tushardently

[tushardently]

I adore architects.

Imagine studying countless nights over the design of your imagination, only to know of its imperfections and retrace it back from the scratch. Imagine having countless nights of hard work only to built a beautiful piece of art in the living world, to put your signature in the soil you were born in, before you turn to a crop's dust.

Architects build the history our folklores come from.

[tushardently]

Why are you so zoned out these days?

Oh, but I am not. In my head, I am currently on the 5th page of my new found hobby to knitting, on the 67th draft of how I will react if someday she asks me out, revising the 6382th excuse I'd tell my parents for staying out with a friend, 2 pending assignments of English which need to be submitted by Monday, and the least important - my head constantly urging me to get some rest for a while.

I am not zoned out, if anything ; I'm jamming at a higher frequency.

[tushardently]

What good does it bring to not forget them?

The same that it brings to you when you see children playing cricket in the streets on your way home. They don't make you remember the last day you played cricket with your friends all those years ago, but they do make you revisit the happy nostalgia of fondling a tennis ball again. You don't hate those days, do you?

[tushardently]

Love from a cynic bestfriend's eye

I look at them from a distance and hope we never touch each other. My ears turn red. Red ears means anger, doesn't it? My parchment spills no hate though, but only revokes a gaze inside of my own asking if I am sure ? They are my best friend. We don't get angry with best friends. The hue flush of my pinnacle turns sluggishly towards the way to my neck, and in a while I'm all but red. It is not the red I've read about in concentration camps, but the one I watched in that of an olympic torch a few years ago on TV, something just as enthusiastic. Wait, when did I start to smile in public places? I shouldn't be so reckless, but this feels strangely familiar; all this. It feels as if I'm back beside a crib learning to walk for the first time, only that this once the reward would be the fall. I wonder if someone would still clap for me, I think as the alarm bell sings an ode to 5 AM.

Nights are short these days, aren't they?

[tushardently]

You bring me the sun, I bring you tears

You set me on fire, I grant you your fears

And glistening over a world so dull,

You smile at me and say that you care

[tushardently]

"What's the point?"

The winds to tenets seek no points, and you say you need one, yet still pray.

The Equivocated tongue of heart you pursued for the love you had in 8th grade had no point, and you felt like you still would die if it's not them.

Your mind's falseful ingress upon the thoughts which never came true still haunts you at night without a point, and you still shiver without a thought

The fruitful malevolence to pull a friend's leg whenever in sight, has no point, you do it still.

If not just for the pleasures and if not for the mere sake of being soulful to what you do, then what would be the point of it all.

Just let it be, and no points would take you astray from the lines of solitude.

[tushardently]

"But we're not friends anymore"

I get your point. We're not friends, or even allies to begin with, but don't you still think of me when outside a jazz bar at 2 am looking at all those confused faces still wandering upon the uncertainties of future, seeming as if a forever would crown them a truth ; don't you look at the swing sets in the abandoned parks of the evening and gaze upon the images of when we talked with the wind god over a banter to do 360s and never fall off?

Yes, we're not friends anymore, but if orkut and club penguin were alive again, wouldn't your password would still be my favourite ice cream, and would you still not see me being the only one in your friendlist from that fake account we made just to bugger our mutual nemeses?

We still share our taste in Hozier and Selena Gomez, I still sing your song when I feel stressed, and I know you still play checkers wrong, perhaps all alone.

I get it. We're not friends anymore ; but we can never be strangers either, for each time we both look at the same moon, it haunts me still to know how times go by so slow when not by your shoulder still.

[tushardently]

"Festivities have no point of celebration anymore"

"I agree, they might not ;

But what about the new saree that your mum bought on the occasion of Diwali to celebrate with you the vibrance of those fireworks your brother can talk about hours for, or the pink gulal your partner saved the whole morning just to caress your cheeks with it? What about the Kimami Sewai your friend shared with you in school the very next day from Eid which made you believe that your nani finally has a chef worth competing with?

From your half heartedly hung socks secretly filled up with gifts and money by a santa you've known since forever, to the way your friends long gone finally get an excuse to talk to you saying 'happy birthday', even the way each second you breathe is yet another day gone by for a new year celebration in a different calender of a varied custom, it all has no point you say?

There might be no point of festivals in a singular frame of time, but they make the existence of humanity more joyous, isn't that worth an excuse smiling for? "

- Tushardently

[tushardently]

"And you trusted them?"

"Yes, yes I did, because even when you told me the world is a cruel place, I still wondered about that bicycle man who gave me apple juice on that hot summer day when I was in the park, and no cookie since then has ever been sweeter,

Yes, I did, because the last time I asked the world to help me from school days it rained continuously for a week, I danced in the puddles and fell sick, only to feel happier yet again.

I trusted them, because no matter how many times you tell me I let my heart procure the best of me, I never do ; I only let my brain be free of any chains of past experiences which weren't even a result of my actions but of those who were born and dead in different times.

And you know what, you were right. I was wrong to trust a hurricane and it broke me to the core, but it doesn't mean I'd never let another soul wish for some apple juice on a hot summer day."

- Tushardently

[tushardently]

You say you don't love them; your eyes flustered at the sight of your gallery still; "I never did, I never will" is the phrase your lips tremble upon.

You whisper to me "But they were just a stranger", and Ms. Granger would've sworn you love your Weasley, how easily would the curtains withdraw when you still smile at the mention of their scent.

You vent at nights on dreams that faint, and blame the stars for the days it rained ; all but for a mask which wasn't yours to be worn.

(Unrequited yet) still going strong.

[tushardently]

Why is it always 'Come back soon' and never 'Aaoge jab tum saajna, angana phool khilenge'

[tushardently]

From Mehdi hassan's "Ranjish hi sahi, dil hi dukhane ke liye aa" to Emily Bronte's "You said I killed you — haunt me, then!" our hearts reached provocative epiphanies

[tushardently]

I broke you ; Like a child breaking a glowstick in hopes for a light when the night coddles upon, and long begone were the days where you told me it hurts to snap anymore. Like a shore with castles and sand so bright it might feel it's only pride basking in the sun perhaps. Alas. Winters are what we never asked. Like a reverb to a childhood song to fit in with the time I thought required change, and what only stayed the same was the vacuum in your eyes Like those cries I heard my cousin shrieked after meets with daunting Joe. We never talked of him, I know. Like the shows to my inner life you never were an audience to, a book you couldn't find in the restricted section even with the cloak, And it must have choked your heart. Like a bonfire, lit just by two of us, and you poured ethanol in hopes it stays ablaze when rain arrives, that's all for which a heart thrives.

[tushardently]

Deceptive as it may, I say, Freedom is a sin Sinners being the one to live the merriest No ropes or threads to bound the head No clutch to brace ; the spiteful gaze. Adaptive as it may, I say, Lonesome for a win Lovers be soaring in mirrored cages posturing as the sky might look like it ; but never high. Proud as it may, I say, Arrogance for a virtue the humble beings all tied to social guillotines their lives may rest ; with lowered heads.

[tushardently]

High tides take me back to home My head's not proud or high You preached your wars and poached my love I'd never ask you why You touch the dead way more than life Don't wonder why dandelions shed I waited for you, Hamlet, I gasped for you till death - Ophelia to Hamlet

[tushardently]

You preach to me of life and war, but I only hear the word 'drama' out of it

- Yorick to Hamlet at some point probably

[tushardently]

The autumns dread coldly with the rustling of the leaves, perhaps it thought the branches may wither, if alone Alas! Poor season for he doesn't know The aroma still persists Amidst the bloom. Forgetfulness is timely to those who never wanted to remember or wry upon the memoirs of the day when they had lost But me, milady, still rejoice, the moments of so long For all I know is contentment, Even if the rain disdains And someday, hopefully I'd get to your aroma, Once again.