Posts Tagged ‘melancholy’

I re-surface.


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Move! Get up, go, forward, just do it.

Mulling, analyzing, caught in my story, attached to my bed.

If there was a mood monitor, like those heart rate monitors next to hospital beds, mine would be a flat line right now.

Stuck. Can’t. Get. Un Stuck.

Two days and nights sleeping then one staying awake all day and all night, then two days and nights sleeping, and so on.

Housework has made me sore like I ran a half marathon. Pathetic.

I still dream of you S, but much, much less than before. When you complain about your new wife, it re-affirms for me that you didn’t make the right choice. If you are happy with her, content, I may be able to let you go completely.

A singular emotion at the bottom of it all, Fear is running my life.

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The original:

naa kisii kii aaNkh kaa nuur huuN, naa kisii ke dil kaa qaraar huuN
jo kisii ke kaam na aa sake, maiN vo ek musht-e-gubaar huuN

main nahin huun naghma-e-jaaN feza, koii sun ke mujh ko karega kya
main baRe birog ki huuN sada, maiN baRe dukhoN ki pukaar huun

meraa rang ruup bigaR gayaa, meraa yaar mujh se bichaR gayaa
jo chaman khizaaN se ujaR gayaa, main usi ki fasl-e-bahaar huun

naa to maiN kisii kaa habiib huuN, naa to maiN kisii kaa raqiib huuN,
jo bigaR gayaa vo nasiib huun, jo ujaR gayaa vo dayaar huun.

pae faatihaa koi aae kyuuN, koi chaar phuul chaRhaae kyuuN?
koi aake shamaa jalaae kyuuN, maiN vo bekasi kaa mazaar huuN

An English translation:

I’m the light of no one’s eye,
The rest of no one’s heart am I.

That which can be of use to none
-Just a handful of dust am I.

Why should they come to visit my grave
And waste upon my dust a wreath?

Why should they light a lamp at night?
The grave of helplessness am I.

I am not a soulful tune,
Why should anyone listen to it?

I’m the cry of a stricken soul,
The pain of a broken heart am I.

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I am shivering in the cold.

May I open your skin, crawl inside, wrap you around my body like a warm blanket?

I can hear the content in your voice, the Happiness.

It sickens me.


Why did you not choose me?

I am happy. For you.

Fly away.

Last night I listened to Ajahn Brahm’s dharma talk on Love. He said, most times when people think they love someone, they actually love the way that person makes them feel. He gave this little example. If you truly loved your partner and s/heĀ  runs away with the milkman, you should be very happy. I mean, isnt’ that love? That you want them to be happy? Well, now they are happy! Instead, you would probably not be happy at all. Why is that? Because you want them to be with you. But what if being with the milkman is what makes them happy? I thought, well, I’m not angry that S has chosen someone else. So, I’m okay. I truly do love S. Then it occured to me that I may not be angry but I sure am deeply sad. And why should that be? Isn’t it because I wanted him to choose me? Instead he chose someone else. If I truly love him, then I should be happy. I look within. I am happy that he is happy. I am also sad. I suppose I truly love him and also love the way I feel when he was around me.

Now, the possibility is gone.

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Did you know that one little pill can make me happy?


little white chemicals, more serotonin in my brain,

less sadness in my heart,

more smiles,

less moments of feeling overwhelmed.

If I forget those little chemicals,

I drop into a pit of depression.

Spinning around with loneliness, aimless, anger, melancholy.

I bought my pill.

I’ll be ok.

I am ok.

I am.

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Billoo is my love, my sweetie, my guddu, my baby, my darling. I miss her dearly, her soft paws, her meows which were more like a baby’s wail, how she’d wake me up in the morning, that first night when she pulled my hand with her paw and pressed it against her belly to show me how she liked it at night-time, how she’d curl up between the two of us on our bed and claim the space as her own (“waaiiyy-ing if we accidentally brushed her), her curiousity and intelligence. I say “is” because she isn’t here in her body anymore, but that energy transformed itself into another life, her energy is still here in this Universe. Miss you, gudda.

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by Cassandra BarneyI am anxiously awaiting my giclee of The Engagement by Cassandra Barney. Lately, I am fasinated with the color blue and red poppy flowers. All her paintings are a reflection of herself in some way, all self-portraits, yet us viewers can find ourselves in them too. There’s a melancholy in these faces, a darkness, a secret, a profound sadness. When I have met Cassandra for her art shows, she seems so content, satisfied, joyful, dare I say, happy. Her paintings though reveal something else. In public, she’s the one who probably carries around the most painted face, while her paintings cautiously speak of her true inner reality. The Engagement, to me, looks like this innocent happy bird sharing a bit of that happiness with this melancholy young woman, thus “engaging” her into life. If only I had the means, I would love to cover my walls with much more of her art than I can.

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