Categories
poetry

Chemical Hearts

I failed to check the alphabets
and ended up writing about love.
Once you asked me
how to write a poem on love
and I’m still searching for words.
I was trying to know love and poetry.
So I held my pen tight
and hoped for you to see the ink flow
through my fingers,
droplets dripping from my nails
to the hem of your shirt,
but you stayed there,
without a word
for none of us was ready to speak.

Well now,
I’m looking at your hands;
painfully beautiful hands.
I’m trying to reach out
and hold you.
Your soft, tender palms
come crashing me down
like the fresh waves at dawn.
I recognise the hands
I never held,
like your fingers were
designed to fit in mine.
But
Neither of us is ready.

Each day feels like a product
product of last words.
Words are crushing.
We’re yet to learn language.
Both of us are
waiting
for the other to speak.

You already know how this works;
I let you hold my hand
when we’re crossing streets,
Neither of us is bad at it.
Neither of us is ready to let go.

Categories
Prompt poetry

Skinship

Kafka said “all the love in the world is useless when there is total lack of understanding”. But, how do you make someone understand love?

Fear is a toothless beast.
I see you move across the house and wait for you to see me.
I have been writing on the shape of your mouth; it’s been days since you held me close.
I wonder what you think of the colour violet, you still love it?

I close my eyes
and you’re still here.
here and there
– everywhere.

Quick sand is diminishing through the hourglass. As if wind is carrying me away from you. In a flash I see you, then you’re gone. I’m taking care of flowers, lilies are blooming. You left me a candle of darkness.
I’m longing to feel your touch, mother.

Categories
poetry story

Language of History- A poem

I met this girl who made me believe that earth is round and it indeed moves around its axis. I was looking through the tinted glass, rain pouring like flowers in spring air – utter melancholy, here and there.

She came to me, asked for what I want, that girl with blue eyes and purple lips; hair as red as sun and hands so pale, like she never knew light, avoiding the sun; the way lovers avoid trauma bound conversations.

History dripped from her words; a dialect I never heard of. For you, natural instinct might be to correct the pronunciation.
However, I kept listening to her. She showed me different types of coffee, and asked me to choose one, as it’s cold and romantic. I have no preferences in coffee, cold is a feeling that reminds me of life and romance? I’m a hopeless romantic.
I asked her to choose one instead, then she  assured me to be back with a coffee made by love for the lover.

I was still lost in translation, vernacular is bliss. Like love can only be described best in the mother tongue; her words seemed to be as old as time.
I am no philologist yet I’m stuck in time, trying to make sense of history.

She served me as-it-is: the words of generations, which she said her father had taught her, for her mother was too busy trying to birth a boy. The words which surely stay the same with tingling aroma of coffee.

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

Beloved spring – Poem

It was just yesterday
That I wrote a poem
to the early spring.
Blooming flowers in my garden
soothe my heavy heart,
every bud glowing green;
Spring is a work of art.

The hollow earth
beneath my feet
is now as lively as a new born,
Sometimes I feel I romanticise
spring too much
but, I am not willing to unlearn.

It’s April now.
It’s sowing in the hills
and plains don’t know
what to feel about that,
Maybe because the world
isn’t over the beauty of winter
yet.

In return, spring gave me
early rains
Humid winds came knocking
on my window,
Altostratus clouds are hovering  over
and the spring wrote, “to be continued…”

I have lost my train of thoughts.
It feels like my ‘self’ moved on
but my shadow is still there,
In the snow
And everywhere.

Categories
rant

Seasons?


It’s almost dawn and like any other day;
I am looking for something to hold on to.
A popular and supposingly brilliant quote “you find happiness when you look for it” is here again but I feel like I’m done.
How can I look for happiness when all I feel and see is my failing attempts to understand it? How do I define something I have never experienced?
The weather is as confused as I am. Sun is yet to set but it’s too cold for April. Trees are leaf-less yet flowers are ready to bloom. They said spring is early this time,
but what is spring?
How do we know what rain is, when it’s raining? How is downpour so precise?
Where do all these seasons come from? Are wants seasons?