UnAnAesthetic

anesthetic for the heart, not

[litaratura]

Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

Like losing flowers //on a windy night, Oh, how they fall, // oh, how they smile. ~ The tree knew no other life, no other truth. It knew just one life, just one lie: to hurt, and to find home in the wait for the sun, and not the people. It knew to build, and to grow, but not to shed. Not tears, not anything. But it did, anyway. Every day. Withering. Crippling. Reborn. __ I imagine roads must be litmus tests to see if I still hurt, and they always say positive which means I still have to kill a little more of myself, to see myself in all the darkness, it means I have to fill a few more holes before sand pours me out dry before I fall apart ever so quiet. I cross roads looking around thrice, and once behind me, because I fear something from not just inside me pushing me, and I fear not stopping, and always stopping, and too much sunshine, and too little pain, and I fear it'll be quick and certain and ugly and split and fragmented and broken and staked and baited and each time I cross it all fine, without another panic attack, I have already imagined my death twice. so tell me to cross the road, and tell me to hold your hand, and I'll tell you I don't like it, because I don't trust myself with hands anymore, not these fingers, not half as much in daylight as at night, and I'll tell you it's so easy to get to the other side, but the problem is not being successful in it, the problem is, most times, I'm already at the other side. reasons why I stare at fallen leaves by Yash Raj Talan. #poems #poem #musings #suicideprevention #pain #photography #writersofinstagram #writing #writings (at Christ University, Bangalore)

[unanaesthetic]

chasing cars // if I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world? // || it was an obsession. an urge to devour the last alive bit of energy in our hearts, and drain it for the present. to feel the moment, we had to empty ourselves. sometimes, it was a song. other times, it was a question. the answer did not matter. asking was of infinite importance. we had to see for ourselves how the words sounded out loud. how ugly, how beautiful they really were. how our reflections looked like to broken reality. and yet, we were never tired. never too lost. Still finding our ways back to the little ways of our minds. attempting to establish that connection everyone has ever wanted. the connection we found by accident. people spend decades worth of nights for this. we were just spending a few moments. it was not as much a spark as it was a calming sensation. as if the world had blended in with our shared universe for a moment, and we had found our ideal. it was heartbreakingly imperfect, and we had trusted ourselves with upholding it. we were holding a universe with our minds. together. the obsession led to some extent of mania. it meant that our new worlds were quite unstable. we needed to communicate, to express. without information, we could almost collapse within ourselves. so, we lingered. we lingered when the sky seemed to be the deepest shade of blue, but not quite black. we lingered when the road shone with the sun, imitating it only to flatter gently. and we lingered when the sunset took away with it the only light in our eyes, until we discovered our hearts' luminescence. and then, we rose. and from that moment, a sunrise emerged. our world was brighter again. our universe, still held together. still intact, still full of life. and that was all the obsession was, honestly. a cycle we lived, and a truth we accepted. and then we filled each other again. || Photo taken on Ganesh Chaturthi, 25 August, 2017 in Bengaluru, India #words #instatale #nostalgia #broken #theinstagramgeneration #TIG #wordporn #bookstagram #photography #instawriters #writersofinstagram #writing (at Bangalore, India)

[unanaesthetic]

chasing cars // if I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world? // || it was an obsession. an urge to devour the last alive bit of energy in our hearts, and drain it for the present. to feel the moment, we had to empty ourselves. sometimes, it was a song. other times, it was a question. the answer did not matter. asking was of infinite importance. we had to see for ourselves how the words sounded out loud. how ugly, how beautiful they really were. how our reflections looked like to broken reality. and yet, we were never tired. never too lost. Still finding our ways back to the little ways of our minds. attempting to establish that connection everyone has ever wanted. the connection we found by accident. people spend decades worth of nights for this. we were just spending a few moments. it was not as much a spark as it was a calming sensation. as if the world had blended in with our shared universe for a moment, and we had found our ideal. it was heartbreakingly imperfect, and we had trusted ourselves with upholding it. we were holding a universe with our minds. together. the obsession led to some extent of mania. it meant that our new worlds were quite unstable. we needed to communicate, to express. without information, we could almost collapse within ourselves. so, we lingered. we lingered when the sky seemed to be the deepest shade of blue, but not quite black. we lingered when the road shone with the sun, imitating it only to flatter gently. and we lingered when the sunset took away with it the only light in our eyes, until we discovered our hearts' luminescence. and then, we rose. and from that moment, a sunrise emerged. our world was brighter again. our universe, still held together. still intact, still full of life. and that was all the obsession was, honestly. a cycle we lived, and a truth we accepted. and then we filled each other again. || Photo taken on Ganesh Chaturthi, 25 August, 2017 in Bengaluru, India #words #instatale #nostalgia #broken #theinstagramgeneration #TIG #wordporn #bookstagram #photography #instawriters #writersofinstagram #writing (at Bangalore, India)

[remanence-of-love]

[matt-hagen]

me in class

[books-n-quotes]

“For myself I am too heavy, and for you too light.”

— Franz Kafka, Letters To Milena

[unanaesthetic]

An Ode to Kolkata. || Kolkata. The City of Joy that I never truly felt. You see, a non-Bengali living in Durgapur doesn't really have many reasons to see you, except to go somewhere. Transit point. Victoria aar Esplanade, Howrah aar Airport. And so, I've visited you, only for a few, too few days at a stretch. I've heard of you too often, and read about you whenever I've chanced upon literature. Be it the Rabindra Sangeet or his stories, Anupam Roy's Kolkata, or his Ghawrbari, it's always felt like I have missed you, yet left so much unsaid. Iconic, stuck in chaos, the Blue City yet so vibrant, and beautiful — these words don't even begin your tale. You're almost an anachronism, and yet, your tramways and Metro were ahead of its time when Hindustan was struggling with roads, and India was struggling with Railways. Hustling, bustling with energy, sweating and smiling, haggling, and almost smoothly moving by its rhythm— not too fast, yet, not a bit slower—, hanging by its balance, your people have recognised what it is to fall for a city. And you've taken them all, ever since your birth. So when someone asks me, where am I from? I don't think too many times about whether to say Durgapur, or Delhi, or West Bengal. I just smile, and say, Kolkata, even though I never really belonged with you, belonged to you. But I've known you like a lost love, a love with potential. And I've seen you with envy, and pity, and pain, and you've surprised me with something each time. As they all say, and proudly, "Kolkata is an emotion." I'll miss you. || //prothom premer moton byaertho ei shohor// ~Yash Raj Talan #Kolkata #TheCityofJoy #Calcutta #CalcuttaDiaries #writersofinstagram #theinstagramgeneration #TIG (at Kolkata)