My Poems

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/

Gods are dying in my country.

Centuries ago, during the
course of evolution, humans
brought the whole species
together, on the base of
One belief system; Religion.
We thrived. They say nothing lasts
forever; humans have this obsession
with change,
To know more, To be more.

And now ( fast forward to ‘I’ )
As ‘act of God’
I see my country moulding
beliefs of generations.
God has now become a tool
To control masses; we are given a
Reason to be scared of the sacred.
I see them locked in fancy buildings
like you and me, having 
‘no right to speech’, worse,
they can’t even speak because
no one is actually asking them.

/I used to think/
I’m an atheist/
but lately/ I have started to
believe otherwise/ like y’all/
I too have a holy book/

My God is as panicky and breathless
as yours. I watch TV
till my heart starts aching,
I clutch the Constitution
close to my flesh, with hopes
of lending some air to it;
I hear him suffocating.
Then I sleep to the weeping
sound of my God (Constitution);
who cries with all the other Gods
because Gods are dying in my country.

Prompt by Samyak

Wonders

Don’t just hear,
listen
what one word
whisper to other,
Here, all the words are
adjacent yet far
how they managed to exist,
I wonder.

Also, Instagram

Poems and women

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.

Hope

It’s raining almost every second day,
and I’m learning to bloom from the earth,
From life less branches to bed of dead leaves,
something inside of me is telling me to know my worth.

Sun is always shining over mountains
still, there is this darkness in the woods,
dripping down the lifeless branches
in a way only hope could.

My mind feels quiet than usual
sending the shivers down my spine,
these fingers gripping core of my skin
bringing my stars back to shine.

Sun rays are claiming my body;
reaching the places which need hope the most,
With every breath, life is teaching me to live a little;
I’m falling for love, almost.

~🧜

Also, Instagram

Broken Sunset

Once I met a broken sunset
stunning in pink and beautifully alone,
He was tip toe-ing through twilight
asking me to step into unknown.

My inside and out felt like stones
but I was willing to know what it has to say,
For sometimes the most ordinary things become blessings
and I had nothing to do, anyway.

He took me to the core of colours
and said he can give me all of them,
And he asked me:
Humans talk about the lonely hearts that bleed in silence whole night, but what about the open wounds that stinks at 2 pm?

Art

From silent poetry to screaming voice of art
I have met people, creative from the heart.

They tried to teach structure and rhythm but who they are to decide what we are?
I have seen pioneers of colours
and words – the weapons which give scars and help the world win wars.

From Van Gogh to Franz Kafka
all the names make me want to paint stars,
Sometimes I resonate with Rupi Kaur’s wolves but my heart is trapped in Sylvia’s “The Bell Jar” .

~🧜

Also Instagram

Autumn

Don’t you hear the leaves singing
endless tale of life?
To live is to know that
you have to let go sometimes.

What if they also
refuse wind’s hand and
join stubborn hearts in strike?
What will be the point of seasons,
all the moments and wasted time?

Let go, breath, forget about
the ones who left,
Fall, fly along with your heart
towards the land of abandoned joy.

Autumn taught me it’s okay to change
Sometimes, it’s must and best,
To be a tree resting in winter
instead of being a volcano to destroy.

~🧜🏻‍♀

Poetry on my skin.

Proud on
shallow connections,
You thrive to earn,
All this fake affection,
Can’t be a good turn.

You ask me to fly,
But I don’t want wings,
My aim is already high,
I don’t need your things.

Your energy
revolves around the greed,
My strength
floats within trees.
Stop suggesting me to read,
I don’t want your aura,
please.

You want me to dive in sea,
I don’t care
about virtue or sin.
Oh dear!
You can’t tame me,
It’s poetry,
written on my skin.