strawberry tresses
perch on a fine moonflower
blooming yet grounded
born is such a wreath of charm
fondly called Thumbelina
~Poem 36
strawberry tresses
perch on a fine moonflower
blooming yet grounded
born is such a wreath of charm
fondly called Thumbelina
~Poem 36
Silver shoes can take you anywhere
Maybe even home
But silver is just a shiny grey
And the quest for emerald can leave you jaded
The yellow brick road
Only leads up to a garden path
And the golden shower trees’ flowers
Swirl up to be ruins of a safe haven
In a stale pinafore
I have never felt more stripped
In a secure mock-neck
I have never felt more strangled
The wicked witch came with her weight
But remained the keeper of the royal tank
The cowardly lion came with all his might
But became a seeker of the storm’s eye
Oh Dorothy! Didn’t anyone tell you?
You can waddle all your way home
And harbour all the wishful thinking
But these moccasins will wear out one day.
~Poem 35
Author’s Note: The imagery is based on Wizard of Oz, a famous classic written by L. Frank Baum. “Royal Tank” denotes a neighbourhood in Delhi, i.e. Hauz Khas, a place that felt like home to me at one point. As opposed to the visual adaptation, the shoes that Dorothy wears in the books are actually silver. The color of the shoes was changed to red to take advantage of the new Technicolor film process used in big-budget Hollywood films of the era.
Trigger Warning/Disclaimer: mentions of death and suicide; also note that these are just passive thoughts.
Valerie Scarlett Cassandra was found dead on 28th February at the crack of dawn in her room, the only place that was familiar with all her inner demons. She had slit her wrists the previous night, for reasons inexplicable to others and somewhat even to her. All she could fathom was that she had lost the will to carry forward in life. She had no energy to carry out the most basic chores, including braiding her hair, brushing her teeth or even making her bed, let alone indulging in her interests of baking treats for her beloved ones, picking up a children’s classic to unfold layers of her distorted life or summarizing her thoughts with all the fanciest words she could find. But, just before she chose to end her life, she somehow found just the right amount of strength to grant herself all her desires one last time. A few hours before she passed away, the 27-year-old treated herself to a full English breakfast with some tea to go with it, and spent the rest of her day writing poetry, and even dolled up a bit in a fluttered-sleeve top, which she paired with a half-circle skirt and pranced around like she lived on a prairie. Some would say she celebrated her end.
It wasn’t until late evening that she decided to wrap up her life, but not without finishing her tasks — she made her room look all pretty with gingham bedsheets and vintage-inspired curtains, cleared her desk of scattered notes, and removed all the cobwebs and specs of dust that somehow mocked her very being. On entering her heavenly abode, one would see some fresh yellow and peach blooms entangled with a few stems of baby’s breaths, a bookshelf full of intellect, a collection of cameras that captured both staged and mundane seconds, and on further inspection – her drained body and soul with her lower limbs akimbo.
Tears and regrets lasted only a day, and everyone carried on as usual. The birds still sang in chorus, the fruits of spring hit the newly-tarred roads, people moved on like they would after a movie ended, and that is exactly what she wanted too. What she did wasn’t a cry for help, but a sign of being able to let go of worldly things.
If only it was easy to comprehend the paradox in feeling numb, this obituary would not sound morbid.
While the woods still bear the fruits of spring,
It will be you, me and your faint cologne
With cold sweat staining our glazed bedding,
It will be you, me and my yellow teeth
Under the april sun and cottonwood trees,
It will be you, me and your growing melanin
With feverish bodies wrapped in gingham prints,
It will be you, me and my yellow teeth
On a summer evening that feels like years,
It will be you, me and your snow blue jeans
With smiles that feel like softened butter,
It will be just you, me and my yellow teeth
To be continued…
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Washing emotions away (Picture credits: Sara Herranz) |
But as soon as I would summarise a comparison between the two, dusk would make it dawn on me- that they were possibly an ideal match, and I was unknowingly providing them with a potion that would let their saga blossom.
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One true pairing (Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it) |
She stood out—
In her balcony,
Others looked up—
With a look of pity.
‘On cloud nine’
Was a baseless paradigm
‘In seventh heaven’
Was used for the sake of rhyme.
The feathers of her pillow
Flew her to a dreamy creamy world
Needless to say, once dawn awoke
There were no wings to unfurl.
The caterpillar had it better
While its days in a confined space
Were calculated, were numbered
Hers were all but a fancy lace.
Folding a satin brooch of a butterfly
And a pair of scissors as a tool
She ripped off all its embellishments
To wind it around a wooden spool.
All she ever longed for
Was to witness a free fall
But the universe and her desire
Were engaged in an eternal brawl.
So she wove herself a set of wings
By letting her quill spill and sigh,
And others couldn’t possibly fathom
How she had learnt to fly.
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“What if I fall?” “Oh but my darling, what if you fly?” -e.h (Picture credits- Unknown; Source: We heart it) |
People who talk behind your back are like the enemies in platform games. They pretend they have lost track of you, once you dodge your way past them. But when you turn around to lift a coin, you see them following you.
— Jane
Put someone on the window seat and you’ll know how dreamy they are.
— Jane
Put someone on the middle seat and you’ll know how patient they are.
Put someone on the aisle seat and you’ll know how aloof they are.