Categories
blog anniversary gratitude

285 days.

Hey! Hi! And Hello!

I am still counting days? Well, I think I’m good at it. How I missed being here and how I missed my 3rd year anniversary here! Anyways I’m trying to be back and feels good.

It’s been long and I’m kind of looking forward to it, this time (again). I have read all the mails and I have noticed many of you coming back here and reading previous posts. I’m truly grateful for this affection and trust.

Let me know how you all have been. And I know many of us don’t like to say that loud in comments, so you’re welcome to share this via email.

Be well. I’m yet to catch up with a lot of people. I’ll be writing here shortly, 1 post/week for the time being .

~🧜‍♀️

Categories
poetry rant

Shadows

How do you manage to keep going
without the urge to throw yourself
away?
How does it feel like hearing everything
but your own heart?
Does it really get better with time?
Do layers of skin mange to cover it all?

Tell me how you escaped the pit
of rusty flowers decorating
humnae need of art,
Is there a way to escape your shadow?
Have you made peace with it all?

Deep down, in your heart
does it shine bright like the day?
Or is it pretty like the sky?
If you smiled bright
and visited be places
Would it matter?

Tell me,
Does it get better?
Tell me,
Is there any way out?

Categories
short poem

Moon

We were together from the beginning,
Him and I;
He smiles down at me
And here I am,
Helpless. Bewitched.
By an unannounced law.

His blinding aura
follows me whenever I go
Omnipresent;
So, I just smile at him in response
and like a drop
keep going with his flow.

Says I’m the only one for him,
only one capable of life.

Categories
short poem

Summer

What is summer if not the
excitement brought by
fragrance of spring
tangled in cold wind,
running through the hills
desperately,
to reach the soil blooming
in plains??

The sun shinning over trees
The source of light and heat
curing blues of winter patiently
and the pearly clouds around
playing hide and seek.
Doesn’t the Sky feel dreamy?

The enticing aroma
of fleshy mangoes
is scattered around the
spring dominating branches.
Birds, now and then
take shelter in curled
lively trees.
Life is blooming everywhere.
Life is inviting me to live.

Categories
short poem

Garden

Another day while I was trying
to escape from the dark,
I saw this boy
in middle of the park.
Everyone was sitting in shade
but he sat in open,
The smile on his face
was near to broken.
Instead of sky
I started staring him,
when our eyes met
his went dim.
He got up and started walking
towards my way,
shaking hair, a mixture of black and grey.
Abruptly, he gave me a smile
the one, hard to exist,
Before leaving, he gave me a star
on my wrist.

Categories
Prompt poetry

Paradox

I run into the world
though I say I hate it, everyday.
And romanticise this
zero-fucks-giving prude,
emotion less, pathetic generation
which is proud on our
“I don’t care anymore” attitude.
We leave our kin,
in the search of shelter,
ignore close ones and
look for ‘family’ in strangers.
You think you’re looking for compassion, but no!
You’re looking for pity,
for someone to feel sorry,
for someone, who is
more davestated than you.
If I ever try to push this
microscopic burden
out of my way, my hands
turn numb under the
realisations that in the end
It’s all me who will stay, but
But the longings take over reasons.
In this hope to feel better
about life, we turned
the world – home into disaster.

Categories
poetry

Anything but Human -a poem

We are birds that flock together.
Hunting worms, blind to the nature of the ones we’re dying to feed on. We follow each other while pretending to know it all and end up with a worm stuck in our throats. We are not choking, we are not okay either.
We are birds;
blind, foolish and hungry.

Other days, we are mice, wating for scampering feet of cats. Instead of running away or hiding, we’re waiting for trouble to knock on our doors. We are not happy or afraid but curious to see who will live, who will fight, who will give up and who will thrive!
We know what is happening but we are the generation of blind eye.
To pretend not to see is easier than to see and suffer.

We are the sailors of dead sea.
Instead of coming together we are waiting for the other boat to flip over or run out of hope, we are waiting for the sea to choose a winner;
for it’s easy to blame on time and circumstances.

We are everything but human, yet human.

Categories
short poem

Dictionary

Life is a dictionary of things.
Most come and go.
Some make us home
others are at a distance,
But none of them are lost.
Like tears, they remain,
always a part of us.
With a few bold decisions
they say
“You can take anything you want.”
But, what about the things that
don’t belong to us?
Is it ethical to run and cry
for things?
Or do we just choose
“Suffering” and look for “sacrifice”?
What exactly is life? A collection of things? Or a thing?

Categories
poetry

A City of heartbreaks

My being is hanging out with the thought of being myself at almost all the times and the urge to be anything but me.Thought is an act of violence. The urge to be somethingbut me, is the violence against what I am. The urge  to be nowhere but near you.

Is it possible for a person to be envious of a place?

To be honest I’m tired of writing about you, tired of writing about writing about you. Whenever I am about to ditch the thought of writing, a desperate poem about how your city is covered in broken hearts, start screming in my lungs. Is your city drowning in broken things or running on it?

I hope the next time you cross a mart, it snows. I hope it snows to the extent that your cold city start shivering, I hope you get a taste of what you’re serving. For atleast 12 days I want the snow to stay there (beauty deceiving hearts), for 12 days are the maximum amount of time you’re capable of loving someone and your city is cruel for 12 months in a row.

Tonight, after reading this, when you’ll call me, I’ll miss 11 of them but pick 12th, for I know you won’t call after 12th. Even though, I promise myself to be better and be me, I lose myself to your city.
A city of tall buildings.
A city of cold hearts.
A city of you.

Categories
poetry

Things that matter.

A poem, you ask?
I sit here and think, wondering what
we are,
when doors are shut
Tight and hard.

Alright, I will come with you for the trippy fight;
also, came with my freshly chewed skin,
All the prose and adjectives are here
We’ll keep them the way they have always been.


Let me give you a guilt trip with rich metaphors
Like the whispers you heard last night,
we’re beautifully demonic; we walk like angels.
A war against the world, you say? would you dare?

When next time you come to fight beside me
I’ll remember everything you tried to shatter,
But my question is , are you here because it matters
Or for the fame that comes later?