My heart is a building/ memories blow/ like the wind/ Seekers shall find home in my bones/ My skin shall always relive the moments here/ even if I go blind/
I draw hearts/ on the glass/ that shelters dew drops/ for love is all I know/ And to embrace the pain/ is no weakness/ For You shall grow/ only when You know/
In the hallways/ wander hearts/ romanticising pain/ In the name of art/ ~Ignorant~ you don’t have to turn blue/ everytime/ to know that you’re alive/ Art is apposite/ soulful/ And a smile/ can work wonders/ too/
My poems/ doorways to melancholy/ Past those/ hides/ a happy me/
In his Letters to Milena, Kafka wrote, ‘You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.’
And I can’t help but wonder number of times I ate my own skin to feel your touch on my lips. And number of times I died, trying to reason with unknown. In search of words I travel through my spine; your garden in my lungs is dead. Butterflies have turned into fireflies, illuminating me while burning my senses, I am alive you see.
There is a reason why I hate September, we all have reasons, to reason with unknown is a silent revolution, a war with possessiveness. Like a failed theory my eyes look for you in patterns, for hints, so that I can reason with my tied hands; there are songs of lost touch in my heart.
All I am left with are questions. I can’t come up with an explanation for my fear of something that already passed. Like the evening sky there are too many colours, too many shades of verses leaving my finger tips; I paint my nails red when I miss you the most.
My skin sweat in how, why and where? You ask me why no happy poems? These, my dear, are barely poems.
I am very fortunate to stick around here for this long time and of course it’s all because ALL OF YOU. Thank you very much for believing in my words and staying here. Your constant support keep me going.
I changed my blog URL this August ( in first week) and due to drastic changes I lost all my will and hopes to blog anymore. But after being in constant touch with WordPress happiness engine, effort of the team and unbelievable support and faith of Sumeet I am able to see changes and my blog is getting better day by day. So, if you’re seeing this post, do let me know if you can comment and like , if not please let me know about the same via Gmail.
Like I said last year, I love being on WordPress, hoping to meet y’all next year same day.
Reblogging/ re-posting this, because my reach ( along with visibility of blog to people) and will to write here, is messed.
I once heard someone say The world inside your head is barren, But I brush that thought away For who they are to think they know. The spring came but I failed to fix the gloom For in corners of my mind, the thought grew bit by bit, I’m trapped; For my own skin no […]
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?
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.
Hello beautiful people, I’m feeling disconnected from blog and this September I’m about to complete 2 years on WordPress. So to keep me going I invite you for words/ prompts you want me to write on and I’ll post poems/rants out of them till October. You can send suggestions by commenting on this post or you can mail the prompts too ( via contact option). I’ll start posting them from next Saturday i.e 08/08/2020. Thank you for your patience and immense love. I love y’all ❤️
Holding on doesn’t always have to be about people or the stained memories, it’s more complex than what we know. I often leave my poems and pause midway to reminisce the fleeting moments, to find you there once again, which apparently has become my favourite thing to do. I always try to find my face there, try to see the dipping-toes-in-the-moment-me. I am constantly reminded of what I was because of what I am and I fail at being myself trying to hold on to what I was. I write a poem every other day but there is no one to read them; It hardly makes sense to hold on to past self, I know but you gotta hold on to something right? why can’t that something be you?
If my poems were women they will love you till one of us is out of blood, will make flowers out of your flesh and bury the remnants in the mud. They will drag you to the top of hills and dare you jump off without second thought there must be moments of pretty love but wild hearts is all that I have got. No, my poems won’t read you books for to learn something you need to gain, I don’t promise to bring you stars for them,leaving the moon can be pain. Either there can be moments of deafening silence or subtle words shouting on my skin, my poems do not believe in good all they know is to sin.