knew how growing and decaying go hand in hand.
And that panicked me.

I saw the end for the stories I never wanted to end.

Perhaps I knew much more than I was told.
I could comprehend much more than I could see.
Perhaps
I could feel more than I was supposed to.
And that,
Panicked me.

Ayrisha Sepaha

1 AM Garbage!

I wonder,
If everything, everywhere is pretty much exaggerated.

Social media posts, opinions, railways job applications and even carbon emissions.
Makeups, friendships, dates and sad music.
Exaggerated and extended.

Everything appears and then reappears like nothing is special.

Every thing is so different that it all ends up being similar.

Everything about every thing is doubtful and negative.

Hopes?
Crushed by science.
Love and trust?
Concepts limited to social media.

People in the extreme East preparing weapons of total destruction, while in the Mediterranean, a romantic evening is confronting absconded jihad supporters.

A place like Paris needs our prayers.
The holy city, Jerusalem is a 20th century battlefield (Apparently, they take history too seriously to ruin the present)
The big brother of the world, is administered by 70 year old Disney character who is playful, more than your childhood nanny.

Island groups are submerging before so many ‘wanna be travellers’ could collect pictures.

Your social space over the Internet was serving you feeds and memes.
But boom!
It’s a loophole leaking your data, drop by drop.
None of your secrets are actually secrets.
Zukerberg, not a techie but a gossipmonger.
(My aunt wants to know his location now)

Leakage reminds me of examination papers.
I remember how I was asked to take board exams more seriously than Indians take cricket.
In a nation where the income decide pretty much everything from marriage to social status to happiness to the number of your kids because, good quality condoms are expensive in a country where roughly 70% people have unstable income levels.
And sex is a need because internet is easy and unemployment buys you nothing but leisure time.

They decided career options until yesterday.
Now, people make money leaking them on WhatsApp.
(Given the fact that FB acquired WhatsApp, defines the love for leaked things)
I feel, black money must be seductive enough.

Some one is getting killed in Somalia right now and some minor is getting raped in India right now.

It’s routine.

Wait for tomorrow,

Not to hear about the just and fair results but to know which religion raped which one or if Pakistan conspired it or most importantly, what expression and clothes did the girl wear to invite filthy men towards her.

Is it only me who feels this or being a human is really that difficult?
I think, Salman Khan would support me once he is done with his lunch. (Which he stole from the Lion and probably disturbed his food chain)

So, is it all falling into place? Or is just every thing falling?
I don’t know if we can pause to think.

But either we are corpses following whatever comes our ways or we are thinkers who feel alienated (finding ourselves in science fiction movies)
And if none of these, you must be Rahul Gandhi.
Because Modi ji is not even a real person. He’s just a bundle of twisted and turned, manipulated opinions with a lot of entries on his passport and a Gujarati accent.

Ayrisha Sepaha

Quest.

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“You see a moment only conceives it’s worth until it’s over.

And once it is over, no Treasury inside of your mind can reconstruct what is gone.

With arrival comes hope but isn’t the beginning itself a sign of the end?

Some days you are influenced other days you are coveting to be influenced.

Some scars embellish your story, make it less normal.
Others just exterminate major parts of the same.

Sometimes along with a powerful wind you find your beliefs weathered and other times you balance on those unstable, suspended particles amidst the storm.

What lays the foundation of this very dichotomy,
something least calculated and entirely unexpected.

It’s subsequent, how you are either drowning or you have drowned already.
But you never remain floating on the surface.

You are denser than everything surrounding you.

Formation and termination follow similar patterns,
difference exists not in your choice but in your acceptance.”

Ayrisha Sepaha

;

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A day prior to the judgement day,
I’d still be writing about you.

You’ll be visible in my bones and ashes
You’ll remain my only truth.
Beautiful and gloomy,
That day, as I imagine would be similar to our old fashion tale.

I’ll carry you within myself,
Oh! So safe.
You’d own your tiny shelter inside of my world.
The world we called ours.

A day prior to the judgement day,
I’d still be smiling at you.

Ayrisha Sepaha