They called. So we went. And no one showed up and so we left. Simple. Easy. Fast. Cautious. Always kept an eye out. Kept two. Always. And I asked father why they wanted us to check the house. And he said he didn’t know and I asked why he didn’t ask them and he said “You’re gonna get nowhere if you always have to explain yourself to other people.”
Made sense… made sense.
By Ashish Seth
We come alive at night with the treble low and the bass high.
Spend the first hour driving around aimlessly because we can.
The lights all neon like in color spread across the streets carried by rain water.
And after a cold streak I turn around and speak in a possessed whisper:
Life is a dress up.
Or
Life is a constant struggle to mess up.
Or
Life is how you dress up a wound in front of people.
Or
Life is a 2 hour test you study for 16 hours.
Or
Life is a random occurrence made deliberate.
Or
Life is a deliberate purpose made accidental.
Or
Life is the three words said to a person out of desperation.
Or
Life is the hesitation to say the truth to said person.
Or
Life is a talk with a lack of macho emphasis.
Or
Life is too much emphasis on too few sentences.
Or
Life is pretending to be okay when you’re not.
Or
Life is pretending to be hurt when you’re okay.
Or
Life is a movie hall filled to capacity.
Or
Life is a provoked state of brevity for the hasty.
Or
Life is not having to worry about people’s ears.
Or
Life is a bite of expensive pie only meant for your mouth.
Or
Life is a drink from the river we all drink out of.
The bowling balls are getting heavy
I’m about to leave in someone else’s clothes.
Were we ever meant to be? is a redundant question.
Yes, once in a time of pressure and spontaneity.
The only thing we agreed upon was we were both frightened.
I must’ve convinced myself I liked you on purpose.
And that’s how I found myself by accident.
Too many stops for gas on the road to the destination.
If no two roads are alike, then why should I map my path to another person’s life?
Our fears keep us up at night.
Our hopes keep us up tonight.
Anxious, and terrified but alive.
By Ashish Seth
https://twitter.com/TheAshishSeth
If you can’t win her heart, win your’s back. If you can’t breathe around her, drown yourself in music. A cure for love is just the sharpening of your vision at the optometrist’s. Sometimes reality switches focus.
The danger in risking it all is a drug. Gets stronger with repetition. Siphoned emphasis.
By Ashish Seth
Everything I ever wanted was a vague concept I was following with so many notions stretched out like a starry night. For most of my life I couldn’t pinpoint the process but now it is the smile on someone’s face. Somebody tell me the science behind this transmutation. Maybe one day things will work out and we will all be fulfilled but right now we are lone figures sitting at bar pubs drinking hard. It’s night out and we hear crooners and moans against fingerplucked guitars better suited around fires. Under the lamplight outside the bar door, my shadow reflects dim and small on the cement platform.
It’s nights like these that become us. We look at full moons and ask ourselves why our most foolish plans come from the heart? Honest hearts sit cross legged on jagged rocks and stare out into the abyss of the ocean, the horizon a blurry line in the dark of the night. Side by side, a head on my shoulder, hands holding each other. A shiver. Huddle closer. I’m tired of the face I make on late mornings and early nights. If all the light pollution in the sky cleaned up for just a moment you’d see that the weight on my heart spawned galaxies.
By Ashish Seth
By Ashish Seth
By Ashish Seth
By Ashish Seth
A detail of Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks
Horns bust out the speakers
Someone croons out his misery
Some come here for company
Others chase foolish dreams
Are a pen and a pad all you need?
Maybe that’s why you came here hungry
Old bread and condiments
Coffee stains on white plates
Sugar shakers and ketchup bottles
A cup of coffee at this hour
Brings out my inner night owl
I see people as they are
At night they take their masks off
Let their secrets breathe out
But the sharks still watch
Their love leaves holes
Like an attic filled with old clothes
A basket filled with lonely notes
A spleen punctured with shotgun holes
My pen moves faster than their men in trench coats
Who keep their eyes on patrol
Confiscating ideas writ on post-it notes
Into metal empty drawers
I always have the last word
I never the last laugh
I always want people to hear me talk
But I never let them know what it’s all about
I always have something to say
But never do I have a moment to say it
Maybe it’s the way she smiles
Makes the ribs pinch the walls of my stomach
It’s so loud when it gets all quiet
You’re always reading yesterday’s news
Maybe she’ll come around
Don’t presume to know what you don’t
Don’t be modest
It’s dishonest
We all know what you really are
She is the steam that rises from a coffee cup
The caffeine taken black pooling in my stomach
A cup of her at this late hour
Brings out my night owl
I’m waiting on a train
Last one came an hour late
I’m just a pen and a pad of ideas
The last one came a two hours late
By Ashish Seth
Fear drives the dread into your bones.
By Ashish Seth
By Ashish Seth
Ashish Seth 