And We Run.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hello! So now obviously you’ve read the title of this little post of mine, and if it strikes you as something familiar, then yes, it’s a title of a song (I think it’s the title, because when I searched for it, it looked like the title). I just want to assert that I have no intention and had no intention of copying the title, because I wrote this poem in my examination hall and I had no idea that it was a song title.  So yeah, just wanted to put that out there. Here’s your poem-


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And We Run.

They look at us
Like we are the
Deer of the hunting season.
Their looks of uncertainty,
About our survival,
Flashed upon us.
We see it

And we run.

The cynicism growing in
Our garden of existence;
As soon as its thorns
Puncture our safe haven,
We feel it

And we run.

The stars, they mock us
For our concept of ‘always’.
We see it in their shine upon us,
Threatening to expose us

And we run.

The storm hovering over us,
Lies and heartbreak
Swirling in a dark mass.
We sense it coming,

And we run.

Our waves of differences
About to crash and
Break down each other;
We see them heading
Towards each other.
Unwilling to see it go down
Just yet,
We get ready to take off,

And we run.

-Kimaya Ingale.

The Gamble Of Trust.

Hi guys! I’m updating at crazy speed, aren’t I? Well it’s just because this little blog is my baby, and I love to watch it grow. ūüėÄ Anyway, as I mentioned in my introductory post, I literally paste thoughts from my brain onto this ‘new post’ box and present it before your eyes. And this is just that. My first attempt at a poem (poetry is so NOT my forte, so yeah, stick with me as you read this little goober).


The Gamble Of Trust

If life were a
Game of poker,
Trust would be
The chips at stake.
Every secret told,
Would be like a
Chip in the pot,
But, with gravity
Manifold.

Your secret-keeper,
Your cards.
And the opponents,
The ears hungry
For your secrets;
To use them to
Strip you down,
Like Hitler with-
Out his gun,
Because to see
You destroyed,
Would be their
Idea of-
“Oh, what fun!”

Survival in each round
Is the objective
Of this game.
For surviving each
Event of ‘I trust
You with this’
Is like winning
The hand of
Thy fair dame.

But out of all,
What counts is
The final showdown,
Where all the ‘chips’
Are in the pot
And the moment now
Is an atmosphere of
Live, or go down.

Ah, what joy it is
When your ‘chips’
Remain to be only yours.
Your cards, they did
Not let you down!
Aye, look it’s your
Breathe anew,
Lost and
(Surprisingly) found!

-Kimaya Ingale.

The Ambiguity Of A ‘Forever’.

“So is this your kind of ‘forever’?

Where leaving me comes at the end

Of each of your promises,

That just don’t seem to be.”

¬†“Forever.” she whispered under the rainbow of the colours of the dying sun.
“Forever.” I whispered in her ear; that sweet cologne of hers awakening me, as if all my life, up to this moment, was a dream.

 But now when I wake up, the left side of the bed with her sequined unicorn pillow remains empty.

Empty like the promises she promised to keep.

Empty like my broken, obliterated heart.

Destroyed.

You see, you never know what is the period of ‘forever’ considered by the other person. You never know when it is time up.

Never know when the hourglass runs out of sand.

Never know what¬†their ‘terms and conditions applied’ are.

And you never know how, why and when it ends.

It might end right after that moment has passed. It might end when you are too late.

When just for that once when it mattered, it were not your arms that held your crying girl in the street.

But what I do know now is that my belief in ‘living in the moment’ has been reinstated. Because forever is, but an ambiguity.

“So stop waiting for when your ‘forever’ is going to come around. Waiting for that sly little sucker might just cause you to miss the moments that count.”

-Kimaya Ingale.

Afflatus, O Mine.

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Alright.
He wasn’t a mess. He wasn’t the boy from the books that I was going to save, from himself. He wasn’t your stereotypical enigma, whose detective was going to be I.
He was a normal one.
Although, I wasn’t. Not since the The Last Bad Experience With Love. With him, my normality was back. I didn’t even want to be something¬†more¬†than normal. He was all I needed.
However, it is two of the most quotidian existences that combine to be the brightest orb on this blue sphere.
We were magic, him and I. The calm after the storm, the eldorado of everyone’s yearning.
People looked at us and their awe was palpable. It reached me, through their longing gazes and made me hold on even tighter.
This fire between us, this fiery goodness burned that icy-cold Tundra in my self, my heart; melted me like sugar on tongue, every time my dark-brown irises leveled with his chocolate brown ones. His arms were like the warm sands of the Sahara, albeit cold whenever I left them; for his ‘starlight’ was I, as he often asserted.
But most of all, he made me catch that sly, old shadow of mine. He built me up, with every light caress of his fingers, like a Lego house.

Piece by piece by piece…

Touch by touch by touch…

Until one day, our first hug finally acted as the sealing concrete of my construction.
I was complete, wholly and with the renewed ability to love and to be loved.
And every night now, when I fall asleep under the stars, these words play over and over in my mind-

“Where art thou from

Afflatus, O mine?

For in this world,

A Sisyphean task it is,

To find a heart 

As gold as thine…”

-Kimaya Ingale.

R√©novation de l’ext√©rieur.

Ever wished to have real claws instead of those puny, mundane version of them, called ‘nails’? And for what? To scratch away your skin? To scratch, scratch, scratch ’til you see red. And why? Because you, at this moment, no longer feel comfortable in it?
If your answer was ‘yes’ to all or even one of these questions, then read on, because these next words are just for you.
Oh, and if your answer was ‘no’, still read on, because no one knows in this pseudo-world of uncertainty what you might need in the future or even in the next hour.
So here you, a step-by-step – ‘How to love your own self, when you need it most.’

1. First off, in your current situation, switch over from your emotional state-of-mind, to the practical and emotionally stable one. Need help doing that? No worries. Just think that you are on the verge of completing your wish of eating without getting fat (who doesn’t wish of that?) and for the last stage, you need your practicality. That’ll get you your practicality out, all guns blazing!
2. Get away from the thing that caused you to feel this way; no one needs that kind of negativity in their lives.
3. Think about what caused you to feel this way, darling. Get out all of them negatives and place them on one side.*

*Writing it works best.

4. Now get the positive times, the ones where you felt goddamn lucky and happy to be ‘you’. Take as long as you want, but get all of ’em out.
5. Now it’s as simple as reaching for that Twix and tearing its wrapper. Or scratching your bum.

                                                           Weigh them against each other.

a) If you find the positives out-weighing the negatives, then just concentrate on the +ves. Feel them vibrate in your bones.

Focus. Breathe. Let Go.

Remember that it was that same skin of yours that lived those happy moments, and it will be the same skin that will be living the coming future ones! If you want, you can make it better before the COMING HAPPY MOMENTS (CHM). That’s even easier.
Get your booty off the bed and run. Run for all those CHMs, run to live, to breathe. Run to leave all the monsters behind, to leave that old shadow of yours. Run to catch up with the new one. But, run.
b) If you find the negatives more in number, don’t worry. You must have had some positives. Just do the same as above, but with more ardour and grit.
c) God forbid, but if in case you can’t conjure up the positives, remember that you have your own CHMs. Believe it with everything in you. Just get up (obviously, only after you’re done reading) and go to a mirror. Say this out loud:

“I am the maker of my own CHMs. I AM, and it is all that matters. Because it is with this me, that someone loves me, is proud of me and wants to be like me. And I will NOT be ashamed of it.”

Say it for as long as it takes for it to get to you. If your mom comes up, wondering what in the world you are doing, tell it to her too.

5. That’s all I’ve got for you now. This is the best advice I can give you, and without adding at the end, “it’s totally up to you though”, so that if anything goes wrong, it won’t be my fault (trust me, I do that a LOT). Because I know that this won’t fail. Even if no one else, I believe in you and am proud of how far you’ve come. This won’t be easy, but go for it. Just get out of this.

“Your life, your canvas, is waiting to get splattered by the colours of your CHMs.”

-Kimaya Ingale.

Sannu!

“What does that even mean, girl?” you say?
Well it’s just a ‘hello’ in Hausa. Nah, I’m no Afro, but why not try something new other than the average ‘hello’? Life is all about trying new things everyday, isn’t it? (PS: You will find such cheesy and cliched things often on my blog, but they are here for a reason, earthling; because they are TRUE)

Yeah, so where was I? Ah, yes, the introduction.

I’m your girl, Kimaya (pronounced as ‘ki-ma-ya’), the creator of this literary thingamajig, amongst many others, where you can relate to emotions, to the happiness induced in happy moments, the sadness induced in sad moments, yada yada.

This ride you’ve gotten yourself into, the one after getting past the first paragraph, is going to be NOT a monotonous one. And by monotonous, I mean to signify that you won’t be seeing all the posts as being sloppily happy, nor too sad, and for that matter, it might not be great always, and it might not be too bad, either. It¬†is going to be pure and raw, just the stream of my words as they flow- from my thinking machine, to in the front of your eyes.

So yeah, I won’t go on for long, but if you promise to stick with me, I promise you’ve found a life-long Internet friend in me. Peace out, be glamorous.

-Kimaya Ingale.