Reasons for waking up
In remembrance
Because this longing is a story worth telling.
Because the truth is that we are magical only in ravenousness.
A passing train baptising our singular bodies,
a blip in the quiet night.
Because we used to be lovers now we're a checkbox.
That bike ride in summer to my house, our tires swallowing the fat white lane as we sped, our knees swollen with 7pm.
Because when the door closed, the tinniness of my father’s tantrums
turned into heartbeats.
My room suddenly a chapel on the last day of war.
Because the first time we kissed, I heard the hiss of steam coming off you.
But it was only October slashing outside, wind making a lexicon of the leaves.
Because your dad's car was a room capable of movement, arriving at destinations that were no destinations at all.
Sides of the roads, undersides of bridges, a corn field freshly razed. A room where we escaped without leaving our bodies.
Because you followed me this far without looking back.
Because I cannot judge Orpheus, for we too did not know we had been assigned a tragedy.
That time when we painted the walls purple, drowning in drinks in our mother's white dresses.
That time when we sat on the crumbling sidewalk and gravity started talking but never stopped.
That time when you folded up August to place it in my palm and I looked for my pockets.
Because pockets are for hiding things you secretly want to find in the future.
Because I am still waiting for: luck, hope, rain
forgiveness.
For being defined by the absence of it.
For being divine and unreachable in the cool arms of memory.
Because you were singing, palms fixed towards the sky,
which is why I remember.
Because there is so much music in dying.
The funerals, the crying, the hymns, the eulogies, sounds crowding the air with what the dead can’t say.
Because I am useful only in language.
That it snowed yesterday and the city turned white as if ready for ink.
Because it’s September
until morning and the night is a coffin I climb out of.
Because I’ve stopped trying to dissolve into thin air.
Because grief is the last act of loving you.
Because you didn’t kill yourself, just disappeared on purpose
like the camera in films.
***
Hi, thanks for reading, I really appreciate you. I've been away from Vocal and writing for a while for a myriad reasons, residual grief being one of them. During my absence, I've been wrestling with the pressure to be constantly productive, and it's been a struggle. I've felt shame and embarrassment on days when I couldn't meet that expectation, which, truthfully, was pretty much every day.
But I'm learning to accept that one of the most valuable things we can do, whether we're dealing with grief or not, is to allow ourselves not to be hyper-productive all the time. Capitalistic pressures often push us to be at our best constantly, even when we're unwell or hurting. It's like we're instilled with an expectation to remedy these trying conditions through some triumph of productivity. But that's just an illusion, and it undeniably makes us suffer more.
I think there's real value in sitting still with your emotions, letting them flow through you, and knowing that they'll change with time, just like language does. There's real value in being forgiving. I'm learning to be okay to pause and be with my discomfort without trying to immediately fix it. Maybe I'll take some more time off, maybe not - whatever I do will not be forced. Perhaps spend time reading. Reading is a bit like that too—being still while the world moves inside you. One thing's for sure - I will not let myself enter this world unloved.
About the Creator
Mesh Toraskar
A wannabe storyteller from London. Sometimes words spill out of me and the only way to mop the spillage is to write them down.
"If you arrive here, remember, it wasn't you - it was me, in my longing, who found you."
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
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Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
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Comments (25)
Congratulations on your top story. It’s a wonderful piece. 
I do apologise for my delay in congratulating you Mesh! I enjoyed reading this again and am once again in awe of your magic. Very well done you ❤️
what a gorgeously-penned piece! Congratulations!!!
Congratulations! Keep up the great work!"👌👍❤
I will treasure this for a very long while; enchanting.
So very well done and stole my heart for real. Congratulations!!!
Congratulations on placing Mesh!!! This was the first one I looked for in the announcement! It’s stuck with me more than almost anything I’ve read has. Really, really well done.
I may have shared this in my comments during the judging phase, but I cannot help but to return to my wife's favorite quote from WandaVision: "What is grief if not love persevering?" Congratulations on your placement, Mesh. Incredibly well captured.
Congrats Mesh. This was my favourite.
I was curious to know who wrote this poem, because of *all* the entries in 3 categories that I read, this one stood out to me as the best. I was going to give feedback where I was going to say that I hope the author never stops writing, since they have that openness of spirit that true poetry springs from. This might sound like an odd comparison, but there's something similar in this poem to Richard Siken's "Scheherazade”: a kind of dreamlike freedom (that is the openness I mean), one by turns tinged with and steeped in blue. Unfortunately, I ended up not taking part in the judging (partly because the grading system was so messy), so my comment now is somewhat pointless. But truly, if I had been the sole judge, this would have won easily. Congrats for placing, you really deserved it.
HOW DID THIS NOT WIN BUT ALSO CONGRATULATIONS ON PLACING! Seriously, how did this not get 1st!!! Side note: This be your good luck charm poem, eh? 😉
So much music in dying. This was so unabashedly full of complexity, and the accolade is well deserved.
Congratulations!!! Stunning.
Mesh, I hope this helped you when writing as you work through your grief. And the honesty of it must have resonated with the judging- congratulations.
Well done on shortlisting in the awards, I recognised this instantly. 👌👏 It’s also a mile above the others in every way. (Which was a little disappointing to be honest! I thought there would be 6 exceptional poems there… not one!)
Oh my gosh Mesh, you are incredibly talented!! This is utterly, heartbreaking and gut wrenching. I’d point out my favourite lines but there are just too many. This is astoundingly well written. I am so so sorry for your loss though. Hope you’re doing okay
My word, what words! I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ve just found you because I finally got round to joining Discord. There you were, nominated. So I had to read. You dissected life itself, spread the pieces out, and found deeper connections between words and meaning. Your writing is incredible ❤️
Longing and ravenousness = I have noticed your fascination with these concepts and their connection. I love seeing it here, in connection to grieving. I’m getting shadows of your Great Novel entry with "A passing train baptising our singular bodies." "Knees swollen with 7pm" I LOVE THIS. I know exactly what you mean. "tantrums turned into heartbeats" HOLY SHIT that is genius. You deserve a tip for that objective correlative masterpiece line. Loud tantrums = loud heartbeats. Fast words = fast heartbeats. Shouting = muted thudding. So much emotion, so much truth in that moment. "My room suddenly a chapel on the last day of war." Fuck. What an incredible image. On the last day of war, that knowledge would be hidden from the soldiers (how could they know it was the last day?) So they go to chapel and pray for their lives. The war then ends. The relief is such a counterpoint to the heart during prayer, answered and given as an immediate gift. The room as a chapel is mournful, empty, echoing, desperate place, full of an unknown hope. The other side is that a chapel on the last day of war is superfluous when looked back on. Cynical view, one that doesn’t see the benefit of prayer in ending the war. So those prayers are needless, knowing the war would end regardless. So which is the room? Unknown hope or needless effort? Desperate either way? "the wind making a lexicon of the leaves" — Wow, that is beautiful. Wind carving into leaves to create a new language. I might take that idea one day. You juxtapose passion, heat, light, against depression, cold, darkness, using the couplet form fantastically and the foreshadowing of the fall of the relationship masterfully. Also noticed the months/seasons cleverly placed to show passing time, without explicitly mentioning that. Genius time. (Just pretend the noose is gone, okay? I’ve confiscated it.) Damn. The car. That is a brilliant way of showing the hidden rendezvous points, the small getaways, forbidden acts. "A room where we escaped without leaving our bodies." — I am comprehending a lot into the idea of escaping while leaving my body. Death? Is the alternative to these "destinations that were no destinations at all" death?? Fucking brilliant Orpheus couplet there. Is this possibly the core of this entire poem? Death, yes. Death and wanting to revive, but knowing that by doing so, you look back and doom them to stay in the underworld. OMG, Mesh!! "That time when you folded up August to place it in my palm and I looked for my pockets. Because pockets are for hiding things you secretly want to find in the future." — I am wanting to cry at these lines. "Because there is so much music in dying. The funerals, the crying, the hymns, the eulogies, sounds crowding the air with what the dead can’t say." — Tears are welling up now. "Because I am useful only in language. That it snowed yesterday and the city turned white as if ready for ink." — And would this poem be written on the snow? No, rather, you’re useless to this blank canvas. Your grief has rendered you useless, and you need to dissolve into thin air. Yet, your grief is getting smaller, and your love, you fear, is too, and all of this, this poem, is to try to capture it while it’s still big enough to remember. You are writing complete poems with these couplets. Ahh! I want to dissolve into these lines to show you how much I love them. Your spilling, your chore, this writing, is sublime, my friend. Fuck. I am devolving. I can’t find the words. "Because you didn’t kill yourself, just disappeared on purpose like the camera in films." God. I am too invested in your writing to not ask "Who is this about?" But I can’t, that breaks a contract. I am just, so so so sorry for your loss, for your pain, for your sadness and your past screeching you to a halt. I cannot imagine all that you’re feeling, that crumbling weight of everything. I am so sorry. I am so humbled to know you, and to see you grow inside of your writing, which is all I’m privy to. To see you share a bit of yourself, as you have here in your author’s note, is quite something. To sit still with your emotions, for them to flow through you unfiltered, is healing at its most pure, I think. It’s one of the greatest challenge to just let yourself see yourself, and not jump in as the hero so you can move on. It’s often worse to do that, more like a pushing down, to do that. I sincerely wish you the peace, healing, and love that you need. 💗
Yes, it's okay to not force ourselves to be hyper productive all the time. We need to be gentle and kind to ourselves. Loved your poem. Sending you lots of love and hugs! ❤️
This is breathtaking. Sending you so much love
Mesh, as always, this is stellar! Every line evokes a different emotion and transports me elsewhere. You are truly gifted. On another note, life has taught me to embrace grief. Just continue writing.
Wise choices, Mesh. Powerful poem. Such aching, longing & finally resolve.
I can’t find words to leave here… for there are no right ones…. I’m so sorry for your pain… and I send you love 🙏🕊️🤍✨
Oh my goodness. This is incredible. Well done.
My heart hurts, reading this. I am marking my checkpoint, and I will come back with more to say. ❤️