December

December rolls in,

Come here, hold my hand.

Let me save this warmth

In a jar that will on my table stand,

While I would await.

Alone, under the stars.

Deserted, in the rains.

While wind would wrestle in your hair,

Where my fingers once did find place,

It would be my sleep, my peace blown away.

Remembering your whispers,

I will shiver, and fall.

Without your arms to catch me.

But closing my eyes, I will forget it all.

And find myself in your embrace again.

Your voice would be mine,

Guiding me through the distance.

Your words, your thoughts, mine yours.

But, oh, what a terrible way of existence,

No sun, no moon, no air.

Time is all we don't have.

Another leaf has fallen.

Another petal now brown.

Another moment has passed.

Another thought in mind drowned.

Let it go, let it go.

Time is all we don’t have.

Wake up, and realise,

Desire is another ever-binding trap.

A glance, a touch, an embrace.

None too many, none too less.

Just enough to save me now.

Just enough for sanity to efface.

I counted wrong, a long while ago.

I counted one too many.

The ever ticking clocks that glowed in the dark.

No, time doesn’t wait for any.

Collecting names and moments

Alone, I will. Alone, I shall.

Moments of end sooner here. 

Dementia, oh how you me enthrall.

The Green Monster

A tiny tentacle creeped out
From behind.
And grabbed on, held on,
No slight.
"Harmless", they thought.
The monster smiled.
And readied itself,
For another strike.

They floated ahead,
The tentacle forgotten.
Repressed, Restrained,
Uselessly begotten.
In a world golden,
Red and untroubled.
A sudden flash of green
Unknown, on the surface bubbled.

Desire, want, unprecedented.
Ill, sick, unholy.
Gushing through every vein
Tentacles tightening, unduly.
Securing its grip,
Digging deep.
Right till the soul
The green essence seeps.

Suffocating, smothering
The tendrils, the fumes unbidden.
Feeding on their own fears
Both unknown, and those hidden.
Slowly, engulfing their whole,
No means of escape, no rationale.
The green monster emerges,
And all else fails.

Why do we hide, Bruce?

The winds blew the blue curtains at his window into a messy, convoluted mess. Bruce shivered in his bed, and tossed on to the other side, facing away from the window. The blanket was thick, but it wasn’t helping him keep warm. ‘Count down from 100.’ It always worked. 100. 99. 98. 97. ‘What was that?’ Something flew near his window, but it was too dark to make anything out. Bruce pulled the blanket over his head and started counting again. 96. 95. 94.

The whistling wind broke his concentration. He slowly moved the blankets to peek out of the blanket. The darkness was opaque. Bruce quivered a little. ‘Horrible vantage point. Need to know how to get a better one.’ Another movement. ‘Must not be fearful. Must check it out.’ The branches moved in a weird manner. The moonlight lit up a few of them, and their shadows hid all the others. Bruce climbed out of his bed and slipped into his coat. Cautiously, he walked to the window. The branches made queer shapes. The wind kept changing the branch that was receiving the light. ‘Things are darker in the light.’

When he looked down, Bruce couldn’t see the ground. When he looked up, the only thing he could see was himself, flying in the clouds.  Something moved in the woods outside. Quick, and bright. Bruce wondered what it was. He felt the fear wash over his mind. The dull numbness in the back of his head suddenly grew sharp; his heart started beating faster, and faster still; he could feel a weird sweat trickle down his neck. ‘Fear must be conquered.’ His dad always told him that fears must be faced, but Bruce knew that there were only 2 possibilities when it came to fear- you conquer it, or it destroys you. And Bruce knew, in his gut, he knew, that this darkness had to be conquered.

Bruce tiptoed out into the woods. The rustling of the leaves and the whooshing of the branches were the only sounds he could make out, apart from the screeching winds. He waited at the boundary for a little while, gathering courage, courage and strength. It was a cold night. ‘Just see what it is, that is all.’ Every crevice and nook seemed alive to him. The vegetation that normally looked warm and welcoming to him in the day suddenly started taking shapes that beckoned him to leave, to run, far, far away. A sharp movement on his left made the air get caught in his larynx. Instinctively he ran towards his right, the only sounds buzzing in his ears were those of his own heavy breathing, and of his heavy footsteps crunching the dried leaves. A sudden whisper of the wind at his neck made him scream out loud, but he kept his balance, and kept up his pace. He ran in further, in to the darkness, in to the void.

Just a few rays of the morning sun managed to penetrate through the canopy and reach the floor of the woods. Bruce realised that there was fallen tree a few step ahead. ‘Hide in the trunk.’ Bruce ran faster than he ever had. In one swift movement, he was inside the trunk. He heaved a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes. A low hiss made the hair on the back of his head stand. Slowly he opened his eyes, and saw in the darkness, thirty, small glowing balls of light. A small gasp escaped his mouth, but the dominoes had already begun falling. The bats flew right at him, squealing, sharp, and out of the opening, in to the light. Bruce had hidden his face in between his thighs, but he felt each of the bats’ wings on his head. Fear had frozen all his other senses. He could still feel their wings on his head, but he knew they were long gone. ‘They are gone. They are gone, don’t be scared.’ He breathed. ‘Fear is the strongest driving force. Fear doesn’t need to be eradicated. Just harnessed.’ Bruce was lost in fear, but in a completely different way now.

He heard his name being called in the distance. He didn’t move. He felt himself being pulled out of the trunk, he heard Alfred’s doting voice wash over his being. Thomas hugged Bruce.

“I hid. I was scared. I was scared. So I hid.”

Thomas held Bruce’s hand, and looked at him.

“Why do we hide, Bruce? So we can finally find ourselves.”

Why am I scared?

I have always been someone who hides. Not myself, no. I used to do that as a kid, but not since adolescence. I hide my thoughts, if I don’t know you; I hide my feelings, if I am not comfortable; I hide my fears, no matter what; I hide my past, because I cannot face it myself. There are a million times that I am unable to sleep, because of something unnamed, something lingering in the back of my head. It brings tears to my eyes, makes my head grow heavy and sends shivers down my spine, but I can never put a finger to it. I am going to be honest and blunt. I am quite certain that that is a little, if not a lot, messed up. But that doesn’t change the fact that that happens.

I say I hide, because I do. Sometimes, I hide behind lies, sometimes behind pretences, and sometimes I hide behind thin veils. I hide behind foods and injuries. I hide behind the ambiguities of my words, behind cleverly (or so I hope) created characters and themes and plots. I hide behind my own words, and make them seem like someone else’s. I hide, so I don’t have to face that which I hide from.

A couple of weeks ago, I was obsessed with the thinking of a particular heinous kind of people. I was trying to rationalize in my mind a certain fear, the biggest fear in my mind, and I was trying to work my way backwards, as the perpetrator, because thinking forward hadn’t helped me in any manner. Thinking forward, thinking normally, just made me more scared, it made me more and more vulnerable, more blind. Blind with fear, I mean. I was losing sleep, which is a very effective coping mechanism for me usually, until the moment that it avoids me at all costs and effects, and becomes exactly what it protects me against. I am not saying that nightmares would leave me be at times like this, they wouldn’t. Nightmares are, and have always been an avid part of my life, I have had nightmares about almost every fear I have ever harboured. But nightmares are easy to recover from. Lack of sleep, not so. There were times that I would avoid sleeping to avoid nightmares. I am sure we’ve all done that. (I hope.) But now, I am okay with nightmares as long as I can sleep, because in dreams (or nightmares), I am away from the realities of my past. And closer to my fears.

Anyway, that obsession led to another one, a more rooted one, to be honest. I realised that in order to rationalize my biggest fear, I need to rationalize fear itself. So one fine day, I sat down to do that. And I came up with nothing. Why? Because I was too scared to think about the things that scare me. I made a lot of realisations about fear, and I put them into a story and hid my being from there too. But this piece, I am penning, because I owe it to myself. I owe it to myself, and my fears, to my demons, that I acknowledge them. That I acknowledge the fact that I am scared. I am scared in broad day light, not just in the darkness. I am scared in company and in solitude. I am scared in tears, as I am scared in laughter. I am scared when I realise that horrors are not that far away. I am scared when I realise what I can live with. What I can overcome.

That should give me a sense of satisfaction, shouldn’t it? That I am stronger than what I thought I was? That I have faced my fears and thus conquered them? No. I realise now, that it doesn’t work that way. The fears you face, stay with you. Just because you have faced them once, doesn’t mean you aren’t scared anymore. The scars aren’t always those of victory, they are those of suffering, and whether they are visible or not, they are there. Not acknowledging them will take you nowhere. Ignoring them, ignoring your past will not help you move on- neither forward, nor backward. You will be stuck, in the same place where you were. Or probably will slip towards a chasm, that you will know nothing about, even when you are in it.

Then what the hell do you do? You acknowledge it: your past, your fear, your present, your hopes, your desires. No matter how silly, stupid, dark, or irrational they maybe, acknowledge them. Whether you can do something about them, whether you can deal with them or not doesn’t matter. Or maybe it does. But recognizing and accepting in the first step- towards healing, towards success. Towards a better place.

I accept that I am scared. Of what? I will still hide that. But it makes it better just to accept. Accepting makes it easier to breathe. Try it.  

Frozen

Do you see the moonlight?
Do you see it the way I do?
I can show you.
I think I can.
Will it be the same for you?

I am terrified.
I am scared to love you.
Do you know?
This panic?
Do you?

You are the perfect lullaby.
For a forever wakeful me.
I worry I won't awake
From this dream
You make me see.

Could I show to you,
The indubitable me?
Oddly, unrecognizable.
But in case you do,
Would you set me free?

Nothing lasts forever, I know.
But this moment,
You could make.
Hold my hand, kiss my mouth,
Evermore, may we be frozen.

You

You aren't my moon,
To reflect everything I bestow upon you
In the dark.
You are my mirror.
Letting the real me show up,
Hiding no flaw nor a mark.

You aren't the wind,
That blows me away,
Or makes it difficult to stand.
You are the breeze
That does me cool keep,
And plays with looser hair strands.

You aren't a dream,
That is gone once seen.
Or right there, and not in my hand.
You are the truth,
Though surreal and crude,
Unbelievable and beautifully unplanned.

You aren't a place
That I go to to hide,
Where someone me might follow.
You are this journey,
That is us, that is me,
And mine, today and tomorrow.

The Ship

A ship then sailed
A twilight then rang.
They trusted in the winds
And downed rains unplanned
A lust for treasures known
And never truly had.
A darkness they misused
Disguised and hid their tracks.
They moved through the waters
Slowly and with vigour
Cautiously placed each finger
Mayhem silent and thicker.
The wind took them in its hand
And decided to play a game.
They held on for the love of God.
Distinctly kept calling out His name.
The mist now fogs the view.
Direction and time,both lost out.
They wait and wait to strike again.
There blows just a tiny seed of doubt.

Testosterone

She held out her hand straight up in front of herself, and said, without moving her eyes, “See? It doesn’t shake.” Typical drunk woman. “That does not imply that you are not drunk!” I looked at her, top to bottom. She is dressed like your average working girl. A loosely buttoned pink shirt, a golden pendant on her slender neck, slightly lumpy mascara, and eye lids that would not (could not?) stay up. Her eyes are striking, no doubt. Even in that inebriated state, her green eyes looked like they were full of dreams. I say ‘even’, because I have seen her working right next to me every day. And she looks like she is made up of dreams even then.

She picked up her beer mug and took a couple of sips. How the hell did I get dragged into this? I don’t even drink! All I wanted to do was sleep, when she asked me to join her to her friend’s party. Stupid fucking testosterone. I said yes in a micro second, didn’t I? Why am I getting so agitated? Well of course I would be on the edge. My ‘date’ had been busy socializing the whole night, while I sat in the corner, waiting. Okay, she just waved at my face. There she goes again, flitting like a butterfly. A pink, gorgeous butterfly, that just wouldn’t come to this scentless flower that is me. Wow, I am thinking like a hopeless romantic. Or just a fool. Or both. Does one come without being the other? Perfect time for reflecting on these things, Mario. Just, fucking, perfect.

Even if she did come here to talk to me, what would I say to her? I have already exhausted the list of things I jot down every morning to talk to her about in the office. That morning habit had helped me talk to her for quite a few weeks. It worked. Then why the hell didn’t I think of things to talk about in a party? No wonder she wasn’t sitting here with a speechless, topicless me. She was laughing over some silly thing her girl friend said. Why did she even ask me to come here? Must have been out of courtesy. I was sitting right next to her while she was making plans. Heck, she was talking to me when the call came. Should have realized it then itself. But, no. Testosterone clouding. Did I just roll my eyes on myself? Way to go, Mario. Oh God, they saw that. Now they are laughing at me. Brilliant. I am sitting here, waiting for her, and she is laughing at me with her friends. Perfect.

Wait. Why am I waiting? This is stupid. I should just walk up to her and ask her what she wants from me. Look at her standing there, shining like a star, and illuminating the room with that smile. Ass, get off the chair. Legs, take me to her. Don’t shake. Okay. 10 steps done. 4 more to take. Wait, what I am going to say to her? Too late. Too close to back out now. Ah! Sweat glands, stop secreting! Voice, Voice?! Where are you?! “Kristie, I need to talk to you. Could I borrow you for a moment?” That sounded normal. Almost. I think. Not. She smiled. Oh, that glorious smile.

Okay. Now, where do we go? Garden. Open. If things go south, I can run directly to the gate. Good plan, Mario. It’s not like you work together. Genius. She brushed her hand against mine, that’s thrice now. Or is she just tipsy? I should probably hold her. Hand, slowly, slowly go around her waist. Okay, not too tight. It’s alright. Wow. It’s like holding porcelain. The moon is magnificent tonight. Wasn’t it a full moon 2 days ago? “What did you want to talk about, Mario?” Okay. She just put her head on my shoulder. Boy, she must be tipsy. “Uh, nothing, really. I just wanted to get you away from there.” Okay, now she is looking at me. Must say something. Eyes. Her eyes. “I… wanted to be alone with you. That’s not a problem, is it?” She’s smiling. Phew! Wait, it’s just a half smile. “Are you okay? You’ve had quite a bit to drink.” Okay. Now, no smile. What is wrong with you, Mario? Now she is turning red with anger! Oh God. Why can’t I just keep my stupid mouth shut? “I am not drunk, Mario. I think my drinking has pissed you off. I can’t help that, Mario. This is who I am. I know my threshold.” “Your drinking? No, that’s not the thing. Kristie, you are a grown woman. You are the most amazing woman I know. And I love that you are who you are. I mean, you are practically perfect! Hell, I don’t care what you do if it makes you happy. I would pluck you those magnolias you admire every day, if I could put my hands through those wires. I would buy you those helium balloons you like to set loose, because watching them float away makes you smile. I would take you to a Madrid match, and watch it with you, if you just tell me you want to. Kristie, anything that makes you smile is fine by me. As long as I am there to see you smile. I want to make you smile. But, you. You have been spending time with everyone except me. Why did you call me here in the first place if you just wanted to talk to others?” She is squinting at me. That’s never a good sign. “I am talking to others cause you aren’t talking to me. I asked you to come here, cause I wanted my friends to meet you. I asked you to come because you never ask me out yourself.”

Okay. It’s been 45 seconds. I should say something. Eyes, stop blinking like a fool. Mouth, stop being so dry! Body, listen to me. Brain, do something! No, no, no. Not you, heart. Brain. Brain! Mission abort! Head, stop. Neck, don’t bend. Testosterone, abort! Lips, stop! Too late. Oh God. This must be heaven. How can someone’s lips be this soft? It’s like touching satin. Like, cherry satin. Why is it dark? Oh, eyes, you have defied me too, eh? Closed without a warning. Now how will I prepare myself for the slap that awaits me? I should probably be ready. 3…2…Wait. Her hand is here. But, it’s not crisp or fast. It’s just touching me face. Her lips moved. Not away. Oh, Lord. Oh, sweet, beautiful Lord of cherry satin and vanilla.

Thank you, Testosterone.

 

Everything.

Third matchstick; Two left in the box. It burnt with a buzz. It had been 6 months since they had started smoking, and she still couldn’t light a match stick properly. But she never let him do it. And he never asked to. He would wait till she was done lighting her cigarette, and then he would take hers to light his own. And she would let herself take a moment to take in that scent of the burning match stick. It was liberating.

The crescent moon nights were their favourites. Perfect lighting- the amount was just enough to see each other, not enough to be discovered. The terrace was their secret; it was off-limits, and not easily accessible to anyone but them. Right under the warden’s nose, right over her room. They had been climbing up there for over 6 years now.  6 years, since they’d known each other. They had talked about everything there was to be talked about. And then talked about it again. And again. It wasn’t that the silence was awkward. They craved for each other’s voices. They were friends in the darkness, of the darkness. They’d met one fateful night, sneaking out of their respective rooms to watch the stars, or something like that. Not like they remembered. They’d met every night after that. Things get muddled in your head after a while.

She took a deep drag, and then watched the smoke escape her lips. She stole a glance. He was resting his head against the wall, long hair all over the place, eyes closed, making smoke rings. She loved watching him make those rings; the shape his lips made, the way his Adam’s apple would move, the fact that he would never look whether the rings were formed at all or not. It was like he did that just for her.

“Do you think the sun sets in heaven?” She was concentrating on the smoke rising from her mouth. But he knew she knew just exactly what he was doing. And he didn’t need to steal a glance to predict what she was doing. He did anyway. “I sure hope it does. Heaven wouldn’t be complete without these nights there.” She smiled. Her exact thoughts, in his voice. Typical. She flicked her cigarette stub off the terrace. And watched the trajectory. Then she decided to steal another glance. He had changed his position.

He was watching the stars. She started playing with her hair. “The Sun is us, you know? It is bright and full of fire. It is never at rest, never satisfied, never vanquished, and never lonely.” She rested her head on his lap. “Then the stars are us, too. Darkness is a part of our being. The night is incomplete without stars. The peace, and the calm, the whites, the yellows, and the blues. ” “The water is us too, then. Cool, placid. Turbulent, and devastating.” “As is the Earth. Nurturing, Nourishing. Full of life, full of…” “Us.”

He looked at her face, her eyes were closed. He tucked her hair behind her ear, bent a little, and kissed her. When he lifted his head, he smiled. Her face had gone red, eyes were still closed, and the breath ragged. The sensation of his lips on hers was still there. The tingles and the chills. Even though he was lighter than  snow, even when he was stronger than the wind. She drew in a slow breath. Her heart was finally speeding down. She opened her eyes, and looked at him. His dimpled chin complemented his crooked smile. “The air is us too.” She breathed. “Free. Unearthly”, he said. “And silk.” “Delicate. Soft.” “Monuments?” “Magnificent. Memorable.” “Smiles?” “Unending. Happiness.” “And love?” “Pure.”

“We are everything.”

“Everything is us.”

Who am I?

A face etched with pain;
A beauty unforeseen.
Despair that breaks my heart,
And yet you make it beat.
Why did I find you last?
I'd never have let you bleed.

Who am I, who am I
To hurt him?
You are mine, you are mine,
But you loved him.
Say you're fine, say you're fine,
Oh, I'll make him pay.

'nother love, another love,
In another time.
Rub him out, cut him out
Out of our minds.
Make it stop, make it stop.
Let's let the light in.

The innocence of your heart.
I will keep it safe.
The demons of your past.
I'll give all it takes
In the light and dark,
There will always be faith.

Who am I, who am I
To save you?
All that's mine, all that's mine
Is because of you
You're my light, you're my light
On the darkest day.

Take my arm, take my arm
And, I'll hold you.
Know it dear, know it dear,
That I love you
Through the peace, through the storm,
Will never let you go.

Forgive me.

“Mumma?” a small voice piped from behind my newspaper. I brought down my hands, and looked at my tiny little 7 year old from over my glasses. She was fiddling with her hair, and making that face. That face she makes when she was going to ask me something, and not let go till she had done her thesis. I smiled at her, and my smile immediately replicated on her beautiful face. Her brown eyes were sparkling with curiosity. I put down my newspaper, took a sip of coffee, and raised my eyebrows. “Can I ask you something?” I sighed, “Yes, my love, what is it?” She was still fiddling with her hair. The sunlight from the window highlighted the nutty brown gloss of her hair. Her curls were untamable.  As was she. “Come here”, I signaled to my lap. She jumped off her sofa, and came trotting to me. I pulled her onto my lap, and asked her again. “What did you want to know?” She looked at me, looked me in the eye, and asked, “What is rape?”

I blinked. She blinked right back at me. Her eyes wouldn’t move from my face. And I couldn’t help but look at her. I think I heard an entire minute tick by. I could hear the pulse near my ears. My heart was beating incessantly. I took a deep breath, “Where did you hear this word, Honey?” She pointed at the table. I was confused. She understood. How a 7 year old can read my face, is still beyond me. She put her hands on my face, and turned my head for me. Then I followed her petite index finger to look at what exactly it was that she was pointing to: The newspaper. “I have seen it in there a lot of times. I didn’t understand what it means. So I thought I’ll just ask. ” I kissed her on the head, and held her for a minute. I had decided to never hide things from her, right from the first time that I had held her in my arms. She knew there was no Santa Claus. She knew how babies were born. She also knew why a chapati fluffs up. I closed my eyes, and tried stringing words together to form a sentence.

                The sound of the rain drops beating on the window sill; Loud music; A lightning strikes; The roar of the clouds. Laughter. Uninhibited, hearty laughter. Glasses clinking. More laughter. A room full of merry people.

“Mumma?”

“Yes.” I snapped back to reality. “Do you remember what I told you about sex?”

“Ya!” Of course she did. “When 2 people really like each other, and they get close to one another…”

“Well, yes.” I interrupted. “Well, sometimes it happens, that one person does not want to be a part of the act of sex. And the other person forces that person to have sex, without their consent. That is called rape.”

“That doesn’t sound nice.” She frowned, and pulled her knees to her chin. “Why would they do that? I mean, you said sex makes both the people happy. If one person doesn’t want to do it, then why would the other person force them to do it?”

                Door closing. Lots of goodbyes. Some thanks. Laughter. Engines starting in the driveway. The screeching of wheels on the concrete. Sounds of stumbling across the hallway.

“Some people are selfish, honey. They don’t think of others. They just want whatever it is that they want, and they don’t care about hurting others to get it.” I didn’t know if I was making sense.  “Rape is a horrible thing to do.”

“Do these people who do rape…” “Rapists.” “Okay. Do these rapists get punished, Mumma?” There was no sparkle in her eye anymore.

“Sometimes, they do. Sometimes they get away with it.”

 “They shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“Get away with it. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“Yes. They shouldn’t. It is one of the most horrendous- I mean, terrible- crimes.”

“I know what horrendous means.” Of course she does. “Mumma?”

I could hear my heart beat. Could she? I knew her next question. She had asked when I had explained about sex. She had asked when I had explained about pregnancy.

“Have you ever been raped?”

Of course she’d ask. But I didn’t know if I could answer. 

                

“No!” “Stop being such a bitch!” The string broke. The carpet muffled the sound of pearls pattering on floor. His hand muffled the sounds from her mouth. The ripping of the satin. The stench of whiskey on his breath. White, hot, searing pain. That tight grip on her wrist. Nails digging into the hot, sweaty skin. Shivers. Anger. Loathing. Helplessness. Disgust. Anger. Fury. Tears. Hot, angry tears flushing down her face.

“Yes.” I gulped. I could feel my face heat up. My eyes were burning. So I blinked. She did too.

“Did he get punished?”

“Sort of.”

“Who punished him?”

“Your Daddy.”

“Oh. Is that why Daddy left? To punish that man?”

“I am leaving; do not try to stop me. Not right now.” “Baby, I am sorry. I am really sorry. I can’t live without you. Please, don’t leave me.” “I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with you. Not after what happened. I can’t. How could you?” “It will never happen again. It wasn’t me. I am sorry.” “I need some time to think. Let go of my arm.” The purple-black bruises on her arm reminded them both of what had happened. “But, I love you baby!” “I love you too. You know that. But I am not strong enough to forget this.” “Will you come back?” “I don’t know.” “I won’t be able to live without you. I am sorry, darling!” “I know you are. I am too.”

“Yes. That was the only way he knew he could punish that man.”

“Do they get forgiven, Mumma, those people?” She looked tired. Or was her face reflecting mine, again?

                

The sound of the phone hitting the ground- she hadn't realized when it slid out of her hand. Even today she woke up in a heavy sweat- to that sound. It had been 8 years, now. The green nylon rope they used as their cloth-line, the stool he used to sit on while he played the guitar. In their own bedroom. She made sure nothing in her new house resembled the old one. But that image never left her head. The police explained that they were sure it was a suicide. They had even found a note.

              

  ‘Forgive me.’

“Yes, they do, love. Sometimes, they do.”

Hozier- Take me to Church EP- Review.

For those of you craving some intelligent, soulful, beautiful music- Hozier is the one for you. Hozier is the stage name adopted by Andrew Hozier-Byrne, an Irish musician. His songs are evocative and meaningful; the music that supports those beautiful, deep lyrics is equally enchanting. You will find influences of Blues, Folk, Community Chorals, Soul Music, R&B and Gospel in his work. His voice is magnificent, it is vivacious and poignant- it is the kind of voice that haunts you- you can NOT forget it; you wouldn’t ever want to. His voice resonates the gravity, the depth of his lyrics. His voice is robust, it is striking- it is filling.

Each song of his is a story- and Hozier is a master story-teller. His words draw you in; the music keeps you still, while his voice entangles you in those beautiful, divine notes- and you don’t know if you are freer or more caught up in all that he has to convey. The lyrics will leave you wondering as to why they hit you so hard- you couldn’t truly relate to all of them? Maybe you could- you do. You relate to the blatant honesty, the alluring mysticism- to the stranger who is telling you things you didn’t know you knew. 

As of now, Hozier doesn’t have any albums to his name. He has, though, 2 EPs (Take me to Church, and From Eden), and quite a few singles.

Take me to Church.

Hozier’s first EP. 16 minutes long. Breathtaking.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYSVMgRr6pw&index=1&list=PL8KVn2EQ_jy2DnkLqjKNQYH3FYfl-1T0C

·         Take me to Church.

‘Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good god, let me give you my life’

The title track of his first EP- the song is all about love- what it is like to love someone, to the point of worship- pure, true, unadulterated love. The song tells us that love is real, it is forgiving, it guides, it is gentle, it is concrete, it is demanding - love is worship-worthy.  The song is deeper (yes, more than this), though. It deals with the discrimination against those who indulge in love which is any manner different from the one that Church (and many other chauvinistic institutions) proclaims. The singer is talking about how his love is considered a sin- how he is considered a sinner. But how only love, and nothing else, has made him feel human- feel clean. The song deals with sexuality, with love, and with the act of love. There are no words that can do justice to the impeccably brilliant songwriting that Hozier displays.

And the music- the American Gospel type layering in the song will entrap you in its purity. The video of the song went viral about a year ago- and has crossed 2 million views- and why not? It is art. It adds to the depth of the song, and shows us the homophobia and the attacks on the LGBT community (through the story of 2 homosexual men) in Russia. The video complements the lyrics, adding many more layers of meaning to a song that has already blown away the mind of the listener.

It might seem as if I am exaggerating. I am not. Give it a listen. You will have a different take on the meaning of the song- of each line- I do, so I know. But will you absolutely love it? I surely do.

·         Like Real People Do

When in a relationship, it ever-so-often happens that one is curious, to say the least, about their partner’s past. This song talks about this curiosity, about this fear.

‘I had a thought, dear
However scary,
About that night,
The bugs and the dirt
Why were you digging?
What did you bury,
Before those hands pulled me
From the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from,
I will not ask you and neither should you.’

The singer shows an interest in his lover’s past, he is worried about what it held and how it will affect them- but he realizes that he himself has a past, and thus he says to his lover, that they both need to let go of the past- to forget the past- and be together- be one, now. Like real people do.

The song is soft, easy on the ears, and has you humming to its simple, yet exquisite tune soon enough. The choral elements of the song make it compellingly more stunning, and Hozier’s deep, layered voice adds soul to the song.

·         Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene

The humming in the beginning of the song, the light strumming of his electric guitar, and those intense, excellent lyrics- this song has you captivated even before you reach the tapping-your-foot-because-it-makes-you-do-so-involuntarily chorus. What this one is about? Small death, or as the French call it- ‘petit mort’- basically, he is talking about orgasms. And what a brilliant way to illustrate the passion, the irresistible, over-powering fervor of this woman he calls the angel of small death, and the codeine scene.

‘With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean,
She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene,
With her straw-blonde hair, her arms hard and lean,
She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene.’

The imagery, the pictures he draws with his words, and that voice, mystic and yet, so believable- it is incredible.

·         Cherry Wine

The video of the song was recorded on the roof of the abandoned remains of a hotel. Early morning, the light, the chirping of the birds- it adds to the soft, delicacy of the song. The lyrics are fairly simple, and yet, the song conveys much more than you would expect at the first go. Hozier’s voice is many, many things. It is rustic, and genuine. His singing is masterly; his voice addictive. The song is soothing, it calms you. When you listen to the lyrics closely, you will find yourself getting slightly uneasy- after all, what he talks about is a lover that hurts him- a love that hurts him. And how he doesn’t care.

‘The way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.’

The song deals with a love which is cruel, and mean, and hurtful, and yet, how it is clean and pure to him.

Hozier is a breath of fresh air, a delight to listen to- a melodious, inventive genius, given his songwriting, and that voice- that unforgettable, moving voice- Hozier, is a must-listen-to. I urge you to drop whatever it is that you are doing, and give this mastermind a try. You will not regret it.

What if?

What if all the rain drops
Were just teardrops that we've shed?
What if every dust storm
Was an embodiment of those in our heads?

What if every thunder
Was the echo of one's private laugh.
What if every solar flare
Was born of an angry spark?

What if every breeze
Was just a whisper shared?
What if every new moon
Was, of all the first kisses, made?

What if our smiles
Were what powered the Sun?
What if all the stars
Were heroes that went unsung?

What if every 'once upon a time'
Started a new epoch?
What if every inferno
Was fueled by screeching amok?

What if every dark thought
Resulted in a new dead leaf?
What if every hail that struck
Was made of heartache and grief?

What if every baby's cry
Was what birthed each lightning?
What if the chafing of a worker's hands
Engendered the marks on moon's skin?

What if every whirlpool
Was because of a dancer that twirled?
What,then, if even a single thought
Could change the way of the world?

They Said.

The scintillating sun, 

A girl, blithe and serene.

They said, a delightful scene. 

Dancing, frolicking, pirouetting.

A sweet summer child, they said,

Swaying in her yellow summer dress. 

Orange, red, pink, and bright,

Flowers adorned her braid,

Nut brown, sheeny, thick,they said.

Eyes glimmer with hope and fancy, 

A smile, they said,as enchanting as can be. 

Pink and glowing, happy.

A white puff moved in the sky,

Unnoticed, tight lipped. 

As also, a shadow, did.

Drab and dreary, dark and grim,

The shadow crept.

Treacherously, they said, he took his place.

She didn't see the dark clouds

That overpowered her dear friend.

The summer child,they said, now bereft of her guard.

From within the shadows of that corner

The shadow moved out.

They said, a lurid being overshadowed her.

They said, someone walked by the corner,

And saw petals,bleak and sombre.

Once orange, red, pink;now without color.

The summer child, they said, unsmiling,  

Walked, stone-faced, solemn. 

A yellow dress, torn, and bloodied.

A scream echoed in the background.

The summer child, didn't flinch.

Walked straight on, along with her vengeful sun.

They said a shadow was found, 

Bloodied, stabbed, and grey.

At the corner down the street.

Nobody knew what went down,

The corner was deemed an unholy place.

They said their prayers, drew their crosses, and left.

Some, they said, had seen the summer child,

Pirouette until the corner, in her red dress,

Just a flicker of a shadow, under her eyes.

She was scared.

She had known love, in a way only a few do. She had felt it soar through every nerve ending, through every synapse-through her soul. She had felt it mess with her head, making her giddy, making her smile at the stupidest, most random moments, making her want to sing and fly. She had felt the tingles in her fingertips, the turmoil in her tummy, the funny feeling in her legs – she had felt it till her toes.

She knew how it felt to wake up in the morning with a smile on her face. She knew what the sun-lovers meant when they said they wanted to stay in the sun all day. She understood what the rain-heads meant when they saw the first dark cloud roll in to the sky. She recognized what the winter- lovers felt when the first snow-flake landed on their nose. She appreciated happiness. She personified happiness. She was happiness.

The whole day went about skipping, and smiling. There was no stopping the rush that was in her blood stream. She had known no high like that of love. The stability of his chest when she would rest her head against it; The complete stillness that took over her entirety when she would lose herself in his arms; The knowledge of no harm as long as he embraced her; The melody of his heartbeats; The symphony that their hearts created when they would beat together- in unison; She knew. She lived. She loved.

The way his touch would awaken feelings she didn’t know she could have felt, the emotions that would rise and swell up in her chest when she saw him smile, the uncontrollable urge to protect him from the world, the absolute stubbornness to take care of him, the delight in being taken care of, the bliss his voice would provide, the sparks that would light up their nights- she comprehended love. Her love. Their love.

She loved with her heart, with her soul, with her all. She loved him to bits, she loved him till the fall.

Now, there is no him. And thus, there is no she. She is, of course, as of course, is he. There is no they, and there is no them.  There is no rush, no tingles are underwent. There is a void, and in that is knowledge. The knowledge of pain, of loneliness, of falling. There is no dancing, there is no symphony. There are empty tunes that fill her room, but nothing gives her company.

Days pass by, and she continues to not forget. She continues to fight the sadness, the hurt, the barrenness. The nights are filled with sleepless dreams, the mornings begin with beads of uneasy sweat. The heart that once sang and pranced, now, it only bled. There was an impulse, a strong, throbbing impulse- to run- to run away and never return. But how could she leave? It was her home. She would avoid going out. But that was no way to live. So she did. She stepped out in the Sun she once knew well, and turned away, no recognition was felt. She hid under her dusty umbrella when the radio droned about dark clouds- her old friends. She walked with her eyes down, she walked fast. She didn’t know it- she was running from her past.

She saw him sometimes, and she knew, he saw her too. She never could encompass the ineptness, the lack of warmth that filled the distance between them. She did not understand why she felt the way she did. She did not know. And for the first time, she knew what not knowing felt like. She didn’t understand it. The misery, the anger, the frustration- she did not understand what she felt. She did not know. Till one day she realized.

She was scared.

Repercussions

You would say it doesn't make sense.

I agree.   

The heart is a senseless bitch.

You would say I don't understand.

I do.

I just don't agree with.

I would say I am to be blamed.

Am not.

It's just that the signs I should have seen..

You would say that it is all your fault.

It isn't.

Don't be so extreme.

I would say that time will heal it all.

It will.

But you won't believe me.

You would say it will go back to normal
It won't.
Normal is nothing as it used to be.

Alice

                                

There she goes again
Tumbling down the rabbit hole
A new Alice enroute her wonderland
Drenched in the starlight of lust and woes.

Feeling so tall in her head
As she walks along the catacombs. 
Another ditch, another fall;
And once again, amongst the stones.

Pelted, at her, and at her dreams
So petite- against a world gigantic
No amount of potions let her forget the world
No sense of the words, of phrases, or semantics.

She loses herself in the salty sea
Of her own creation, of her tears. 
Among the lonely creatures, she'd never looked at twice,
She found solace, she is priced.

She learns that smiles can last even longer
When you let go, when you surrender
And that the madness in running and sciamachy 
Is the cure for every doubt she did ever encumber.

In the struggle of hearts, running for her life,
She figured she could never keep down her head,
Cause while everything else was transient and sublime,
She was what she always had in the end.

There she goes again, annihilating her demons
Trying to climb out of her self made paracosm,
Hurt, and bleeding, and lost in translation,
She continues to shine, she continues to blossom. 

And, then?

“What do you do, when you close your eyes?”

He asked her, saw an indiscernible smile.

“I think of words that others know of not;

Of words unuttered, of words in thought lost”

“What do you do with these words that  you think?”

“To be honest, I do absolutely nothing.

The words engulf me, wash over my soul.

The words redefine me, recolour; reborn.”

“They change you, your words?” He turned and fixed his eyes,

On hers, as she glided through many galaxies that night.

“Noone can change me, the exception being me;

The words be mine, and mine, means me.”

“Do they change me, the me I am to you?”

The grass tickled his ear, but he was else-consumed.

“My words have not power to do so to you.

Your words-they do; your words, they do.”

“How will love stay, if change wouldn't leave?”

“Love will stay, as long as we believe.

Believe in the world, and flow with the change;

Love is ever-changing, ever-lasting, never-same.”

“So all we have are irretrievable moments fleeting?”

“And all those emotions, and each of those feelings-                                                               

That make those moments, and we are of all those;

We have each other, all our words and kairos.”

“What then, when we part”, his dark deep eyes pored,

“How then, do we restart?”;ready to explode.

“What never ends, wouldn't begin again;

And what is, to be, is what is meant.”

“There is no time to waste; we must forever be frugal”

“Of course”, she said. No gain being finifugal. 

“Life is too short, and our dreams can’t be stalled.

Our heart is the ruler- it must have its wonderwall.

I wish.

I wish I wouldn't forget.
But I do.I Always do.
Make a beautiful memory.
Or steal a couple from you.

It's always those I cherish the most.
Is this fate? I wouldn't know.
Are memories made so one day we forget?
Like fireflies-Incomplete and aglow.

It wasn't just a wintry night,
It wasn't a confession nor acceptance of defeat,
At the hands of this world, this big bad world,
In which we live, of which we breathe.

There are some days I reminisce,
There are sometimes I wish I'd known.
That like flames of fire, that glaze and die,
Out of my head memories'll be thrown.

I try to memorize, every cut and every line,
When there is nothing else, this is on my mind.
While I may believe, there is life to live,
My mind is in the past, searching, writhing.

There was a time

There was a time
When I didnt care.
When I was yours,
And you were my air.

There was a time
When time would stop
At the blink of your eye
A million stars would applaud.

There was a time
When it would be sufficient
To just see your face
After a life time of abscission.

There was a time
When it killed a part of me
To see you with him.
Or see him bring you glee.

There was a time
When I would pray for days
For a moment alone,
For a stolen second to over come the fraise.

There was a time
When I could run away,
Away, with you.
Without a word, or communique.

There was a time,
I could forgive and forget
Everything you did,
And be happy with your silhouette

There was a time,
And there is a time now,
When I have let go,
I have given up, and how.

There was a time,
When I was happy with the ciphers
When I was blind enough,
To think that "we" were worth dying for.

There was a time,
And that time is over,
Now I see you for you,
No longer watch over my shoulder

There was a time,
When I was all yours
But it hurt too much,
To always be on all fours.

There was a time,
When I didn't mind
That I was razingly yours,
But you were never really mine.

There was a time,
A time long ago gone,
Then broken, I am now complete,
By myself, on my own.