It has been a while since I got my bearings back. I mean yes, I have been posting and yes I have been very active on my social media but we all know the facade that social media can be. With almost every aspect of my life in shambles, I stopped talking, writing and immersed myself in binge-watching and binge-reading. Afterall, isn’t peeping into someone else’s life always better than examining your own?

But as JKR fondly says, rock bottom became the solid foundation upon which I built my life, I have began a similar attempt. Yesterday night, I tore out every single picture I hung upon my walls, all my resumes and portfolios and CVs and everything that in an explicable way was the world’s way to define me, or my own attempts to be less of an enigma and make myself more of an open book for the world to see.

That is where this came from. This collage is a collation of everything I tore down and the words that go with it, every emotion I felt while tearing everything down. This was also an exercise in #erasurepoetry, the words and the ideas came from all the words that are hidden somewhere in this collage and I guess, here, I start another attempt to try and make sense of the complete disorder that my life currently is. Maybe arranging the pieces of this upheaval, maybe the same broken pieces can turn into a roadmap to something that makes sense.

Collage artwork

Its strange how the image I’ve built of myself has been getting pixelated lately,
cracking right at the curves I was so proud to begin with
pixels turning into scraps into cracks
with glue no longer holding them in.

There are a lot of places you can find me
What you see is only the shell I choose to show
Colors I wish to be.
Most days you can see me gazing out the balcony
Watching days turn into nights
Till the light blues of the sky turn to pinks
Evenings into beautiful star-struck landscapes.

Or burning strands of my hair
to fire to ashes; raven enough to take flight into stories I wish I were part of
Lives I wished I had lived enough to turn white.

I have a penchant for getting lost in between pages,
Losing parts of me I barely even recognised in the first place
Jigsaw puzzles barely resolved;
I think I have been a puzzle to myself all my life
Trying to either give away parts of me
Or walk into the night with a flickering flame
trying to find where I left them in the first place,
Watching the flame flicker into shapes it can’t hold itself into
Stretching and flickering hiding,
Trying to be everything it can in the short span it lives.

I have seen myself burn in these flames
I have seen faces and places
And just about everything a flame could be
To be
More than what I would ever be
Dying a slow death
Of decay.

Is all I am a list of my personal skills
Ones you can grade me upon
How will you count the black holes on my soul
Or indulgence and self loathing?

Somehow I always want to capture every sunset I am fortunate enough to see
The blue turn into oranges on the horizons turn to black,
Blending seamlessly into one another
Pouring gold into cracks till they no longer exist
though enough for me to see; Night vision
Till every light shines brighter and every spark shines brighter than to just make a little noise in the skies
But enough for anyone paying attention to see.

I try to mix paints to paint the perfect sky
Only mine isnt ever as seamless as it should be,
The darks are always darker and the brights always hint off their real color
Like reality seems reluctant to get inside the sheet of paper I pour it out on,
Proud off its originality
Too proud for me to imitate
Or attempt.

Do all these poems mean anything?
The search for empathy and acceptance
To change to world
With black and white
Or trying to paint the night sky?

Am I more than what you see
And what you don’t ?
I build houses on shaky foundations
That aren’t even mine to build upon

An odyssey without a destination
And I have just begun.

– Chaos


Published by darshitajain

artist | poet | journalist | human

2 thoughts on “Chaos

  1. Dear Darshita, I have so much to say on this that I don’t know where to begin from! A part of me wants to hug you and say #metoo
    How we seem to the world and how we really feel we are, which of them is more real or true, or does that even matter. While watching the sunset I often wonder, if admiring it more than the sunrise makes me a pessimist. And then I perceive it as more hopeful, for the belief that a new morning will follow. Is it limiting or powerful, to able to express in black and white, all the vibrance we see around; doubting at the same time, if the vibrance is what it looks like!
    I am so different socially than I am within the walls of a place I have to call home, the very place that makes me want to be nomadic.
    How you consider your life a mess and I want to disagree, for I dont want it ti be so, either for you or me. Our lives are really as disorderly and the world as colourful as it appears to us, or could it be the other way round? I keep asking and trying to answer these questions, and this has taken me endless sunsets and oceans to bridge the horizon.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Swati, that means a lot! I get it, I really do, that is precisely why i put this up. Somewhere I realised maybe this is struggle we all go through. We all try to define ourselves in ways the world tells us to while still struggling to be who we are ..or want to be. And I thought just like saying #Metoo, this will help us recognise this turmoil. Maybe me puttting it in words will help me, like tearing up all these pages was cathartic for me..
    PS: you write so well,, i loved these lines : ? I keep asking and trying to answer these questions, and this has taken me endless sunsets and oceans to bridge the horizon.


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