Stray Heart

Since you went away, I’m seeing less and less. Each day looks more mundane than the previous one and the nights are dull too. The wind, sunsets and rains have lost their charm. I’m chasing less and less rainbows.

Oh! here I go again, making another compromise–yeah I can do without poetry, no one seems to like it anyways except myself and after all, poetry starts with seeing and I’m slowly getting blind. Deaf too, I can’t hear what this silver singing river has to say or what my own pounding heart has to say.

All things are fading or is it me who’s fainting? Senses getting numb, going back, back into your arms, back to trying making some sense of it all–waiting for the inspiration to strike, for a rainbow to form in the sky so that I can chase it. You call me pathetic for waiting, for choosing to be sensitive instead of strong. But I don’t mind, ‘cuz you are the only one I can cry to, you are my sunshine–the meaning and substance of all my poems.

~Jay, 1/09/2021

Rough Patch

My mental breakdown was 4 months ago. I had ‘flipped out’ as mother likes to put it. The pills make me sleepy during daytime so I’m writing this in the evening. Doctor says it’ll take a year before I can fully recover, before my misery can end.

My mind’s a mess, thoughts are scattered everywhere like things in a messy room and all thoughts are negative. I have lost my way and I don’t think I can live in this upside-down world for a year— I have occasional suicidal ideations.

I still don’t know what triggered it. I’m sure that lockdown played its part but how I started to lose my way is still unclear to me.

Crucial to finding the way is this: There is no beginning or end.

~Mrityunjay Dixit

Posted over at dverse

Haibun Prose: To be a Rose

Alive and burning
Inside scarlet rose petals
A secret furnace

I bloomed triumphantly, beneath dim-amber skies, in the dawn of this world’s first day. The Sun rose, the sunlight falling upon the field, a weight of gold. I’ve travelled around the world, opened my heart, shouted in the Sun to everything that’s alive. They smelled my fragrance and rejoiced. I’ve felt love; red, hot and vivid, the smell of lovers as they laid upon the field. Melancholy; white, the rain washed me away, as I laid upon the grave.

a sky of billion stars, flickers-flickers;
in the night of this world’s last day,
a field of billion roses, flickers-flickers.

© dixitmrityunjay, 2020. September heart-to-hearts.

The featured image is taken from here

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Chilling Whispers

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head.

The Song of Wandering Aengus, W. B. Yeats

Butcher Bob’s confession:-

I ran into her in the alley, I remember her young face but can’t recall her name. It’s like this with most of them. I was using crutches and I asked her to help me carry the briefcase out of my car, which she did, when we reached the car, I knocked her unconscious with crowbar. Then I placed her in the shotgun seat and went straight to my chopping blocks in the hazel wood.

I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head. A burning sensation, hot and vivid. When I completely submitted to that fire, it was like I was reborn, a phoenix from the flames. But only for a moment. Because, the ingredients for ignition of the next fire were always present in the ashes, and the burning inside my head began again.

144 words.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2021 All Rights Reserved

Inspired by the dverse prompt: Prosery, The Song of Wandering Aengus and posted over at Open Link Night #284

Deadly Combination

A very short story.

Todd is a twenty-five years old taxi driver with literary aspirations. He possesses an old ford, 3 pairs of jeans and a broken heart with a weakness for whisky and weed. 

Sweet huh?

These nights he gets drunk and stoned in the earnest. No one to stop him now, not anymore.

#

The clunker ford’s rear-view mirror reflects the morning sun’s slanting rays into Todd’s eyes, rousing him out of sleep. 

He moans and covers his bloodshot eyes with a hand—they’ve turned into twin magnifying glasses and will soon set his brain on fire. His mouth tastes as if a cat used it as a potty pot and his bones—

With the other hand he rummages in the glove compartment and takes out his blue horse notebook—’Sometimes, the great bones of my life feel so heavy‘, he writes down, feeling sceptical but satisfied.


144 words
Prompt line: “Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy” from Spring Azures from the book Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
Posted over at Dverse: OLN

M. Jay Dixit, 2021.

Haibun: Bittersweet New Year

Fifteen years old and waking up on a new year’s morning to the tap-tap of rain on the roof and tick-tock of family clock on the wall of the dining room. Saying little prayers before meal on a table filled with family and singing old songs together after dessert.

This new year I didn’t hear the sweet melody of rain nor the harmony of clock. Just the howling of cold mountain winds and the silence of stationary hands as I got up and went to the bathroom of my bachelor’s apartment. The cracked toilet seat bit me in my thigh, I missed my friendly bathroom and my mother’s pie.

In the evening as I was walking up to my door, I remember thinking of wanting to go home when I saw a familiar black guitar-shaped case leaning on my door with lots of mail stamps posted on it. I smiled as I walked in with my old guitar in one hand, closed the door behind me with the other, put the case by the bed, took out new batteries from the drawer for my wall clock and changed them and then tuned my guitar to play some oldies, the smile never left my face.

The time has flown away:
Talking with an old friend
Bittersweet new year

M Jay Dixit, 2021

Posted over at dverse: Happy New Year

A Hole

 Why's there a hole on your paper?
 
 Oh, that's because I wasn't feeling alright
 so I stabbed the thing
 with the pen I was writing with.
 
 Care to elaborate 
 how you were feeling, James?
 angry on someone? 
 sad perhaps?
 
 Doc, I don't know how to elaborate it.
 My mom says I fuss over the little things
 but that bitch doesn't know any better.
 I can't put my finger on it
 but I can tell you that
 it's not just sadness
 or me being angry on someone
 
 
 Okay, James.
 We'll see what we can do about that.
 Are you doing your morning meditations?
 
 Yes, doc.
 
 15 minutes?
 
 Yes.
 
 With the smile?
 
 Yes, doc. With the smile.
 
 Why?
 
 Because I'm depressed
 and I need to meditate over the happy moments.
 
 So, which happy moment was it this time?
 Let’s hear it.
 
 I've already said it, doc
 it doesn't work anymore
 In the beginning it really did
 I'd sit in the position
 close my eyes and smile
 and images would 
 zip through my mind
 like a slideshow
 with each breath I took--
 happy memories.
 I'd lose myself in them
 and it felt good.
 But now, it's the same images
 again and again
 and all are so old and boring.
 And sometimes, more often now
 there's just blackness.
 A cold darkness.
 I can't remember
 a single time I felt happy
 even when I smile
 till its breaking 
 and my cheeks start to hurt.
 
 Oh, James, as I said in the beginning
 persistence is the key here
 keep meditating and keep writing
 we all have our bad days
 you'll be alright
 now let’s hear what you've written
 
 It's the one from when I was eight or so
 Mom and I were boating on the Big Lake
 The sunset one, you know--
 --oh to hell with you doc, you don't care
 I just told you I can't remember 
 a single time I felt happy 
 but you don't care 
 I can't harmonize with my own life
 and you say "I'll be alright" how?
 I believe this little hole on the paper
 tells me more about my psyche
 than you ever could, asshole.
 I believe there's a hole just like this one
 deep inside myself
 only much bigger
 It's not just anger or sorrow--
 it's a nothingness
 It's a fucking hole
 right in the heart of my soul. A hole, doc!
 You asked why there's a hole on my paper
 I don't know!
 It's your damn job to psychoanalyse
 so you tell me, doc?
 Why can't I feel happy?
 Why?

Haibun: Good Summer Fun

It was a bright summer morning and the dazzling sun was reflecting on the wet terrace tiles as mother washed them with a garden hose. Little brother (6yo) and I (9yo) were playing around in the terrace-garden, where the sunflowers stood at attention, all facing east, we were dressed in tank tops and capris. Playing “you’re it” we went to mother and started running in circles around her, giggling and in full spirit of the holidays.

She told us to stop bothering her and go play quietly in the garden and although we knew she wasn’t really bothered because she was smiling, we ran off to the garden anyways. When after a few minutes we again went back to her, she turned towards us, the hose was in her hand and the stream of water splashed on my brother’s face and then it was my turn, the cool jet splashed on my torso, my wet feet slipped on the tiles and I went sliding across the wet-warm terrace, which had now turned into a mini waterpark.

Mother was laughing as she sprayed us with more water, bathing us. We were in awe for a moment and then it turned into joy and we both were soon getting rid of our tank tops so that we could slide more easily and have some more of that good summer fun.

Wet Sunflowers swayed
As smiling eyes of mother
Filled the Summer day

M. Jay Dixit, 2020

Posted over at dverse: Haibun Monday: Being But Human

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Poem: Oh, my Love..

Do you remember, how the man failed you,
used to let you fall down and break apart
always, let you down and broke your heart.

Remember, when you were young, before the man;
how the whole world, was at your command
always, always full of hope and love.

And if you ever; feel so motiveless
that in the morning; you can’t get up from bed
Always remember, remember today.

 Oh, my love if you ever change your mind
 about getting up and leaving it all behind
 Remember, remember the 5th of November. 

M Jay Dixit, 2020

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