Emptiness

The worst thing that could happen was losing my story. I could lose everything else, but losing the story in my heart was unbearable. The thought that Derivation would be there no matter what happened, no matter how deep the rabbit-hole went, kept me going for so long.
I emptied myself into the singular pursuit.
My apathy, empathy, love, hatred, passion, motivation.
Everything belonged to my one purpose; telling the tale that burned in my chest.
Now I fear I’ve given too much.
I’m empty.
I lost Derivation while I was surrendering the rest.
The one thing I was determined to keep is gone.
Without it, I’m not even a person.
So what now? What do I do now that the worst has happened?
How long do I stay away? How long will it take to fall in love again? Until my hands itch with words burning to see life on paper?
I don’t know.
I’m starting over. From the beginning. Tell me again, Alexander.
Stay good and keep transmitting

-Aman Sandhu 2016

Frozen Mausoleums

We won’t find you
Oh we won’t find you
Not in these tattered pieces
Of dreams left behind.
Is there a remedy for
All of the things everyone knows
If not
Is there place that holds
All of the knowledge
We should have by now?
You built this town
You built this city
Repeat it over and over
As if you expect some pity.
Is this what it’s meant to be
Only disappointed faces looking our way?
Constant reminders that you think
We only want your sympathy
We can’t find it
Oh we can’t find it
Not in these tattered pieces
Of dreams left behind
Oh you built this town
You built this city
Heaven forbid it rises
Above your glory
And it all fades to black
Was the ending worth for naught.
Because you built this town
You built this city
On the ashes of those who
Thought you only wanted their sympathy
We’ll tear this town
We’ll burn your city
Frozen mausoleums to leaders
Who don’t deserve our pity.

-AJ Sandhu 2016

On My Way

We all want somebody to love
Somebody to hold
Somebody to lie beside
Because the nights are cold
But will the degradation
To our baser instincts
Consume our souls
Confuse the common urge
For something we’ve never observed
Don’t let me go
Till I take my final breath
Then I swear I’ll set you free
Don’t leave me here without you
Though you can stay without me
I don’t want just
Another heartbeat beside me.
Familiar hope only your scent gives me
Just give me this life
Then I swear I’ll be on my way.
We all want somebody to love
Somebody to hold
Somebody to lie beside
Because our lives can be cold.
-AJ Sandhu 2015

Rumination 15

     No one tells you how bright the darkest corners of your mind can be. How sweetly that voice whispers lies and doubts into your ear.
     If they were dark, you would never venture into them again. They’re enticing, bright and warm, because they’re drawing all of the light and warmth out of you.
     The colder and darker you feel, the more light and warmth you try to generate, until you just can’t anymore.
     You need more for the same high.
     The universe may be infinite; you are not.
     But you are strong, you are loved, and you are not alone. So many of us are right there with you, making more light as it is taken. Maybe one day we’ll make more than the imbalance can pull.

Stay good and keep transmitting.

-AJ Sandhu 2015

Rumination 14

Keep saying things over and over until they come true, or you delude yourself into believing them. Keep telling yourself that running in place is fine. That as long as you’re working and “moving” your fatigue and lethargy can’t catch up to you. As long as you don’t think about what what’s wrong it can’t hurt you.
Why think about the things you can’t change anyway?
After all, the things you can’t change are many.
Maybe starting over for me was easier because everything else was shrouded in the obscurity of nothingness. Or…is that another lie I tell myself to keep going?
It’s not easy to leave behind written words and created words. To never speak of them again. To remind myself they never were.
Starting over is hard. Starting over can break you. Make you wake in the morning with cold sweats over deadlines and ultimatums that never mattered. Where are those consequences now that it’s done? Is nothingness my just reward?
Jumping off the pedestal is harder. All of the praise and genuflection is impossible relinquish. What if it’s never found again? What if this is the end? What if I become another insignificant cog in the machine of the world.
You we’re always insignificant. A cog in the machine does its work and the wheels turn.
Only when the cog is gone and the machine breaks down does it learn its value. Does this insignificant cog’s value become apparent.
There is nothing wrong with insignificance.
Maybe if I say it enough…I’ll believe it.
Stay good and keep transmitting.
-A. Sandhu 2015

Another Better Me

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” -Soren Kierkegaard

     All of the work I do today is for her; the better me waiting at the end of this labor. A far off waif on the horizon that can be an ideal I see myself as to justify my procrastination, my lethargy. “What will be, will be,” Because it is so much more comfortable to think “destiny” has a route set for me. As if what I do or don’t do today doesn’t really affect that far off better version of me.
     Sometimes, like in these moments of rumination, I am hyper aware my ideal cannot be without the work I can’t seem to put in. Other, clearer times I’m able to grasp that she will be me as I am now, because I have stagnated.
     No longer bound by fear, but by inaction.
     I’m going through the motions of a changing life, but not actually doing much to change it. I’m screaming loudly to avoid toiling in silence. And I am writing admissions because I need to get these words somewhere that I am accountable for them.
     Even as I stand here and scream, “All I want cannot be!” there is that part of me that sees her; the other better me. The one waiting on the horizon to read carefully the harried words of the younger stranger she once was; trying to glean how she came to be where she is.
     I need to do more and I need to do it now.
     I need to do it alone.
     Scream into the void until it starts to scream back.

Stay good and keep transmitting.

-AJ Sandhu

Lens of Doubt

“There is no cure for suspicion.”

     With anyone else I would bury the hurt and the guilt, but it’s you. It’s you and I don’t know what I did to cast a lens over every move I make. No matter how innocuous.
     I am fully aware of how bared and open this is, and I know this too will pass as all things do. But at what cost? How many times can I pretend not to notice the little voice that questions all which was once accepted with glee? There is no cure for doubt when the other party refuses to take the antidote.
     My penchant for staining the past rose-red is only hindering my forward momentum. Because of your lens, I see every grievance inflicted upon me; every broken promise. In fact, I’m not sure anymore that there were ever any kept promises now.
     A lens of doubt influences both the ones that cast it, and those on whom it is cast. If you fear me, eventually, I’ll start to fear you through no fault of my own.
     Lenses cast in lonely thought, without an outside voice to question their sanity, lenses cast by too many voices speaking too many doubts, cast by madness, cast by hatred, carve in all directions.
     What force to drive love into hatred.
     Faith, absolute faith, into doubt.
     What is the cost? How do I turn doubt back into faith?
     As I write these words I know I am saying too many of the things I keep inside; writing too many of the words I never say. But I will yell into the void as long as I am able, because one day, perhaps sooner rather than later, I will lose the chance.
     Because I can’t scream at you, lest you doubt further still. But I cannot live to do only as you say. Life is far too long and far too short to waste making you proud; I see that you never have been and you never will be. It’s like chasing the horizon on this round planet, it never comes.
     Now that they’re gone, I miss them, my rose colored lenses. But this lens of doubt, it might just save my life.

Stay good and keep transmitting

-Aman Sandhu