Little Rainbows- Why I Love Being Left Alone?

The puzzles inside the mind, ones that fled with the last currents of mercy, and Juliet is waiting beside the shoreline of harmony with a dagger on her left hand—she will pierce it through the center of your heart and you will fade away such beautifully.

And to everything that you ever desired, the entirety of this precious life and the jingle bells over the glossy platform at the end of the last house, do you see me standing there without any clothes or any silk to my name?

Life is such a causal thing, with flowers always deceiving and the scent of harmony filled with compulsion of such desires—where art thou mercy in the name of each skin- O gentle tides of July, why don’t you answer me when I speak to you—

I’m lying here in a room filled with such sincere loneliness that even the walls could never comprehend. Calling out my name at the top of my lungs but no one will even care, and each star stares at me like I’m a ghost. The same that adored me when I was overflowing with paper, or what is—the art of merry in chaos--names which are just an imaginary love affair with the angel.

Why do I love being left alone, with nothing but a pillow to my name, stained with dreams of a three year old wishing he could conquer his own world one day. Solace inside the fabricated sheets, terrified of joy when purple frangipani spills it’s aroma on it—feelings which are a fakery and each flower is nothing but the same tragedy thrice.

O poetic gardens harvested beside the autumn of your dreams—why don’t you look at my bare skin anymore? Is it the scars that have me stained with love and chaos or is it the beautiful razor blade holding onto me like I were its lover. For once, let me think for myself, art which is filled with sophistication and life is nothing if it isn’t for creativity inside the lonely mind.

I can never deny—for the desires of my opposite sex are too strong but there is nothing much that I could do but to continue breathing. You see, Juliet always leaves, each rainbow is an imposter and the friendship ties are nothing but a social vendetta. Do you know…can you imagine how many people have tried to take advantage of me at each step—hate songs which are just so overwhelming!

So leave me with myself, and if these hands do not want to hold onto me, please don’t bother. I’m already in love with the chirping of the last pigeon and the smile of my dog here—right beside me when no one else is. O look at me, drawn to royal poverty, for the famished mind knows the art of such calamity—those that the ordinary never understood.

At least I’m able to express myself, words that have the singularity to take me to Mars in less than a second, and to the rhythms inside the mind that has been placed such melancholically—don’t bother—for I’m at contempt with this lonely life, perhaps the imposer lives it better each day…every day.

-Yogesh Chandra