Waiting to Exhale

its an aching hollow feeling
like self flagellation

get a grip;
strong enough
to squeeze my breath out.

even though i know its only fleeting,
that i wont last more than
a few more fragments of time,
even then,

stubborn arrogant selfish pride,
childlike naiive pride,
stands behind me and eggs me on

as i walk, obstinately
just one step out of reach,
resolutely cold and stone voiced,
i'm melting inside.

and i can feel u behind me,
against the small of my back,
like a feather touch of the sharpest knife
i feel ur pain,
and then there's mine

i am
exponentially spiralling down
into the black hole of my heart
i dont think i will be able to hold this pose
a fraction of a second more

i give up
and run for life
and crash hurtling back into ur palm
where i belong


what have you become to me?
what have you done ...

and once again i'm grinning for now reason
as i walk the lonely corridors

and once again i'm alive and singing
is it u, or me, that i am singing for?

Re-Making Friends

Now I am trying to build bridges. After a while, even ego tires; and wounded pride; and best friends are too much a part of you, to turn away from, in anger or hurt or frustrated expectations. The gap they leave never fills up. Like those old cotton t-shirts, wear-softened into secondskin-ness and like a house we have lived in forever. You miss the comfort of the familiar, you miss the utter ease of communication, where what you 'meant', is always known or understood. The ease of knowing and being known, where someone intuitively knows what you mean and what ur saying because its sounding so gdm lyrical right now. Ur eccentricities, ur charades, ur games, ur fears and nightmares and golden dreams. And you miss the cantakeuforgranted confidence in the knowing of where you stand, of knowing someone cares, of knowing someone's there. In the last few years of trying to get to know blood, i forgot how thick water's always been. Slowly, I am coming back to life.

Is it too late? Or does the welcome really never end? Am I really looking for you, or traces of the me I used to be? Like a waif-soul, suddenly unanchored from body and earth, floating rootlessly around the spirit world, unable to adjust, finally, the cessation of being, comes back to haunt, empty rooms, broken walls, thrown away clothes, looking everywhere for the life it was. bad analogy.

Anyway, so you let me down. Or so I thought. I wanted to let it go, but how could I forget how I had thought you'd meant it, when you'd said you'd always be there, through thick and thin. so where were you, when they were branding my skin, when my soul was burning, and the smoke making me blind, forever; where were you, when I was wishing I was dead. and making the ghosts that would haunt me.

You'd said that you loved me and I always believed you, but the thing is, I never knew what it meant. Maybe I thought it meant too much. Maybe I always wanted too much.

So now we're making conversation. Stilted like Strangers. Atleast, we're talking again. Yet, like sunlight through a crumbling wall, in whose very foundations r the weakness or unnaturalness (?), once in a while 'something' shines through. Or maybe thats just my imagination. You always said it was fantastic :)

One way or another, I still love you; whatever (or everything) that that might mean. And I always will. Like I'll always be me. Unpredictable, Arrogant, Shy, Silly, Profound, Inane, Lauging crying sulking dissapearing and coming back to life. Lukewarm, but growing, there's a spreading smile

Originally Posted at Prerona.

Baby's day out with Bebu: SPE Times

When the Mommy's away (australia - a month) the 'babies' will play. Every evening after work, we go for a little outing. The CCD down the road, Thumsup at Fillers, puchka @ VP ... then I park the car and we walk back from the garage.

It was an ordinary day. Dull, long and slow at work. Dot net training - 3 days long. Had me going to a place I have managed to avoid since I got back. For the first 2 days I flew home safe. On the 3rd day it hit me. But, I must have grown much, in years or strength or numbness, bcz the shock of impact came and went quite soon. Or is it just my 'humanity' dulling and fading?

Island: From GDC Cafeteria
Originally uploaded by prerona.

Funny thought keeps coming to my head: the last min reading of the last chapter of Pressman we never read normally - heritage systms, reverse engineering, re-engineering - cram it up for short notes - you'll never see it in real life ... indeed!

There's something about the place though. The vast open spaces. The invisible walls, and the vast spread of water in front. The blinding white of the wings of the vbirds, as they swoop down, to snatch up some invisible prey. And the vague white clouds, hung out in the shaded cobalt blue sky, over the water.

When I looked out through the glass walls of the cafeteria, the richness of the colour, the incredible stillness, the occassional lazy afternoon breeze , the nodding leaves, the little boats ... made an irresistable magnet which wouldnt let me focus on my lunch (which can only be a good thing when ur being starved by ur mommy :( - disgusting boiled veggies - every day). No wonder they keep the blinds drawn in the training rooms.

I was home by eight and was greeted with a bite (last one of a ham & mustard sandwich) at the door. Showered and changed. 3 Times. When you have a little sibling a decade younger, the next generation, so the speak, Its hard to please. Finally, it was the same blue jeans (my one and only) and the same white T Shirt - the set that I had originally said were the only clean things I had - which she had to settle for.

I dont drive a lot in town, so it was excited. Took the short cut to the Park. We'd gone for a Hip Pocket pilgrimmage on Friday last, but the place was so crowded (wrong kind of crowd - fresh new / pseudo cool - out for a drink and a good time - f the music) that we had to quit. So we figured, we'd have better luck on a Wednesday night. We did. It was still full, but less packed than the other night. And they didnt have to play Oh Susannah type numbers either, to keep the mob calm ... though they didnt do Baba o'Reilly either. We walked in to 'where were you ...' and then it went on to 'Open Invitation' & then 'Here I am' ... not brilliant, but beautifully familiar, alive and rocking. I sqatted on the floor - tucked into an obscure corner at S's feet, and in good view of S doing it to the mike. well, nobody does it better.

Before that we dropped in at Roxy. I showed her around in high excitment - reminded me of the time she first came to Pune and I was showing off Fregie. The verdict: Cool and Grown up. I'm happy. Everytime I order something, she looks at me with big round eyes and says, 'U have money???' - for full impact, I'd have to get the tone in. I'm a little lost, till I remember the days when we went only to SPE and scanned the menu carefully before ordering - having almost never looked left of the border. It reminds me of the first time ever I took her to a disc. We'd been staying in Bombay and the hotel had a disc (I've forgotten then name but it was something like Cyclone or ThunderStorm - whatever) - it was cool and she was so excited. Since then, she's long outstripped me in terms of music and social life, so last night felt like a 'cool' reminder of my seniority. Good Fun ;)

While walking out of SPE, bumped into "Ma'am" ... who used to be my physics teacher. Of all the teachers I have ever had, she is one of the top 3 coolest, so that was 'nice'. I ofcourse threw away quickly everything in my hands and went instantly blank. Isnt it curious how carefully we preserve the pedestials? Is it a human thing, the need to worship?

After SPE (she wouldnt let me tip the doorman), we went to Sharma's and had ThumsUp and malai kabab. Not grub to die for, but its tradition. Have always gone to Sharma's post SPE. It started when we were kids and perpertually broke. We had to chip in all our pocketmoney for cab fare - one way, didnt think of how we'd get back till it was over. It was pretty early, in the morning. chatts, juls, addy and me. We hitched a ride back from some people leaving from Tantra. They were a little strange (tantra-cool) but nice. They stopped at Sharma's on the way and we've done it ever since. After SPE, you stop at Sharma's, sqat on the edge of the pavement and stuff urself with kebabs and chai.

The long arm of B.C road, a name I have always loved, stretched out in front and behind. Since I was only in Cal for winter, and since we usually went that way at night, my memories of this road are painted in as a long black line snaking out forever. Orange flamed fires lit by the roadside. Lined with tree's that looked old - so much older - than me .... isnt that a comforting feeling? I wonder why?

Cal's has changed. Everytime I came back I heard people crib about that. They(we) used to come back, starving and hugry, from Blore and Pune and other 'faraway' places, and everytime what they ran back to had run out a little more. Will Cal become like everywhere else with time and progress? Is that such a bad thing? I dunno. Could never figure out. Bad for me and you, yes. But for her?

It's late by the time we get back home. As usual, I want to crash. As usual, she wants me to look at a new post she wrote. As usual, I cant bear to say no to my favourite miniperson/monster. As usual, I'm blown away. When did that little pink faced, squealing thing with curling ringlets like a piglets tail, grow into this 'person'! I love the way she writes ...

Originally Posted at Prerona.

The Unspeakable

as the words float around our heads
at some level, meaningless
i close my eyes, behind my mind
and listen to the real conversation

in the background: a requeim
to the ghost never laid to rest;
the child we miscarried,
but bore always.

i watch a piece of me, detached,
flutter in the skies with joy.
at home again,
that's the me which was urs.

and in the foreground,
swinging back and forth between
formal and a little less.

by leaping hearts,
and peace
and a link unseen

all that we had once had been
all we'd dreamed of being
every moment we'd ever held
and let go without weighing

and everytime we'd stumbled in the dark
to tumble into the refuge of the other
and then, putting it aside,
carried on with life

and every death since then
and every wound since then
and every drop of blood ...
plays unheard, unseen in the background

and we say nothing at all
was us as unbreakable as we were?


the blind wolf's lair
dark rooms
with bugbears
and trophies
cracked and broken
edges raw
scars and sores
ghosts and remenants
a minefield
for the u
and for me
the explosions
rock my world
whenever they come
though u tiptoe
around in the dark
ur still blind
to the blood and puss
when u push the knife in and twist
wherever you innocently truouch
but then
when its u and
only you
the brightness
of ur love
breaks the shadows apart
and breaks the pain-shards
to blunt toothless
because of u
because u r my friend
thats all


red and blue
shiny big black cars
silk: black and gold
the wind
the rain

everything comes back to you
everything reminds me of you


come back to me. open the doors
let me through & open the doors


i wanna go home to you
thats all i wanna do

Knife, Cuts like A ...

Today, missing you was like a storm
Drifting, Floating, Aimlessly
Down the wet streets of your city
Like a crushed, orphaned paper bag
In a rain-swollen sewer, by the roadside

When it comes, when you call
I slip away like a drop of water
Fading in the evening breeze
Leaving just a fleeting feeling of coolth
Behind, around me

It will be a year soon
12 months
and I still dont want to live
What more is there to live for
Without you, I am gone

I dont want to come back to life
I dont want to re begin
I dont want to let go
The monsters, the nightmares, the seizures, the memories
They're all I have left of you
As even the photographs, in sepia and black and white, yellow and grow old

Cuts Like a Knife

And in the evening when the rain washes down, inviting you to let of flow too. When you want to let the masks and self control and PC-ness float away, like a crushed, orphaned, news-paper bag floating aimlessly in the rain-swelled gutter, when it gets to much, living without you, knowing there are no comebacks, no relief, no substitutes that will ever be, that everyone will always be just a temporary distraction from missing you, then I miss an old favourite, Knife

Sometimes, I hate you. Sometimes I hate myself. Sometimes I hate the world, for living on inspite off. A handful of mustard seeds, doesnt answer my call.

Originally Posted at Prerona.

Song In My Head: Roses Blue

Have you ever read something and felt f! he said it! Like someone had found the words you'd been unable to lay ur hands on, and layed them to thoughts you had been fumbling to describe? Or maybe, drew the lines to a picture in your head, that you hadnt even even seen ...

"Men all seek happiness. He alone sought completion"

After a long time I'm doing a song in my head post! The theory behind it is that if you listen to the song in your head, it will tell you what your hearts thinking. Sometimes, the heart sings, or cries, or screams, so softly, you dont come to know. Its masked. Its evasive. It shows and hides and teases: the heart. But the songs, give it away. Sometimes.

When all the black cards come you cannot barter
No, when all your stars are stacked you cannot win
Shell shake her head and treat you like a martyr
It is her blackest spell she puts you in

In sorrow she can lure you where she wants you
Inside your own self-pity there you swim
In sinking down to drown her voice still haunts you
And only with your laughter can you win

You win the lasting laurels with your laughter
It reaches like an arm before you sink
To win the solitary truth youre after
You dare not ask the priestess how to think

Sometimes, some of the books and movies we see stay back in a back room of our heads and become 'real'. Sometimes, like people and places, you miss them. Today I miss 84 Charring Cross and Steppenwolf. Badly.

Last night, the skies rang with the thunder and flashed with lightning. It went on for a long, long time. Strangely, it wouldnt rain. It reminded me of how I get sometimes. It was the loudest thunder I had heard in a long time. For the first time in years and years I was scared ...

I am rarely scared. When I was a child, whenever the thunder rumbled and roared, back and forth, I kept the rains scruplously dry. I punched walls at times. or used the edge. But I kept dry. Never thought about it much. Never let it sink in. Maybe that was the beginning of the dontthinkaboutitanditwillgoaway mantra. No. The jokes and accusations and decisions and repercussions. the choices made. that was the real catch. anyway.

i went through an old drawar last night. came upon it by 'accident'. poems, stories, journals ... all the way since when i learnt to hold a pencil. on napkins. on the backs paper carton. even one on a t-shirt (i cut that part out). even then, i was fanatical abt not losing my words. what else did i have? if i wrote u a letter and it had particular artistry, i might steal in at night and steal it back! like that ...

it reminded me of the song: deewana shayer ka, ek deewan milega. Found this poem. Class 5 or 6, I think (1988)

"From a deep abyss of blackness
a flash of light;
From the soul to the mind
a question rings.

When each day becomes
a fast losing battle
against bitterness, unfairness,helplessness and confusion,
blind grasp for the headlights
zeroing in - target? heaven knows where!
So now come tell me what is love?
Hate & Hope, truth & Fasle?
Show me the lines and please justify.
I'll follow you come lead me on by.
Get up Karma Yatri
Rise and Shine.
Hark, Hear, Alert,
the beckoning sign.
Pull on the chain**
and slow the wheel.
I'll tell you tales,
if you promise not to cry

** - I think I vaguely remember learning about the chain on the train - and about the fine - just before that :D

and from college:

"ek je chhilo Poongie-ma aar**
taar bondhu Gadomba
dujon mile thaakto besh
shokal theke diner shesh
jobe hoto purnima
bolto tokhun Gadomba
'aye Poongie, dujon mile
ghure ashi tram-e chepe'
bole Poongie uttore
'khela chhar dekh dokkhine'!
Ajob bepaar! Ota ki re ...
Nach dhorechhe Gadombite!

The Sequel:

Gadomba aar Gadombite
Naach dhorechhe anonde te

Purnima-r chaader alo
Prem-e bhubon bhore gelo

Dure boshe Pungima
Ekla dekhe Chandrima

Jodi ekta shaathi khuje pai
Nachbo jemon janto koi


** Poonigie was then my nick for Barbie/Munal/Pakhi. Whic came first, the chicken or the egg, dont remember now.

*** this was found behind class notes from Liu Gibson (TCS) - my favouritest book in college.

And here's an old collection of Top 5's I found on Ricercar:

my top five irresitable songs TO CHEER ME UP ...1) elevation (u2)
2) need u tonight (inxs)
3) never to old to rock and roll (tull)
4) twisting by the pool (ds)
5) im too sexy (right said fred)

top five songs that give you goosebumps Prerona View Delete
nota very accurate list ... cz there are millions ... these are the top five of those that come to mind:

1) jealous guy
2) purple rain
3) final cut (any / all)
4) feeling love
5) when a blind man cries ...

n.b. - could not resist - everlasting love (U2), Going to California, Baba O Reilly, Love Hurts, Love Bites, Feelings, The way we were, Lets get it on, most of the time, she breaks like a little girl, suzzane, creep, the starting roll of fever dog, free falling, to make you feel my love, crazy, pink, moonriver, im not in love, smooth operator, wicked game, throw your arms around me (PJ), Cant take my eyes off you (Damien Rice), Another Lonely Day (Ben Harper), Goodbye My Lover ... and i guess i better stop somewhere ...

top 5 songs that make you throw up ...
no offence to the songs themselves - but i am just SO sick of hearing them!

hotel california
blowing in the wind
last christmas
one the wings of a snow white dove

my personal top five literary dissapointments:

1 - hitchhikers guide to the galaxy
2 - great gatsby
3 - catcher in the rye
4 - love in the times of cholera
5 - alchemist

(ZEN and the art of ... ? Immortality? Not sure for sure ... but they got close)

Disclaimer: Not putting these books down at all. Or even saying I didnt like them. Just that FOR ME they were 'different' from MY expectations.

top five cute guys in film Prerona View Delete

watching love, actually, one on my fav movies and almost on the back of that, pride and prejudice, made me think of how gorgeous they both are and how tough it is to decide between them!!! so heres my top 5 men:

1) anthony hopkins
2) collin firth
3) hugh grant
4) liam neeson / alan rickman (tie)
5) gregory peck

and ofcourse - further east - saif, ajay devgan, big b, small b, uttam kumar.

and non filmi focourse there mukul sharma!

Top 5 perfect women in film:

1. Aparna Sen
2. Zeenet Aman / Sushmita Sen (tie)
3. Sharmila
4. Antara Mali/Nandita Das
5. Julie Andrews

Might be offline for a while, but will be around checking other peoples blogs and looking (hopefully) for comments on mine :)

Originally Posted at Prerona.


my skin is raw,
and so my hands
hide deep in my pockets.
dont tug at my arms at my arms anymore.

i'd reached out and touched
the heart, of the fire,
to heal the freezing cold,
from which i arose.

now the cold sores,
which never heal
live side by side, with singed pink
darkness and silence and a little peace ... thats all that helps those parts of me

i come from a different place
u dont know, cant know, or see or imagine
the dreams, the nightmares,
the joys, the fears

having come all this way
there are many dragons i have slayed
the skeletons drag a path
behind me everyday

and their ghosts wail
when i close my eyes
and ur laughter stops
distractions? yes.

my bloody, hands
with festering wounds
and putrid decay, barely hidden, in the folds of bright cloth
of my remaining good parts, hold the golden goose ...

dont pull at my arms any more.

about nothing

so it goes ... life dancing around in drunken circles. cyclic. vi. and all other kinds. 'life goes easy on me, most of the times'. like seasons, the same times and moods, come and go and come back again. like a merry go round. happy-angry-sad-euphoric: its always good for the ride. have to say it though, its one hell of a ride. i wouldnt change anything or moment, but one, could i go back in time.

its still the first flush of the monsoons. i havent seen my city, my country, my house, in the wet, for so long now. Being here, after so long, still feels special. and delicate.

the mornings, alone and naked. walking the streets so empty that you feel that you possess them, you feel your 'self' more than any other time ever.

the afternoons, when you step out at lunch time. the sun glistens on skin of of the lake, polishing it to brilliant silver. the birds swoop and trees sway. everyone wears the guiltfree happy ease, of a labourer on a break. the chatter, a hum in the background. the eagles circling overhead. the lake smiling still. the winds, the playful entertainer. the stray kingfisher. the herons, the ducks, and the sparrows. so many colours, and strokes, that make the days.

and the evenings. coffee break. watching the orange lace dance and sway; as if to music from another room.

i loved that movie. one of the 3 movies out of all the ones i picked of netflix blindly just because it had Cusack, that i also ended up loving, independently. that, the journey of Natty Gann & Class ... with all its ghosts and skeletons.

speaking of movies, in a strange connection, from time to time i remember the look on His face in "Thou shalt not commit adultery" comes to my mind. No link to the theme ... just the expression on His face.

and then later in the evening, home. bushed. tired. clean. every island in its place. the catharisis of the long drive home. the irony of the scenery. the soothing emptiness of the solitude and the silence. and then the burst of company and family, once you are rested and have shed ur workday skin and showered off the mood u were in.

and the nights. long and moonlit. endless conversations, on the terrace. balanced precariously on the edge, of a table or a railing. or a theory you'd held. bringing out and airing everything. from politics. and childhood. to jobs. and shaving. its good to have a shadow, an echo, alter ego's, to keep you rooted in.

it was so strange meeting you again. fleeting. gossamer. this time, i took care not to hug to tight. in the semi darkness, i watched numb-eyed, as the apologies floated. and carried us into another tequila sunrise ... 'do you remember me? how we used to be? dont you think, we should be closer?'

to quote myself, love and all that i can gaurd well against. it never gets that far in anyway. its this bldy friendship thing that maims. so long again, best friend.

was looking through sorting all the verse i had ever written and thought what a hopeless mess. need to sit down and sort everything i have ever done. complete some. discard some. fix some. enhance some. but where's the time. life is such a race.

Originally Posted at Prerona.

Chameleon: Master of Trickery, Masks & Disguise

dark night. moonlight
cold air on wet skin, by cold rain
wet sand, gravelly, velvetty, squashed into
my fingers and toes

warm foam, white
ice cold water, underneath
pulling, calling at my feet

an empty night, a blank mind
sketched in, a hazy dream,
in soft, wild, raw pink
unknown, unseen, stranger, walking tall on the beach

soft a sigh,
escape a whimper
a tear from wonder, a smile from the shy
an a little smile, half sly

laughter floats
shudders tremble
quicksilver ...
crystal-ball moods

sunlight, filtered
palm shadows poking fingers into the afternoon
water, green blue, velvet warm
a whisper, a rustle from the beach

backwaters, sun warmed
a walk, a memory, a sea shell ... ornate memoirs
a ghost, to hold hands with
walker, who walks. the ghost, who walked. the ghost, who's walked

The Thornbirds

The last time i died was last August;
Now, its been a while.
Since then, life's been strangely easy.
In uncharecteristic ways big and small.
Slowly, the bitterness made way for wonder
Hesitant. Trembling. Small ... New footsetps. New songs.

But I knew, the moment I saw
the letters of your name form,
that I'll have to die again
A premonition of the fall.

You're the chosen one.

You will be the flame; the glass wall;
that these eyes, beautiful and all,
will be the well,
from which will flow,
the bitter sweet
which will maim me and
make me small.

I'll float my whole spectrum again
Mother. Woman. Child.
I'll give you my all.

Then you'll sit me down and clip my wings,
and I'll never fly at all.

You'll be my thorn;
I'll sing again.

And then I'll die. Once again.
This time, once and for all.


take me as i am,
the bags from my hands;
all is all i want
urs; and mine

hold me once or twice,
keep me warm at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine

the feeling of ur voice,
floating in at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine

the texture of skin,
as we soak each other in;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.

the dreams that we start,
together and apart;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.

worship and affection,
laughter, dreams, ambition;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine

all is all i want,
moonlight, sunshine;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine

Spiralling down, To the hole in the ground

strangely and suddenly, hit by a great big pang of missing you
and yet, thinking of you makes me smile
cold as you were, old as you were, crumbling, dated and
casually resplendant, you were.
just like her ...

a beauty that goes beyond appearances, or adornments
or logic, even
a beauty made of the quality of a smile
the look in a eye. a mood. a thought
a feelting distant glance. a blush
one eyebrow: going up slowly, and then shooting up fast
an attitude. i miss u

Originally uploaded by prerona.

... and a freedom
an invisibilty
that came with being with you
because younever cared anyway
i could live or die,
or weep at night
at will
or whim
or fancy

and the trembling adoration
the worship
the devotion
the awestruck silent admiration
quiet, respectful, in the
dark mornings
in the early night
in the shining golden noontime

and now i have her instead
we love and are loved back in return
like you she is beautiful
and yet, i miss u

thats why, i had been so scared
thats why i had wanted to keep my heart,
and home, and roots
whole, and give it in one piece
now, fragmented, and scattered
along the road, on the way (and what a way)
all it does is weeps
there's always someone to miss
a home for which i'm sick

i see her in the morning
her streets are smudged, like freshly drawn ink
there's an haze of smoke, every morning
denser in the distance, and then slowly fading in
her people, rich and poor, smile
happy, full; they know that there is more
i was happy in her, with her
now once again i'm torn

today, i missed you in the morning

ur streets that glittered with frost
the silence,
that echoed as i ran down them
the cold that cleansed, and made penance
the bright of the flowers
the flow of the waters
the dark of the greens
and the smiles. naiive. unknown.
painfully innocent.
sweetly arrogant.
they dont know. there is more.

still, i miss you.

Edinburgh Snaps
Kolkata Snaps

Originally Posted at Prerona.


take me as i am,
the bags from my hands;
all is all i want
urs; and mine

hold me once or twice,
keep me warm at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine

the feeling of ur voice,
floating in at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine

the texture of skin,
as we soak each other in;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.

the dreams that we start,
together and apart;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.

worship and affection,
laughter, dreams, ambition;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine

all is all i want,
moonlight, sunshine;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine

Originally Posted at Prerona.

The Thornbird

The last time i died was last Sepetember;
Now, its been a while.
Since then, life's been strangely easy.
In uncharecteristic ways big and small.
Slowly, the bitterness made way for wonder
Hesitant. Trembling. Small ... New footsetps. New songs.

But I knew, the moment I saw
the letters of your name form,
that I'll have to die again
A premonition of the fall.

You're the chosen one.

You will be the flame; the glass wall;
that these eyes, beautiful and all,
will be the well,
from which will flow,
the bitter sweet
which will maim me and
make me small.

I'll float my whole spectrum again
Mother. Woman. Child.
I'll give you my all.

Then you'll sit me down and clip my wings,
and I'll never fly at all.

You'll be my thorn;
I'll sing again.

And then I'll die. Once again.
This time, once and for all.

Originally Posted at Prerona.