So here’s what it is, I believe a world with less emotions would be better off because emotions are problematic,
So when little Prince came to earth he thought all humans lived together by the pacific but found that we were dispersed with our own oceans in our eyes when he met Billie Eilish .
He concluded that rains for us humans were not meant for water harvesting but masking tears and smell wet soil to smell some home and still not reach there ?
Strange but he longed to hear answers from mountains, He wanted to hear them speak like us humans but whenever he shouted hellloooo, He heard nothing but repetition of what he said .
Sadly that was the answer, I told him.
because that’s exactly what us humans do
Stand straight unruptured repeating answers and still claiming to have a voice, claiming to have emotions.
I told him, when I was a child I stood in the streets of Punjab seeing none but punjabi men in colourful turbans .
However in Delhi, while buying groceries, I saw a man in turban break the silence of the whole street, carrying the spring within himself.
It’s funny how the common things start becoming springs for us and actual springs seem nothing but extra colour and all the extra pictures some people could afford on a Sunday morning.
It’s hard to realise that whether this phenomenon of preferring common over special is an outcome or cause for loss of emotions.
If every poet I told him was made to go through an emotional clearance process , they would finally start talking to each other about what they ate last night instead of what they wrote with shivering , defeated fingers succumbing to suicidal thoughts but still twitching to revolt for one last time .
Well the last time I saw a ship with a mast I thought it could fly in the ocean so I shouted ocean butterfly, Titanic ! replied the ocean .
Because you see ,
eternal love was too heavy for a ship to carry , the depth of the ocean deep enough to engulf all the eulogiesLeonardo had ever thought about .
But I am afraid days of emotion less existence are either vacations or barren lands and nothing in between, certainly not the roads .
Because sex becomes exploring a summer vacation tree on my back, my backbone being a clear distinction between the tree and a bed the hook of the bra being the gate to the adventure closed but not firm enough in front of experience of the explorers, a little exotic and a little dumb
So now the tree on my back develops fruit bites like love bites, concerned not with the tree but the fruit, just the fruit, ignoring all the branches that might lead a way to the home or my heart with a secret etched on a pink wall reading “I am 19 and I still don’t know how to unhook my bra isn’t it funny.”
For you it isn’t.
I told him Vacations are basically pseudo adventures.
So people leave without closing the gate because there is nothing which needs protection in here , not even the secret on the pink wall of my heart.
You see people without emotions cannot care about pinky promises when they don’t even care about the secret etched on pink walls
Because colours on flags and walls are just agendas and numbers for some people.
Because the disintegration of my being is less metaphorical and more mechanical like I can see a debate I lost becoming synonymous to losing the my existence altogether.
Because there was this man who thought about grains and soil all day but last summer when rains forgot the path to his fields but sadly he couldn’t forget the path to his home, he couldn’t make love to his wife because his insides were barren . He had no yellows or greens to offer .
It’s only a vicious cycle of how his emotions are wheat oriented. They could let him eat Roti and reproduce but there was no roti and why reproduce the barren of nothingness, weeds and numb scarecrows who scare you rather than scaring away the rodents because rodents are small the barren land is not.
So what I conclude is harm.Walls, barren lands and heaven on earth becoming Territory under governments .
Because this October festive season is nothing but emotionless October for this woman who sits with Heena on her hands,
While watching strangers dance in front of her eyes,
She thinks of the name of the song Kala sha kala, a repetition of word Kala in a Punjabi folk song, something related to repetition she learned in class 8, then she notices the green heena ends up finding nothing but geometrical shapes.
Perhaps a song becomes a repetition and Heena nothing but geometrical shapes in the absence of emotions.
But living with emotions I tell you is cutting them with a blunt knife trying again and again and finally cutting them into countable pieces and segregate them as they symbolise all the scars on your body, the failed usage of knife on things other than vegetables .
You see I am good at none, chopping off vegetables or all the extra burdens I can take upon myself .
Because you see I’ve always existed in 4am(s) , turning off alarm before it could ring.
Clock ticking it’s way through a grey path of 2am to 4am never reaching its destination to the spring of 11am.
You see I am confused because when I wrote this poem I was so empty on the inside that wanted to check if white paper and blue pen could still make sense to me and after I read it I was so full of emotions of how I should never write my emotions and invalidate them, devalue them, divide them .
But I still write to divide them and devalue them as I have a knife hoping it doesn’t turn sharp someday to chop off all the pieces of my vegetable emotions and put them naked out in the open on Instagram in front of my eyes, luring me to cook them on high flames of anxiety and boil them till they turn so soft and brown, so delicate that I can now swallow them to choke me to a natural, milenial and exotic death .