Freewriting/Freehand at Cafe Adda.

Two friends, Shafkat and Bubly, and I sat down after classes at a small tea stall (Cafe Adda) near NSU today to have a chat. Shafkat and Bubly have made it a regular practice, involving others along with them. Today was my first day joining them, albeit we were the only ones there.

So we discussed a lot about poems and stories and philosophy and art. It's an intellectual gathering of sorts. Later on, we decided to freewrite/freehand on piece of paper anything that came to our minds at that moment. Bubly drew two pictures. Shafkat wrote two beautiful poems. I ended up writing an angry poem myself. Although a very mediocre piece, I could feel my face turning red with rage as I recited it to them, letting out all my emotions. I intend to do this more often with them in the hope of being able to improve on my expression of idea and subject matter.

Below is the poem with minor adjustments.
___________________________________________________________

As I walked the known, familiar streets,
Pacing in steps and words,
Literally begging over the phone
For you to take me back,
I felt an uncomfortable comfort
In being able to hear your voice...

I'll be honest. I write
Because of you.
Because you tore me down
To the point where I felt
I had no self.
You tore apart all my limbs
And hair as if you tore
Apart the city's Yellowpage Directory
Leaving one number comprehensible -
Yours.

So I called...

I write for you,
Because you're the saddest of my sadness.
You're the worst of my worse
That has made way for
The best of my best.

I hate it when
You're the first thing
That pops into mind
Everytime
I see a blank page.

I walked not knowing where to go,
Thinking that if I could get your
Green Signal,
I wouldn't have to cross the road
Knowing that my rebellion was useless.

So, I was begging over the phone.
Had you have been in front of me,
I would have surrendered myself
To your feet,
I could have licked off the dirt
On your soles
And it would have fed my soul.

I cry for you,
Because I miss you.

But don't get me wrong.
BITCH! I don't love you anymore.

My definition of love
Was cut out of the dictionary
And replaced with a strip of paper
Which had complex words spelled out
To the edge
And continued beyond the page,
Pasted down by a toxic glue
That I licked off
Over and over and over and over
With guilt,
Hoping that one day it would
Lose all its toxicity -
And that day I could savor
My definition of love
Without its pungent smell,
And its addictive drive.

Bitch I don't love you
Anymore.

I was kicked out of my house
And I needed shelter.
I needed pity.
I needed grief.

I needed to know that
I could harness the power
Of being able to tear apart
The ones I care for
Limb by limb, page by page,
Number by number,
Through you.

________________________________________________

March 5, 2014
_________________________________________________