When I Die

The Day After

Wearing The Inside Out- Pink Floyd

From morning to night
I stayed out of sight
Didn't recognize
I'd become

No more than alive
I'd barely survive
In a word, overrun

Won't hear a sound
From my mouth
I've spent too long
On the inside out

My skin is ice cold
To the human touch
This bleeding heart's
Not beating much

I murmured a vow
Of silence and now
I don't even hear when
I'm thinking aloud

Extinguished by light
I turn on the night
Wear its darkness
With an empty smile

I'm creeping back to life
My nervous system all awry
I'm wearing the inside out


Look at him now
He's paler somehow
But he's coming around

He's starting to choke
It's been so long since he spoke
Well, he can have the words
Right from my mouth


And with these words I can see
Clear through the clouds that covered me
Just give it time, then speak my name
Now we can hear ourselves again

I'm holding out
For the day
When all the clouds
Have blown away

I'm with you now
Can speak your name
Now we can hear
Ourselves again


He's curled into the corner
But still the screen is flickering
With an endless scream of garbage to
Curse the place

In a sea of random images
The self-destructing animal
Waiting for the waves to break

He's standing on the threshold
Caught in fiery anger
And hurled into the furnace he'll
Curse the place

He's torn in all directions
And still the screen is flickering
Waiting for the flames to break…

How do you accept death? How do you accept the sight of a life dying in front of your eyes? How do you make it all sound reasonable? Does reason even exist? Where is logic? Where the bloody hell is righteousness and all that crap?

David Gilmour of the Floyds said it better than I ever could. I'm feeling what the song says. I'm feeling all of it. Hysteria, paranoia, guilt, pain, death, heartache, shock, depression, and every other emotion that psychologists call 'extreme'. So here I am listening to this song, wondering how could Gilmour feel back then exactly what I'm feeling now?

Physically alive. Mentally, dead. All dead.

How exactly can you convince yourself to carry on after seeing the blood trickling out of a hollow face?



I stayed locked up like I said, refusing to meet anyone, refusing to talk to anyone who wanted to wish me 'happy birthday' that day.

Later, Sonya came over. I love her. I really do. And I so wish people were like her. I was still locked up in my room, and my mom told her about the bomb. She came in my room, and gave me the tightest hug, and the sweetest kiss. I never realized how much I needed that. It's amazing how much difference things like these make.

I sobered up after that. We went to my favorite place then. Her house. We went and sat on her terrace. We lay side by side on the nice cool terrace ground. And we talked. Talked about everything. It was so much like the good old days. Just the two of us, having a friendly chat. The only difference was that this time, was that she was the stronger one. She IS the stronger one.

She gave me a nice set of CDs. I'd been searching for it for three years. I searched all over India, I hounded Amazon.com, but I didn't find it. It's a set of very old, unreleased James Orson recordings. He did it with 'Dire Straits' member 'Mark Knopfler' and saxophone king 'Billy Miles'. I haven't listened to it yet. But I'm sure it'll be a jazzy treat.

She's really lovely. And she doesn't deserve my friendship. She deserves so much more!

Night came soon, and we stared at the black sky, gazing at the stars, wondering which one would bring happiness back to our life. She's gone through a lot of pain. You know about that. My miseries are nothing compared to what she's lived through. I wonder why God, or whatever you may call it, does so many wicked things.

We chatted on and on and on. It was two in the night when we finally got up and went down. And then I slept at her house. The change of place felt surprisingly comfortable. The ghosts of my house, and the face of my granny, and the sights of the day that was my birthday, left me for a while, as I slept listening to the whispers of the only person who ever made me feel worth anything.

Like I said, I love you, Sonya. Not that kind of love. I could never love anyone that way again. There's too much wild anger inside me. And I'm scared that It'll all burst out.

Jesus, sometimes I wonder why she even bothers hanging around with a miserable sucker like me. She should go out and get a life and find a nice guy and get married and enjoy all that life has to offer. God knows she needs happiness. God owes her. He owes her a lot. It would break the heart of anyone, to see so much pain in that pretty face. To see so much sadness in those angelic blue eyes.

And I've heard somewhere, that if you wish something for others, that wish comes true. So here's my wish : I want her to marry a millionare, who'll love her like a princess. And forget this chimp and never talk to him again. She doesn't deserve my friendship. She deserves much better.


Hmmm, the bomb blasts are now a media event. There's news about them on every bloody news channel. I remember now, yesterday, while I walked towards the scorched earth, there was this little girl, barely six I guess, and she was sitting on the ground, crying. In front of her was her mother, lying down on the ground. I came closer to her, and saw something I'll never ever forget. The mother's face. It was blown clear off. There was a big hole where her eyes and nose and lips were supposed to be.

She was dead, the blood dripping out from the hole, and the kid was shaking her mother's hand, saying 'Ai, Mala Bhook Lagli' , which transalted to English, means 'Mom, I'm hungry.'

I wanted to go there and pick the kid up and hug her... She's got a long and miserable way ahead of her... God! Life should have a rewind button. So that such dastardly acts could be rectified...

The real casualties of yesterday's blasts weren't those who died. But those who lived. I know that the girl will be scarred for the rest of her life... scarred in her heart. Just like the picture of blood and concrete has burned it's way into mine. Now I think I'm beginning to get an idea of what a soldier at war sees... It's frightening, far more than anything else. The sight of blood... man killing man... it chills you... numbs you...

I wonder why those people did it though. Maybe they're like me, sick of this world... but then they should've killed themselves instead of killing innocent lives. I would've killed myself... Hell, I might do it anytime now.

I might seem like a whining pig now, going over and over about how my mind's full of pain and misery... but I can't really help how I feel, can I?

I said sometime back that I would never fall in love again.
Well, one side of me wants love. It wants to be loved. I want a hug. I want a hand caressing my face. I want those sweet lips murmuring in my ears...
I want to lie in someone's arms, I need a shoulder to cry on, I want to be loved...

I want somebody to say 'it's okay, you can cry' And I want someone to come over and mess around with my hair and say 'I love you' ... I want someone to snuggle up in my embrace, with my arms wrapped around her...

Geez! I want to sing all those goofy love songs to her... what good is my voice if it ain't singing love songs to a girl? I wanna eat ice-cream! I wanna take horse-back rides! I wanna go dancing! I wanna sing even more... I wanna keep staring at that someone special, like a zombie! I want to do all the royal treatment shebang.... where the hell have I been all this time? Where was my life? Geez, where did all my teens go?

Oh hell, Why do I keep torturing myself like this? I'll die before I really get love. And who would love me anyway? Enough blabbering about love and stuff. And I don't think I'll be able to love anyone again anyway. A dead man couldn't love anyobdy, could he? And no one wants to go and cuddle up to a skeleton [me] .

I'm gonna die... I just feel it inside... I'm going to die... maybe death's around the corner... she's waiting for me... Hey, wait just a little longer... I'm coming... Don't go away!.... Hey! I'm going to write a poem on this.


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