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 ❤️
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.
If I was a writer
I’d write you love letters
in the scent of wind
hidden under the silk sheets
from me to you
it can be a gift.
And I’d dip my pen in your hair
to check the length of your curls
and to steal the ink from you;
Your skin is a rainbow.
And I’d steal all your worries
like the rain
and store away the stuff that
steal your smile;
the thing you label as pain.
But I read somewhere
that pen is a writer’s sword
and I can’t harm the one
I adore the most
So I won’t pretend
to be a writer
and will sit here hoping
you’re falling in love
with me , almost?
Out there I see a world
full of hope,
people with options
to chose from,
who can be
what they want to be;
My street is of the gifted,
people with answers for
every “how” and “if”, but me.
I was terrible at volleyball
couldn’t even sing,
I tried to learn them all
yet failed at everything.
I put people first
and end up second,
not the best choice,
Lonely in the crowds,
hid in the corners
with my choking voice.
I do believe in that one voice
in my heart that, something mine is somewhere out there
waiting for me to find a way;
With every word leaving my fingers
I try to find my strength,
every passing day.
I have kept
all your words safe
in the flowers that dried
pressed next to the stories
and the pace at which
you were running towards sun,
I hope somehow
you have learnt to rest.
very primal the way
your words are building home
in my chest now,
we are growing close to each other
and I don’t know how.
I know someday we’ll meet
at the cliff before falling off
or learning to fly,
Maybe this way
sky will teach us to live a little
before we finally die.
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.
This constant pressure someone feeling that they are entitled to talk to you daily can be draining ( and can break the bonds too). When going through things, the most creative people can also run out of words and the answer to every question can be nothing more than “okay”.
We keep checking on people , which is a good thing, indeed. But too much care can be toxic too. If everybody starts with “How are you today?” then what else can someone say other than ” I’m fine”.
On some days the best thing we can do for others is to just listen or just be there in silence or just give them the space. Because sometimes, the best thing we can do for others is not to do anything.
~ Let them be.
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” .
Those honey coated eyes
were the “okay.” to every “okay?”
I used to throw,
when sheets used to haunt me
In search of rhythm,
to him I used to go.
named after my favourite colour
In his smile
I used to see the rainbow,
Every mountain was his own
and every stream
he used to know.
were the narrow roads
and wide sea used to
inspire him the most,
For they said he carried galaxies
within his eyes
had pockets full of cosmos.
Hey you guys.
Please stay home and stay safe.
Wash your hands often and save water too.
When people started to stay home
were learning to untangle their heart,
All the healing took over pain
it was beautiful to see them reading and making art.
Some met their demons
while others danced to uplift their spirits,
They started to think individually
For they realised importance of every life , every breath , their ignorance
– a lesson they were ready to inherit.
It felt like centuries
but people stayed where they were,
For all the eyes were hoping for
the golden age to come back, wind was supposed to come with cure.
When all the suffering passed, all was felt and done, people came together to grieve the losses,
To see the earth healing was relief admist chaos and to never take life granted, to cherish every minute they promised.