new series

hey guys... im finally venturing into romantic comedy for the first time

check it out on
www.thechroniclesoflolz.blogspot.com

Kelly.

What if I were a cry baby?

I guess this is the crud i would write... ^__^

I struggle to remember,

those happy days of December.

I remember holding your hand, just behind the park.

Lips brushing lips, kissing you in the dark.

I still had not been healed,

But to protect you, in my hand my heart I did wield.

Those times were so fine,

I really hoped forever you would be mine.

Then came the day,

You broke my heart away.

I didn’t ask for whom, I didn’t ask why?

I just kept silent as you bid me goodbye.

Six months have past.

I fell in love again, but it didn’t last.

She rejected me, but I didn’t care.

My reputation had already been stripped of me bare.

I know I won’t get it back,

But I still try to attack.

I try to stay quiet,

But inside me is a riot.

Even though I don’t wanna give up now.

My mind is too tiered to even bow.

Though in this poem I may sound sad,

Being left by you has made me glad.

Cause I know now that in this world kindness still exists,

All I have to do is stop getting lost in it’s mists.

Rain

Its raining like hell over here right now and personally, I’m Loving It™. Whenever it rains I so uncharacteristically happy, especially when I just get up from sleep and its raining. When I was eight or nine years old this was a good sign cause it meant I could bunk school! Even now I love to get up to the sound and, for people who have the ability, smell of rain. I love it in the summer cause it’s a relief from the heat and it helps me be more observant to other things that usually I would pass by without a second glance.

The only time I don’t like the rain ironically, is in the monsoons. During this time the streets of Calcutta get flooded and it’s a pain to walk through them. However I love the rain every other time.

Whenever it rains I feel like all of my faults and problems get washed away, and more importantly, I feel so childlike. If its raining you will either find me sitting inside cross legged on the floor/sofa/chair/bed, drinking a hot cup of chocolate milk right in front of the window wishing I was outside or you will find me outside just standing still getting wet in the rain and loving every moment of it! Usually after such excursions I catch a cold, so sometimes I go for the third alternative, sleep on the couch curled up like a cat.

There are some people who hate the rain, some people who feel sad in the rain. I feel really bad for these people. The hate the rain and feel sad when they get wet cause there is no one who will cover them up, hold their hand, or even scold them because they will catch a cold. The feel lonely cause there is no one to give them a hand, or even care what happens to them. My cousin taught me this lesson when I was eleven.

He came down from Bangalore that time over to my place for the winter vacations cause he was bored of going to Kerela all the time. Now my cousin was, mind you was, now he looks terribly unfit, a Chick Magnet. He had enough charm in him to make girls follow him even when he was in his pajamas! ( We actually tried that when were going all around Calcutta in those horrible white pajamas and every girl he spoke to seemed to have a rise in there hormone levels while talking to him) Now one fine day this cousin of mine and me were stuck in December rain, we were at this roll shop in the Barracks area, I still love the egg rolls from that shop. While I was busy munching on my eggroll-with-no-onion rings, my cousin spotted this young girl who I swear looked like that girl-whose-name-i-cant-remember-now from the trio in that cartoon series Ninja Robots. Anyways, point being this girl was getting wet in the rain and you could make out that she was crying. My cousin, being the charmer and idiot he is( I could have sworn I saw from a distance a man who was eying them suspiciously and looked very much like her father…) went and offered jacket to her and offered to buy her a cup of tea. While she drank her tea she told her story, which I can’t remember now because I was watching this drunk man getting slipping on a puddle and falling every time he tried to get up, however I did get something about her being unhappy cause no one loved her, and her thinking about running away etc. etc. While she said this I could see the familiar “rise” in hormone levels all to clearly because of the “rain” (usually I would have stared like a kid stares at ice cream, but I was sensible enough to know I was supposed to play the part of the sweet younger brother, so I cast downcast eyes and employed a crimson blush to my ears) there was however a slight difference that even an idiotic dimwit of a kid like me could pick up was that there was a difference in her voice, the way she looked, the movement of her hands etc. she seemed happier, and even though she was talking about her problems, she didn’t seem troubled, but rather relived.

When it rains upon you, if there is some one who covers you up and scolds you for getting wet, don’t ever let that person go. These are the people who are the reason why you enjoy getting wet.

The ramblings of an unstable and emotional mind.

If you want to get to the point directly, skip the first two paragraphs, its filled with utter nonsense.

Recently I was bored and frustrated in a small corner of Kerela in a small town called Quttor (Kuu-ttooo-rrr) usually when this happens I usually head out to the one place that helps me let loose some steam- The Terrace. Now the unique thing about our terrace is that its surrounded by trees usually hanging over the terrace, and any wires leading to the terrace such as the cable wire or the telephone wire are covered with creepers. A very pretty sight I must say, and its here where I just sit and absorb my surroundings, look at the unpolluted sky that shows at least forty five to fifty stars, and let my imagination flow. This place is very special to me cause it was here I took my decision to write again.
Well here I am looking at those stars and felling very ticked off. I had just received a lecture from my dad over not getting into the Kerela mood and not visiting every godforsaken relative I have. Not that I have anything against my relatives, I can bear them to the extent I can bear my parents, (who by and large are unbelievably less irritating than most of my relatives) and I seem to get along with my girl cousins pretty well cause I act as charming as possible and therefore am a breather from most dudes (the E is silent by the way, I only added it so that people of a certain region I’m native to don’t get offended) in Kerela. The point being my nearest relative lives around 78 kilometers away and I really can’t be bothered to show my face there every second day.

Well that night had me all confused and I couldn’t let loose all the steam I had built up within me, so I called up a friend of mine to irritate her and tell her how ticked off I was. The moment she picked up the phone I started rambling of my problems without giving her much of a chance to speak. (I usually do that when I’m ticked, erm…come to think of it even when I’m not ticked..) when she finally spoke I noticed a hint of sadness/despair in her voice. I asked her what the problem was and she told me that her grandmum had passed away around three days before. I stopped talking and felt like an idiot for being so preoccupied with my own problems and frustrations that I don’t give people a chance to tell me their own problems. Usually people like to tell me all about there problems cause I’m supposed to be a good listener (god only knows who thinks like that!), but usually these problems are something minor like heartbreak or unfaithful love and stuff like that. When it comes to serious stuff like death, etc. before I allow them to speak I usually start rambling of some small problem of mine and end up feeling like an idiot for doing so. She told me that she had passed away in her sleep, so it was peaceful and one without pain. I tried my best to console her but I messed up as usual (I have a name at school, Mr. F&#$ Up…) after talking for sometime I cut the line and sat down on the floor. I began to think about death, closeness to death and how much of an ass I had been while trying to deal with all of it.

My first brush with death had been when I was eight years old, it was my mum’s dad. We were close but not very, he preferred his sons’ children more than me. I liked him a lot because he taught me how to make pea shooters and fire them accurately. At his funeral there were a lot of watery eyes but I think I was the only one present there who didn’t shed a single tear.

My next brush was when I was eleven, it was my best friend’s dad. He was a really nice man and was a lot of fun to be with. He died because of an automobile accident and I remember seeing him the morning before the accident happened, he was shaving and drinking coffee at the same time. I still laugh whenever I remember the scene. After he died my best friend moved to the states and I haven’t seen him since. I also remember the call that I received by my other best friend/brother, I didn’t cry when I received the news..

When I was twelve I started serving under the good lord in our church and was the youngest deacon there. Because I was the youngest I used to get scolded by all of the other senior deacons. There was this one particular deacon who was eight years older than me, who was the only one who never scolded me. We were pretty close and used to share a lot of jokes together. In the following year he went to another state to study and there he died out of cancer.

Fourteen…hmmm… a milestone age. This was the year when I first experienced a lot of new things that was commonplace as a teenager. Towards the end of the year, my landlady, a sweet old lady who loved me more than my grandmother did, will and ever shall. This sweet old lady could have averted death, the only problem was that her relatives didn’t want her to live so the took her to the hospital at the last moment. I felt more angry than sad at her death and took my frustrations out by punching the wall till my hand bled.

At sixteen I never experienced the death of any one close to me, but I did see my friends father, a friend who was my new second best friend cause he helped me and supported me when I was going through a difficult period of time. His father is suffering from a brain hemorrhage and I had seen him only once and that was when he was fit and fine. Seeing him again in such a state with one half nearly in paralysis broke me, but I didn’t cry.

A few days before coming here I was chatting with a very young and cute friend of mine from somewhere in the states, I was rambling like usual and I felt like an idiot again cause she told me right just then that her best friend was suffering from Cancer. I tried consoling her but all I could do was tumble in my own words.

In all of these incidents I never cried once, maybe its because I’m a selfish pig, I don’t know. I tried slitting my wrists when I was twelve and that was also because of a very selfish reason. In fact till now all I’ve done is written about me, count the number of “I”s. that night was different however, I sat down and cried. I cried for forgiveness, I cried for everyone I knew who was suffering, and I cried for everyone who had died before and I never thought much of.

This is my plea, please be different. Don’t be like me and only feel sad selfishly. Take time to listen to others and for god’s sake remember that there are people who have problems way greater than you do.

It’s time we stopped being selfish.

...an ode to someone i liked once

Spring is here, but I feel no joy.

I keep remembering that you’re in the hands of another boy

This isn’t a poem to reminisce or to cry,

Far from that it’s just my way of saying goodbye

I remember the first time I saw you,

Sitting in the church right next to the pew.

All dressed in white with a hint of pink,

That innocent look you gave me felt like I had too much to drink

It took me some courage, no doubt it did,

But after I spoke to you, you’re smile nearly blew me off my lid

Whenever we used to speak,

You would make my knees go weak.

I remember the times we had,

Times that I now miss so bad.

Remember the first time I held your hand?

The day was cold yet it was warm.

I remember my blood rushing to my face.

My heart beating twice it’s pace.

And when you came close to me,

Closed your eyes and pursed your lips,

Touching my face with you’re finger tips,

It was like being in ecstasy.

But I have gone too far,

I’ve let my emotions out of their jar.

I have no regrets of us being together,

Cause it changed my life forever.

I have a new reason to live,

To get back your love I’m willing to give,

Any sacrifice, even to stay alive through all my sadness.

Cause you are the light of my darkness.

Sweet pretty girl even if I don’t get you,

I want you to know.

I hope that your happiness will only grow.

And maybe when its time for me to sleep,

I’ll be happy for being once in love so deep.

Story that aint good, but has smthing important to me

The little child was stuck in the corner crying, head between his knees slowly sobbing softly at what life decided to offer him. The cold wind of the night slowly made it through the thin fabric of his clothing easily, chilling the flesh and bone under it. The boy was all alone, not knowing whether any one loved him, or whether anyone even cared what happened to him. He sat their like he did every night for the past four months and slowly cried himself to sleep.
He got up the next day slowly getting ready for the firs day of school school, listening to his father shouting at him to hurry otherwise he would be late. He got ready walked over to his best friend’s house, the only friend who didn’t know and who he thought would also runaway like the others, every night he prayed that he wouldn’t come to know fearing that he would be truly left alone.

They went to school in his friend’s car, his friend playing the same old Eminem song and talking to him as usual, this was probably the only highlight of his day, the only time someone actually spoke to him. They reached school just a few minuets early quickly rushing to their new classes. He reached his class, quietly sitting at his place everyone acting oblivious to his presence, no one talking to him, even looking through him as if he were invisible. He let out a quiet sigh closed his eyes and began thinking about what had gone wrong.

“You fucked up freak, stay away from us!” a stout boy shouted at this short slightly overweight boy. Another landed a nicely aimed punch on his face; he fell back crying not because of the pain, but because of the look of contempt he saw in his eyes. The stout boy looked even larger from the floor; he came towards the little boy and slowly spat on his face, “You’re a little psycho, know that? Only a psycho would write something like this.” Slowly the stout boy passed the piece of paper to all of his classmates, some looking at the boy on the floor with mirth after reading it. The boy looked at them all in a state of confusion and fear, looking at the piece of paper, wishing that he had never written anything in it. In that paper was a story written about a boy who killed himself after being denied love, the story seemed common enough but what separated it from the rest was the graphic image that it was presented with. “From today onwards no one will talk to this little fucker for ever! Understand?” that proclamation made by that stout fat boy had completely changed his life from then on…

He slowly laughed quietly as he was transported to the real world, laughing at that day; the day life decided that he should be alone. He looked around his classroom seeing the same old faces ignoring him as usual. Every one had changed their attitude towards him after that day, thinking that he was an untouchable and deserved to be with other untouchables, people who were to be ignored at all costs in fear that they too would become “bad boys” like them. A bad boy, he thought, a bad boy was what he had become after expressing his views on paper after his first heart break. The first two months from that day were tough, being empty, being looked through, being all alone. At nigh he would whisper the girl’s name he loved, crying wishing that she never refused him. He would at times try killing himself through various ways, but would get scared and would start crying again.

Finally one day he had the courage to pick up a small blade and tried to slit the vein on is wrists, but nothing happened, he tried going at it again and again, every slash going more furiously than before getting stronger at every slash. Fury engulfed him; his eyes started getting red from the tears that were forming in them. “Why isn’t this stupid thing working?” he shouted out. He fell on his knees, laughing mirthlessly at fate. No matter how hard he tried the skin would not break, there were just white scratches where he had tried…As he was laughing he suddenly felt a sharp pain on the side of his face, he looked up to see his best friend standing there with his hand formed into a fist and a scared look on his face… “What the fuck is wrong with you? Have you gone loco? What would happen to your parents if you were gone? What the fuck would happen to me?” his best friend the only one who stuck with him knelt down and wept…

Five years had passed from that day, he had changed, he was no longer alone he had a beautiful girl who loved him more than anything. She knew everything about him and loved what he wrote. He had true friends, people who liked him for what he was. His new friends were better than his old ones; one in fact got him back to writing and another encouraged him to try his hand at poetry. He looked at all the people who had ostracized him when he was younger, and laughed at them. They could no longer ignore him as he had forced himself to be accepted by all, some thought he was odd but all of them were of those kinds who tried to be what they weren’t, and they were no longer important. His best friend was soon going to leave and he was entering his final year, before his friend left, he went towards him and hugged him. While hugging him he felt something being slipped into his pocket, after his friend left he took it out and had the greatest shock of his life. In his hand was the very same piece of paper that he had written his story on, it had been patched up with tape where it had been torn. He looked through the entire story and saw something written in his friend’s and his girl’s handwriting, “Your best work yet!”

He started laughing, laughing in happiness, for friends and love…