Get into a new set of clothes. Exchange your shabby sweater for navy blue thermal. Be superficial enough to wonder whether you should paint your face before you meet the friend. Take up strip of bamboo, dip it in white poster paint, make a magnetic field around your left eye, accentuate the fact that you were wearing lenses by putting on kohl. Smudge it out, in a vain attempt to hide the crow's feet. Leave.
Stagger a hundred metres, push through a line of bodies, wondering when to blow up the tightly surveilled entrance to the metro. Wait in the queue to check into the station, before flashing your Metro id, check your sms. If your friend has fallen asleep, take a step back. You put your feelings to sleep the night you confessed it again. This time, the Big Sleep. Because it clearly aint a person you'd ask to call you up when you see 5 deaths back to back.
Mashup your thoughts. Second image.
Text to clear up confusion. Clarify your position with regard to an event, maybe a sheaf of poetry mistakenly addressed to the wrong person. Clarify that you like the imagery, you like the thoughts, you like the textual help that person can wield. But clarify as well, you dont give it much of a thought. You'd rather figure out people who come across as complicated. Because complicated people are the most perceptive and the most sensitive and well its important to put on a sad face when somebody dies.
Somebody jumped to his death. Three deaths in four months. Three suicides. Three people away from exams, misplaced feelings, failed ambitions, and the tiring business of proving yourself everyday.
Actually three human deaths.
Repeatedly insist on the fact that you need to find an answer to your dilemma. Depend on human beings to hand you the golden ticket to soul satisfaction. Get bewildered knowing that the world actually speaks your language of there being no-labels and shit. Live and let live. Meet people, smile, be friends, be like a breeze, never be a storm, pass.
You are in control of your life. Not your death.
Sit by your lover. Gently caress her trembling legs. Realise you are sitting in a pool of blood and that you'll start feeling cold soon. Be dumb so as not to realize that maybe you could've prevented this blood loss or whats to come after that. Dim the lights, when you smell the odour which greeted you as you trapezed down the hospital morgues. Watch your friend get afraid and rush out of the room, when the first still born arrives. Put on your headphones, shuffle your blues playlist, and pick your lover up and place her on the bed. Get down on the floor and read british modern poetry while the children arrives in kidney shaped packages, dead and hanging from a lifeless umbilical cord. Smile at your lover while she stops eating her children and looks at you. Go upto her and kiss her and when her mouth's adequately bloody with the flesh of the newborns, gently sing her to sleep. Pick up the remaining two babies, place them close to her deflated tummy. Assure her its alright and leave for the friend's place. Its time to sleep.
There are so many lives and deaths to choose from. Its pointless wasting words for people who are vague or beside the point. Travel for yourself. No use compromising, no use pretending that this companionship means anything to you.
