Am I running towards a disaster
or turning into one?!
Leaving, they say, is the
hardest thing to do
and easiest after it’s done.
Finding oneself is a quest
a discovery of superior kind
I’m not talking about
finding a space for me,
but finding me.
It’s hard in all the glory of world
to be less
to want less
For, more is glorified,
more is expected
more is celebrated.
But I just want
to be invisible
in my home
in my room,
in my place of discovery.
Piercing gaze of pines;
So much life on the verge of dying but
Languorous eyes can’t save anyone.
We lose something everyday;
I’m calling us we, though
The Art of losing is really easy.Let’s try to see things as such;
Hearts overflowing with hope always end up as disasters.
Languorous eyes can’t save anyone.
Let’s try to see things as such;
Hearts overflowing with hope always end up as disasters.
Languorous eyes can’t save anyone.
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.
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.
I am envious of street lights
for they see more than I
I wish it were possible to borrow another pair of eyes;
I’d love to end up in places
where my being
is not known;
A safe heaven
to wander alone.
Then again the thought of
“how do I live?”
And the weight of realization
that I already am doing that here;
//who’s living where?
Me in places or these places inside me?//
My feet run back to same roads
as if those paths
are inhaling me;
Am I here to see the world?
or the world is here
to see me!?
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.
Words will leave me
at the end of this poem
just like your love
left societies and hearts
day by day or
maybe it was never there.
Maybe I am too delicate.
Breathing before I suffocate.
Am I too slow
to cope up with the
mornings, days and seconds?
But I still am very receptive
towards love, affection
and the foundations of
your faiths and religions.
Everyday I hear lips
shouting “love is love”
but see them denying the same
when it’s time to act.
They let their opinions
slip into air
infecting people,
disheartening the minds
(Sometimes people are
The virus)
Being homosexual or
transgender is no crime;
world needs to stick to love
instead of a gender,
one part of world is on roads,
angry, hurt
and you’re telling me
to deny unlearning
because what you have
been taught is not wrong.
Stop shouting ” we’ll take care
of you, get you checked”
let the people be who they are.
We have so much to learn yet,
we have to go far.
And sooner or later
I’ll find the words which left
but, can you find the love
you threw out of your windows?
Prompt by Meera
I see life unfold before me,
Like a distant memory
in moments of perfect harmony
you build your home in my chest
rising from the pit of my stomach;
And rush into my eyes before I know.
World behind you is blurred
I try to hold on to it,
To a memory, to a moment, to you.
And like any other day
you ignore my plea
Anguish down my cheeks
now distant then ever.
These fleeting memories
of you, crawl under my skin, reminding me of your touch.
The warmth of satisfaction
spreads in my heart
Would you take my hand in yours?
I try not to stop you
from falling, out of my eyes,
nor do I try to brush those tears away.
I wait for you instead, to meet
at some point on my skin,
Until I soak you in
and call you mine.
It’s an endless circle
of you leaving my body
and being one with me, again;
Realisation of us weighs heavier
than this.
Burden of love, grief, pain and love.
See, a circle.
Not writing this week? Want to know what piques my anxiety? Ask me a question.
It’s not people that I’m scared of but myself. My words aren’t forced, they come to me, like rain, forming clouds slowly pouring out of my body. My fingers forge the sky and I embody the universe.
But I suppose universe has its boundaries. It too needs to slow down sometimes and close its eyes when things go out of control. What if control is an illusion? Why is too much always considered to be hazardous? Isn’t the sky too expansive for the eyes? Why aren’t we ever tired of looking at it? Why does a heavy downpour scare you? I know. It’s because we dream of the skies and envy the rain. We want to fall free, effortlessly. We want to be loved regardless of how ugly or scary the fall is.
So is the case with writing and us. You want to write, set the words free, to feel, no matter how much we try and deny. People expect. Expectations are inevitable and sometimes expectations are heavy. No one is telling you but you know, you can feel. So you start running backwards, you don’t count steps. It’s a good thing; it leads you to a good place.
Too much emptiness. Too much silence. Too much solace.
Prompt by : Atara
The times are hard and my fears keep getting worse. In these fleeting moments, there are things I‘m scared of and care about.
And then, there’s me.
I’m my greatest accomplishment. I crave attention and validation from myself and write long paragraphs with weird rhythms to make sense of things around.
I like to think of myself as an artist, an artist that paints emotions in words and verses.
This identity crisis vexes me because what am I to you but bones and skin? What makes me lies hidden beneath.
I believe my words justify my heart and mind more than the features of my face and I run in my head, run for miles, to find the encouragement from my skin; for my senses. I bend like grass and blow like leaves yet feel discouraged and people look for my pictures instead of words.
It’s like a tiny plant growing in cracks, hustling to bloom but failing because no one likes where she’s coming from.
Why do we need a garden to love the flower? Aren’t wildflowers flowers too??
Why do we judge an artist by the skin they are in and not by what they’re writing?
Why do we encourage people with million followers and ignore the novices discovering art?
Prompts
1. What I care about everyday, every minute by : New Media Works
2. Discouragement by : Von Smith
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