Tuesday, April 4, 2017

5 reasons why I must leave you… even though you say you love me

A poet’s decision



1. Your love is largely understated

As n when you can, a time available kinda affair. There’s a slot for me. Which I compliantly fit into. Moments of recluse, nothingness, peace of mind or what you term as when, ‘I’m free.’ Which is further filtered to the time you actually get after you unwind, rest n relax — what do you call that? Oh! Yes… the quintessential, I need my space! Obviously, I therefore am mostly out of sight and out of mind as let’s face it, in today’s times firstly those moments of solitary serenity are few and far between. Add to it the sifting process and you’ve bestowed me with a few minutes of an afterthought before the manic of life takes over again.

As a result my love is mostly overstated.

Frequent and frantically insecure attempts to keep me on your mind. Regardless of whether I’m free or not. I make the time. Take the time to stop in the dead middle, (beginning or end) of any kinda day. Just to let you know that I exist. We exist. Hoping to catch you in your ‘free time.’ 

Other times, unconsciously trying to show by example that love is beyond the right time. It’s about being there every time. Anytime. Through all times. It is in fact in the chaos of life that love can calm the most. As well as provide the magical thrill to an otherwise mundane day. 

Like a sugar rush, love has super powers.

Yet mine seems like an overdose. One which you dodge and regulate. I’m drained off my mojo

As a poet this is an essential ingredient of my survival.

2. Your valid reasons reek of missing inclination.

To all of your 101 reasons not to call, text or meet me all I can say is when there is a will, there is a way. 

Furthermore, when there is a will, lovers make a way. 

Love is the spur. The medal at the end of the finish line. Lovers don’t only meet to stop and smell the roses. They run the obstacle race, the triathlon, the 100m dash, whatever it takes to stay together, close at heel, soul to soul. 

As a result your explanations are often met with over the top emotional outbursts. 

Effort. Initiative. Attention. Validation. Prioritization. Mere reciprocity are the words that come to mind. 

And after having been with you through thick and thin. Walked the extra mile. Bent backwards. And forwards. And in all ways, always reliable…

Ready. 

On call. 

On text. 

On eye contact. 

On instinct. 

On a vibe.

On a sixth sense

Enough. No more. I cannot omit pieces of me to make you comfortable. Like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s ok. When it’s clearly not. After years of having done this and living with no expectations, I now have forgotten how to respond. I simply react. I cry. I snap. I yell, shout and scream. I dramatize. I patronize. 

Above all, I realize.

I realize — this — this is not me. Like a fish out of water, I feel out of character. 

This is not my truth. 

As a poet my truth is my triumph. My truism is my strength — my USP. 

3. Your words fall short.

Words are magical. They can as well make you feel elated, appreciated, cherished and loved mostly in as little as just three words. 

Yet, there are none between us. No cliché words. No creative declarations. No candid affection. No dirty talk, no pure revelations. 

So typically mine as well go unrecognized. No reply. While I muse the shit out of you — you remain unimpressed. Uninterested. And indifferent. 

Occasionally your stingy me too’s to my abundant I love you’s make intimate conversations. Apart from that my love life is generally a monologue. 

As a result I have none left.

Off late, I have nothing to say. I have resigned to a silent death. A deadly silence. Trapped in muteness, I find myself at a loss for words. Like my words don’t matter. Like I don’t matter. 

As a poet, I cannot let this happen. It’s only words. Words are all I have. 

4. Your actions speak louder than your words.

Missing in words. Acceptable. Missing in action too. Unacceptable. 

Your random appearances between your constant disappearances are exhausting. You are just never there when I want to share my dreams, my life or just my day. The pining for you, the aching, wanting, waiting has slowly but surely been replaced with an emptiness on some days. And bitterness on others. Your presence now only highlights your absence. Like just when I get used to living without you, there you are, a reminder of a remnant love I want to learn to live without. 

Your white lies, lame excuses, lack of enthusiasm to make amends and my willingness to believe anything you say just to save the day is pitiful. Inconsistency defines our relationship. It plays mind games. Messes with my heart. I cannot function normally.

As a result I have trust issues.

Roses are no longer red. They carry a different hue. And violets are far from blue. Love is a myth — never true. 

I now doubt everything you say, do, hell I even doubt my thoughts, my beliefs, my ability to love and be loved. 

As a poet I am in love with love. Transcendental love. There is a fine line between reality and fantasy. I live both with conviction. I can walk the line for you and soar the clouds with you.

You take away either and you have left me with a broken identity and a damaged soul.

5. Your love is mediocre

There are too many mediocre things in life. Just average. Our love cannot be one of them. 
I cannot live with ordinary. I crave extra ordinary. I never wanted something good or good enough. Rational. Practical. I want crazy. A can’t sleep, can’t breathe, can’t live without your love kinda feeling. 

I want your whole life, I want to give you all of my lifetimes.

I want butterflies in my stomach and fire in your belly. I want to then be water and flow into you. Douse you with desire. Melt into your hard spots. Soften you, fill you up with tenderness until we breathe love like we breathe air.

But this is merely poetry, I hear you say. 

As a result my madness remains misunderstood.

You see the poetry, do you not see the poet

For one is the echo of the other. Like conjoint twins, we co exist. 

Regardless of you then I choose to keep my madness. I’ll stay with it, hang on to it and hold on to it for dear life.

This craziness is what keeps me alive.

As a poet that is why I must leave you. Consider me gone.

Thursday, March 9, 2017

WINDOWS of REFLECTION

Simple Poems to Make You Look Within and Beyond

This is not just poetry. The book really has no beginning, middle or end.
Windows of Reflection: is in fact a journey; one which walks you through the deepest thoughts of your heart, the farthest reaches of your imagination, across the tenderness of your love and the nakedness of your soul.
The author, Tasneem Kagalwalla does not use complicated words and winding verses, instead speaks intimately, opening up along its way many windows of introspection.
In its simplicity, lies its beauty.
Along with the written word, this book is also a visual treat. Photographer, Maisam Darwish communicates skillfully with her lens; making her black and white images a marvel to unravel.
Come; if only to discover and delight in the depths of your soul.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Foreword — Windows of Reflection


By Dr. Shefali Tsabary



Here’s what she had to say….

As a clinical psychologist I am privileged to help many individuals and families heal from their past and create new stories of courage, reflection and insight. I believe that it is when we explore our inner worlds and gain self-awareness that we are afforded a new perspective on our lives and through this, the possibility for change and freedom.

This insightfully and articulately written collection of poems, Windows of Reflection is an invitation to go deep within yourself and discover all the parts that were ignored, denied or abandoned in the process of growing up and being conditioned in culture. Tasneem’s ability to use different emotions etched with simplicity allows you to enter a still and quiet state of contemplation through which you will eventually emerge — if you allow yourself — into a more quintessential “you.”

Our relationships with hurt and pain are often skewed. Hurt or pain is viewed as an intrinsic failure of the self, certainly of the other and definitely of life. But hurt and pain need to be redefined. Its entry, its presence and its ability to transform the self is phenomenally outstanding. I believe there is nothing more pivotal in the journey of conscious living than the understanding, integration and evolution of hurt and pain.

Tasneem beautifully depicts how pain can in fact be used as a vehicle of growth. As it turns out then, hurt is not something that is so dark and dire and disruptive, something to be avoided at all costs. On the contrary, it is something that is profound, inevitable, intrinsic, and quite possibly, one of the most powerful portals of consciousness we can have.

I am positive Tasneem’s life-coaching expertise has given her the tools of insight and awareness to delve deep into the oasis of the human psyche. Her poems reflect her intuition, sensitivity and fearless willingness to internalize the vast and complex range of human emotions. Her ability to notice a myriad of different sentiments across different life stories is what makes this book a soul searchers delight.

“When we share our stories what it does is it opens up our hearts for other people to share their stories. And it gives us a sense that we are not alone on this journey.” — Janine Shepherd

So come and go or come and stay… I assure you this beautiful offering: Windows of Reflection will always remain open for you, night or day.

For life is an open book. Full of blank pages. Do write your own story along the way.

Dr. Shefali Tsabary
NYT Best Selling Author
International Speaker
Clinical Psychologist
Parenting Expert

www.drshefali.com 





To say that I’m feeling honored, special and ever so grateful would be an understatement. Thank you sounds weak.

Windows of Reflection. Coming soon.

www.tasneemkagalwalla.com 

Friday, February 3, 2017

Personal Life Update

So she has been a dream for the first 10 odd years. A challenge for the next 10 plus years. She sat on all kinds of burners — front and back, over another ten years.

Sometimes I re-stirred her. Other times I let her temper at the mercy of the ways of the Universe. Once she even burned her steam off. Exhausted. From all the efforts which brought no fruit. No signs of bloom either. So she aged with me. I let her burn, somewhere deep within.

Life happened regardless.

But she… she was never forgotten. She had become a calling. A passion which I woke up to, imperative, in the middle of many nights. A compelling urge through numerous manic days. Persistently stalking my thoughts. Like a gentle reminder in all my fervent prayers. She stayed with me.

Until she made me what I am today.

Windows of Reflection. Coming soon.

www.tasneemkagalwalla.com