A Picture Of Us

Ush and I drew this during various frees at school. Each image in the picture represents something important to us. It's not a great work of art or anything, but it's special to me because it's something we did together.

Everything in it means something. Our experiences have been somewhat eclectic...and every significant experience is commemorated somewhere in this picture. It's a picture of memories. It's a picture of us.

It's not exactly finished, but it's reached a stage where I doubt we're going to do anything more to it. So there it is, in all it's unfinished glory.

The Martyrdom Of Self Pt. 2

I am not Hunter S Thompson,
I am Shruthi S Mathews.
I am not Shruthi S Mathews,
I am you. And you, and you. And you.

I am not Me,
I am a reflective surface.
My light is not my own,
It is yours. And yours, and yours. And yours.

I am not one who creates,
I am one who re-creates.
I am not the art of love,
I am the lover of art.


I am human:
Who are we are but eloquent excuses?


I am not too late.

The Thrill of the Risk/The Risk of the Thrill

It's easy to laughingly condemn the thrill seekers you see on tv; the ones who died joyriding, the ones who jumped off buildings when high - the ones who plain asked for it. But when you're caught up in a similar situation, you're not the one laughing anymore.
When you're the one shrieking with delight as the car you're in streaks up and down empty streets at midnight, you're not the one judging anymore.

Your sense of rationality is screaming at you, "Don't do it, you silly child! This is how accidents happen". But your lesser self wins, and that's how you end up here: packed tightly in a car with all your friends, an explosion of fear and excitement churning your stomach, racing like bullets into the night. God, it feels good; the rush of adrenaline, the taste of fear in your mouth - you just discovered the most potent of all intoxicants.

And as you giddily step down from the car vowing never to do this again, you know there's going to be a next time. One small taste, and you're addicted.

You finally understand why they do what they do. And you're sure as hell not laughing anymore. After all, you've become one of them.

I'll Miss You, My Darlings

So today we had our leavers picture taken. And it suddenly hit me. We're leaving school soon! How soon is now?

Although I quite happily take part in the ritualistic "I hate CIS" rants, I suddenly realised that I really am going to miss that place. I've just been coasting along all year, not savouring or relishing any of the precious moments that are slipping away so fast. Now that I've finally realised how little time left we have, all I want to do is grab at every minute and stretch it out to its fullest. Silly of me really, because everyone knows that Time is an elusive, contrary little *bleep*. The minutes will definitely stretch during boring Lit lessons. But during our breaktimes or free periods? They're going to fly.

It's so annoying that all our nostalgia and sentimentality is forcibly quashed by exam pressure. We're not free to revel in a little misery as we lapse into moments of reminiscence, because along with recollections of the past come sharp reminders of the future. And the future (at present) can be equated to...exams. As our teachers so generously remind us, "You are on the eve of your exams!". Eve of the exams. Hmph. We're on the eve of saying goodbye to our adolescence, screw saying hello to the exams! We're teetering on the brink of adulthood and clinging onto the present with all we've got. It's crazy to even begin to try and comprehend that realm of responsibility we're about to enter. It suddenly seems like it's happening all just a little too soon.

Is anyone ever ready for it? Will we ever be?
So many questions, so few answers. The bottom line: I'll miss you, my darlings.

My Melancholy Masquerade

In a place between sleep and wakefulness
You're texting me your dreams
- Or am I dreaming your texts?

And when your laughs are like daggers,
My smiles become mirrors.
This careful carapace refuses to crack.

Armed with melodies for every sadness
I try to decipher this world's madness,
But I'm trapped inside it's cryptic maze,
And I just can't escape, I can't escape.

So now I am the mistress of sadness,
Or an angel without wings.
I am the master of masquerades,
Or a puppet without strings.

Yes, I hide how I feel; puppeteers don't lose control.
My eyes have been tamed,
And tears will never fall.
They are everlastingly nocturnal,
They are lovers of darkness eternal,
They are in my mind, infernal.

When I am alone and the world is black
It's easier to slip off the mask and untie the strings.
But when the sun is rising and the day begins,
Like a vampire I try to shun the light,
But am forced to retreat from my room's false night.
To face the day there's only one way;
To put on the mask, and pray and pray,
That perhaps today we'll be okay.

Snakes & Ladders

We swiftly slide across chequered squares,
Our brightly coloured buttons; chasing here, falling there.
We climb up ladders, we slide down snakes.
We roll the dice, we await our fate.

My button is red and yours is white.
I land on a snake, you whoop with delight;
So down I go in curves and swirls,
And anxiously awaiting my next turn.

But slowly, just slowly, you stopped playing our game.
I wondered why - were you bored? Was it shame?
The box came out less as your eyes grew colder.
I was still young, and you were growing older.

That board is now dusty, its colours have faded.
All that's left is a memory I hated.
Because now I'm older, and where have you gone?
You climbed the ladder whilst I slid back to square one.

Re-Offender

Forgive me once,
Perhaps forgive me twice.
But could you ever forgive me thrice?

I said Sorry,
You said It’s Okay.
You didn’t know that I’d do it again.

I did it again.
You lowered your eyes;
Unwittingly fooled by my disguise.

Forgave me once,
Forgave me twice.
I know you could never forgive me thrice.

To err is human,
To forgive, divine.
But you’re no god - hell, neither am I.