Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Back here again

Why do I write?
I forget sometimes. I write to let it out. These emotions that find their place on these digital pages.
And here they remain, etched in digital space, where I forget them. Why worry when it's out of my system? Right?
But then I forget. The feelings come back. The strongest ones always do. Like you. My strongest one yet.
Feeling like having my soul ripped apart from my body and put back in repeatedly.
Wondering why this skin feels alien and realizing that it is because it hasn't touched yours.
Then I have you. You who reads these words. Not once, but as many times as you do.
So as I am out there pulling out my hair and bordering on another bout of insanity, your hand appears on my shoulder.
Like a beacon that knows me and my words, you lead me back to what I once wrote.
Like a voice that reminds me, "hey, you've been here before"
I've been here before. I'll be back here again, until I feel alright, until I have the certainty of you in my arms. Till the day I fall into you falling into me, I'll be back here again. An exploding implosion.
Visibly invisible. Living dead. I'll be back here again.

© Rahul Chidambaran 2015

Wednesday, February 18, 2015


To find me in this room
To finish the deed
On the day that I was born
Indeed, Indeed

To find my lungs more clean
Feeling how I breathe
On the day that I'm set free
Indeed, Indeed

To find myself writing
Writing once again
On the day that I was born
Fitting, Indeed

And if I find myself ever
Falling hearts again
That day that I am born
Again, Indeed

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Pocket Friend

Breathing slowly as the violins play
Awaiting the call of the matter today
Music drives into highs and lows
Beats I play out with my toes

If I had you in my pocket or in my ear
I would not be alone with you so near
Saying things that make me smile
No one knowing the reason why

Now though you are far far away
As my muse you are still in my space
These words they bask in your sun
Though they just want to make your heart run

Monday, February 16, 2015


All these questions in your head
Your head in my hands I cradle
With these thoughts I fall to bed
Would you and I be fatal?

Ignorance is bliss until you breathe
Open our eyes to see what's real
Dreams are great but we must feed
Our brains need as much as our hearts feel

Little wounds that cut on your heart
Tears fall as if they seek to soothe
Inevitable we would have had to start
Lean on me, I won't be rude

Of all the questions there is the one
On a day when discomfort wins
Shoots like a bullet from a gun
Revealing your empty tins

Question to which you know the answer
The answer is forever eternal
I love you even if we sever
Your heart in my hands I cradle

Monday, February 2, 2015

Ineffective Words

What do I write?
How do I take these feelings and run them through my word machine only to find out that the machine is broken.
As if you are every breath that I have ever taken and the thought to which I awaken.
I force myself to find new words to describe this only because I feel like I haven't done it justice yet. And I don't want to.
I want to spend the rest of my days trying and then just almost failing to get these words perfect.
There are so many ways in which you are beautiful but I sometimes decide to feel a little good about myself and say that the most beautiful thing about you is how you see me. For you are my mirror in so many ways, reflecting and echoing me except that you take me by surprise in your reflection of me.
I also hope that when you see your reflection in me that it is accurate in its depiction of supernovas and swirling galaxies spinning around and coming to a stop as time froze for that millisecond and then continued. This is how I feel when I see you, like I might never see something that makes me this happy again. That I would do anything to be the piece of cloth that drapes you.
So as you hit the road this morning, ask me for a reading, as I tell you ineffectively how much I love you once again.