Vasu

The Tale of Coffee (Part II) Wondering if I could say yes, To a moment that trumps, My dreams and my simple thoughts. I guess it could if I walked. I read the note over and over, Wondering if I had dreamt it all. It smelled of lilac and blueberries, Alien to me. I thought of forevers to be, And a sad time. If I said yes, what's to say? Sad I won't be. I reminisce an older time, One where I had a say. To call them mine, Knew they had stayed. So when I dial this up, Hear you speak from the side. Flummoxed by an ethereal voice, Who saves a plummeted me? I know where this will lead, I've seen it all before. In my days and my peers, It falters like old. I tear the pages up, Entrust them to the flames. Realise they could be more, Than I could retrieve for. I return to the shops again, Retracing like a daily chore. Ordering sandwiches, With a side of fries. For I'll never like coffee. Not much. Not at all. Not even a bit. But I remember the day, When I chose - Even for a bit, All at once.

The Tale of Coffee (Part 1) I don't like coffee, Not much. Not at all. Not even a bit. Furthermore, there's enough. To drink, to smell and to know. I'd never need a taste To frown upon as you. But then I go away, To distant cities and streets. Entrapped by a world, Changing every yard. I sit upon a coffee shop. Vowing never to order. I look for sandwiches, To go along with fries. There's an aroma quite indefatigable, One that lingers on for a while. I choose to ignore what's in sight, And wait for the food I like. Noises in my head, I shut them up with grub. They seem to be too hungry, They don't stop till they're full. Overcast sun, and an autumn breeze, To face me at the table, Across myriads of distances, A glance to please. My eyes played cricket, In the air a no-ball, Perhaps trumped by a sport Stopped by an off-side. It looked away at you, Eagerly munching at a biscuit, Dipped in a mug, I'd hoped it wasn't coffee. Courage, not my stronger suites. It left me when required. Fear, my oldest companion, Never to leave me astray. I sat cemented to my chair, Never to move, or rise above. And when I chose to do so, It seemed too late. You weren't there. Left again to my devices. Not a coffee, or a sandwich. Not even a plate of fries. Pangs rose up in my gut, Watered at the sight of waiters. When he set them down with ease, Smiled and walked away. I feasted on what I craved, Sipped the aroma in the air. I turned the plates to go, A note's greeting from you. "I know you," it says. I remember little of what next. There's a month of waiting, And longing.

🍄 Happy 10! A Decade since Naughty Dog decided to make the visual gaming medium to come at par with cinema. We as a species are surrounded by stories. We can't help but leave a part of us behind whether it's in the form of cave arts or a three hour long extravagant cinematic art piece that leaves you with a feeling. In truth, that is the road all forms of art lead up to. If you would prefer summing it up, the point of art is to affect you in ways that may vary in any direction. The Last Of Us is one 'Cinematic Media' which made me as a viewer trod in the footsteps of a broken father who had lost every bit of hope and humanity left in him with the loss of his child. A mammoth task to even come close to doing justice to that scenario, but it succeeded in ways I can't explain but only feel. In more ways than one, I went along with Joel, on that journey across the country to save the world with this new girl he couldn't wait to get rid of. What else would a traumatized, secluded and shut off man do? Perhaps I'd be the same way. And across that journey he learned to become this person he had long buried years ago. He learned to open up and to care for someone more than himself and I went on that journey with him - right behind the stick. I felt everything he did with every rumble and breath, the shift in the psyche of the cold hearted man into a loving and caring man - a protector. I was there to witness it. It's not in the game, but well put in the impeccable live action adaptation. Joel talks about his past with Ellie and he mentions trying to kill himself. He had shot at himself but he missed. Ellie takes that as an attempt by Joel to making her see that it will be okay. She says, "I guess time heals all wounds," a childlike innocence and gravity of the situation preceding them while they sit leaning against a barricade. And Joel looks at her proudly with every bit of the vulnerability he could muster and he says, "It wasn't time that did it." They look at each other and no words are exchanged except Gustavo's music. And to me that is where you see what "The Last Of Us" is all about - love, healing, purpose.

18th May, 2026. 00:08 A.M Monday. I walk a thin line, Abridged on a tight rope. Wobbly as I stand still, Their gaze brings chaos. I'm a lover of peace, Tumultuous voices run through my veins. And they ask with exuberant eyes, The snakes, they feel everyone but me. I could run from What Ifs, The unknown alternatives, Of a future that's yet to be, But I'm here flipping you off. Do you see it? It's in my eyes, The bird unraveling, As I wind down the lever. Run, quick, they see me. I wonder if curses suffice, Do they not fall onto you? Oh why must you chase me now. Sauntering down the stairs, My jugular, nearing a nick. And I run amok, Through the smoke screen. Fearing your vision, And the lies you bear. They follow you like a bad omen, My door says: bitch please. Yet you're an arrogant poof. You don't care for nicities. The dead bring forth garlands, You'd bring the plague. You're no blotch on my life, Mere eRAANDs I'd skip over. For if the choice was mine, We'd have never met. Except I am glad it isn't, For I have a choice now. To shun you for eternity, Like heaps of excrement. Knock the doors of hell, And have the world be born anew. I say no and turn away - As I watch it all burn.

May 15, 2026. 23:54 P.M Friday. Dewy, I don't think you know but I relished the moments yet to come. I'd envisioned all I'd do. It's easy to put a front and not be. I think the words are easy when they count for more. Perhaps to title them as lores. I bring heavy ones. There's a lot of baggage claim at the conveyor and no extra charges for the same. I found myself behind the wheels holding on to dear life. Counting squabbles replaying scenarios yet to be. Wonder where the anxiety comes from if I'm supposed to be at ease. Like you said, maybe it's because I extend far too beyond and gush over unnatural circumstances. Despite all the neuroticism I guess I'm a little old school, the way you would be too. Stuck in limbo between the new and the old stuff. The dawn of the internet and smart phones and a by gone era of dial up internet and dial up phones. I think I'd have walked around obscure corners and had more cans of diet coke as we shared tales of traumatic memories however close or distant. And I don't think you're that different with companions either. Just selective. And that's that. I'd say happy birthday but it's belated now and I'd do this again and again. I probably felt a little like me today which is a different feeling. So thank you for that. Both of you. Until then, Au Revoir. Cumpleaños feliz and... Je T'aime.

May 15, 2026. 00:24 A.M Friday. I go away to the boards, Away to play, And find words That I find alluring. I go away to the eagles, That circle my box, Filled with fusili, I may have dropped. I go away from fear, For safe is chaotic, I'd rather cling to scales, Than return home to you. I go to the smoke. Or the stone crocodiles. The large steps I couldn't climb, To find a way around home. I go to speak to the shops, Asking for Pizza On bikes and scooters, As I scare the bats away. I go to fetch milk, In the dark evenings of the town. I eat too less then, Movies have begun to scar. I struggle and strive, To come close and run Amok. How could you fear? What you've come to love. I go to ask for faith, In shambles of a vibe. A union I couldn't shake, But I'm aware that you left me. I go to ask the old man, What could I do better? His eyes twinkle with pride, I wish I'd looked beyond. I ask to see him less and more. I stumble and try to think. Do I need the lingering space, For the impending love to fester. I wonder now if that's the catalyst, To stay apart at a stretch, And see love in those words, That have forever eluded me. I wish to seek solace, In facts and realities. To recognise and accept - It couldn't have been my fault? I could ask you too, But I don't think you'd comprehend. Which would not be a fault of your own, Oh! What a loop of sorrows. I analyse this generational tidbit, Of transfered pain that regresses. I hurt less but I ask still, Did you even have that luxury? I think and I speak - Of privileges I boast about. They're not mine to hold, Yet I cower. I come to you both now, Having learned to sit - In agony, in love and in hate, And I guess I carry none. I know there's more to it, And your path may not cross mine. And that will be fine, For it's not out of line. I move around clueless, Returning to you again. In the confines of your arms, Hoping to be held in my past. I sympathize and comprehend, The journey's a first for you and I. And I try and stumble as you do. To rise another time. I return to your door older, In the twilight of your time. I speak with authority, To claim what was once yours. Only to give it away again.

Music and Ideas and Everything in Between @sapovnela._7 May 5th, 2026. 23:46 P.M Tuesday. Soft spoken words, Hard of hearing. And I'd rather find reasons To be close to you. I know the odontos have left, Long before I could speak. And I remember eating with you, Just to be close to you. I stumbled and pushed back, Asked for more than I deserved. Unnerving. Chaotic. You looked at me with fallen eyes, The ones that annoyed me. I wonder why it was irksome, When all you did was wait. I guess I wanted to be seen. As my own being. Without you first, Then to find I could choose. But we don't get to have a say, Or speak a truth both understand. I speak in parsel tongues, And you're chiming in Morse Code. We both long for love, As I walk ahead of you, Trailing behind on the bicycle, And I never even asked. If you were alright, I could only afford to be myopic, And yet you held on, I guess that's what it meant. To be loved, Without any fingers. To count the blessings, Or the deeds you had done. I guess it's why I remember, And now at a distance. I wish to give me gratitude, But the years are long at my back. So I do what you did best, Stayed a little while longer, Walked a mile more, Although you were tired. For I know the cost, Of what once was. So I choose as you did before, A few moments close to you. Until we meet again, And I'd walk ahead, Looking back in pride, For I knew love - up close.

May 5, 2026. 01:14 A.M Tuesday. On the 15th of April, 2009. I was standing on the balcony, across 802 that lit up the entire area. I guess he had a thing for halogens, and I had hated him all the more. The sun had stooped down low to a tee. I stood there hovering with a cup of Joe - watching. Beyond the apartments stood a dilapidated door, rusted beyond recognition. It was circled by pillars painted white every year. They somehow forget to extend the same courtesy to the metallic door. I had often found a few people walking there - like tiny dots visible from a satellite. I couldn't pick them apart or even point them out if I saw them the following day. However, what intrigued me more was the bright white light on the street light that lit up the sky. The wattage was out of the charts and it looked straight at me, burning itself on my eyes. I stared at it as long as the coffee remained, but the lights would refuse to subside. It gave me transient headaches and I'd need another cup. Of course that also meant I would walk over to the balcony and redo the whole routine. My day was abysmal and forgettable, with a job at the morgue. Something no one would dare continue, but I liked the monotony of it. The same way I returned to the balcony and my evenings were equated to my days. Empty lights staring back at me - devoid of life. And I felt right at home. And if I was being honest, I couldn't tell you of a life before this, and one I could imagine beyond. Perhaps I had acquiesced to the beliigerence of life in static. Besides, what else remained after an empty cup?

May 1st, 2026. 21:44 P.M Friday. Tapestries in Monotone. I have a home, That begs me to return to. It watches like a little pup, With sad eyes as I leave. I think too little of it, The wind I felt was just God. You couldn't sway me, Into believing. For I have faith in the right kind. The one that loves. Unconditionally, regardless of me. Inspite of me. I've heard of the deniars, The ones who plead Pragmatism. In the search for soul, They've been sucked dry. Hollowed out from the heart, They don't see from the eyes of love. As I see you, I know and I pray. And I ask for forgiveness, For all my trespasses, And my sins, That I may have done or would do. For they say you love anyway. I've got to believe though? I don't see the Angels, But they hold me. I must believe though. For if not me, I know that you have it with you - A Destiny tailor made for me. So tomorrow I'll go again, Return as late as I could. Living in the world, That makes a man. I'd burnt out shelling pennies, But now I know the truth. And I draw close to you, In sickness and in health. So fear not enlightened one, I know the fallacies of my return. The eyes they lie. Cruelty in their softness. Evil pagan doors, And you beg me to stay. If only you could see, An inanimate you, watching me go. But you need to believe. For he loves you still. I would pray for you, But you never respond. After all you're all I see, As I see the door. The opened ajar, I walk across. But I know, For I must go again, And do it for him, To be the greatest equalizer in love. Knock knock, the sirens come. The next day I heard you. I had tears now. For finally I'm with you. Pain in their arms, I relieve and absolve. I turn to look at my house, It looks at me morose. They took me to you - Towards the Great White Halls. Iron melts away at my touch, And they tell me to suffer. I chuckle when they remind me, Of my old house. They breed lies in my head, Turning me away from you. But I carry you with me, For eternity. The bony cross, Coloured in red. Let them come tomorrow, I shall turn them towards you. They'll notice my humble abode And how I earned you through. The eyes won't lie no more - Now they know.

April 27, 2026. 03:11 A.M Monday. A few summers ago, I'd watched weddings from afar. I wasn't even close. I've lived through the fireworks and the bright lights and the sound of music echoing in my chest. I'd found it disturbing to be honest. The loud erraticness of the whole ordeal. The long walk to the venue while the crowd joined to perform cumbersome steps that wouldn't ever pass for dance. But it happens anyway. None would change anything about it. There's joy and shared smiles in the exuberance of these events. Like festivals amassed into a single night. And as much as I'd deny it, when it was my turn to be in it. I don't think altruistic ideas ever crossed my mind. I'd been completely engrossed in living the moment - and of course capturing it. It begets the question, is criticism only real in 3rd person? Could I not be objective to question what was happening around me? The answer's pretty straightforward, but that's a thought I can't let up in the air. (A bit late for that now.) Far removed from the setting when I'm allowed to sit back and observe the whole thing. I've found it inviting in the distance. As I turn to look outside right this moment, there's bright blinding lights overlooking the ground adorned with tents and impending fireworks. I could choose to let the fireworks be the sole reason to be drawn to this and walk away. Yet I find myself looking at the people roaming about - alive and unperturbed by what the world would think. Would be easier if I could use that philosophy in a few hours in class, but we don't call ourselves Heroes. No. Charlie would have me believe that "We Are Infinite." As the truck passes through the tunnel with the wind at his back. It's a nice sentiment; a world I would love to sit with. But I wonder if reality would veer closer to that and grant me the fortitude to believe that "We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve." I guess not. I guess we accept whatever comes forth and try to run with it. Because like this event of deafening, heart thumping music that I'm supposed to DANCE TO affects me; the whole prospect of being will be the same. And I'd choose to conform. Was I ever in control then?

April 25th, 2026. 00:00 A.M Saturday. Fie! Fie! Fie! Hark, you wordless placebos. Bring me your empty chalices, To fill to the brim with woe. Have I no illness to call mine? To lend a ear for the agonized. Have I no want to stretch, A perilous hand to hold? No, I vault over the guard rails. Rewind all over again. It wasn't right the first time, To feel the dagger once more. Blood has started to see, How I rush and dodge - To meet the earth, In the hopes of slumber. I say my piece, As I hear yours. Does it matter if I wrote it, Or if it fell onto your ears? What's it to you? If you're all deaf near me. A choice in the face of Thanatos, And I'm justice delayed. Call it insurance, And I pay the amounts. How ludicrous it sounds, When you refuse to stick around. Not by habit of course. You don't even know how. It's easy to write with experience, The shoe swap ain't a skill much learned. Ironies have bewildered me, In the ways of the Karmic retort. How I shunned away the ear, Regressing into a corpse. What good am I to you? Or you to me? I speak the currency of words, And you're left with disdain. Perhaps it's a cycle, What goes, returns. So I give and give, And "He" says not to hope. You ask me to desecrate, What remains human in me. A shell of dark thoughts, Waiting for a trigger. Well, so be it. I ask you not to stay. Or to listen, To my bearings. Set adrift atop the Styx, Drowning. Verily, I acquiesce. And what's it to you, Your walls are dear to you. As is mine, What's it to us all? Rather bleak turn of events, Your hands feel full, So does my patience - Running on fumes. Could I shame then? If we're all just ironies, Layered one on top of another, Longing to be seen. But none to say "Aye" I see you, Wait for a little while, And I'll be there. Maybe I'd have sated, Slumbered with that knowledge. Alas! I'm riddled in chaos, Nothing to slow me down. The midnight may stretch further, Touch the lips of dawn. Caress the Grandeur of the Sun, Just to reach through you. How dreamy it must be, To have your words catered to. Enamored with heart, Reaching out just enough. Go on then, I return to my devices. Back to words that betray me, In the cold.

April 24th, 2026. 04:16 A.M Friday. At the event horizon, I've left your letters. They've rebuked me, And you of all light. There's no music, As I get closer. No answers from your end, Do souls speak? I wonder if feeling's quantified, To say you were here - It would be a lie, But I sense it still. In the dreams, You sit still at the porch. The nightmares come, With your voice. I'm forgetting the sound, Of your voice. I figure it brought joy - Of which I've grown immune. A Senile Fredricksen, Solitary existance. Erroneous routines, For what else remains of me. The scent of dirt, Lying on my face. I'd fallen over the crest, A little peccadillo of your time. I remember the grays less, That I found in your pancakes. Sweet salty coffee of yours, I'm starting to become you. Well, to the horizon I say. Wait not for permission. Take me further down the void, I've taken enough, giving is my choice. Your rebellious nature refuses, I know you've never listened. Although I beg for mercy, To misplace my breath for another. Let me be one, With the one I can't reminisce. I don't wish for tomorrows to tell you, "Times I forget he's gone, I can't stand." For a matter of faith, You're deaf as the day I first prayed. But I come to you still - What more does it take? To tell you to cut the thread, Let the winged ones take me. For all I have now is a memory, Of the one I can't recall.