In a white flowy dress, On an evergreen hilltop, Under the lovely tree top, And beside the spilling stream, I look on, as nature absorbs my uneasiness.
However,
I feel too light and free, Like a strand of bougainvillea flowers, Peeking over the other side of the fence, To observe the lotus all by itself, And so, nature’s gloominess sinks in my mind.
Just then,
He turns up in his flannel shirt, So warm and heavenly scented, Its checks amount to the depth of his heart, And its cuffs romance his wrists, While his corduroy jeans trace the grass.
And suddenly,
My heart feels just about right, As I find home, in his embrace, Where I fit in, so snugly, That my necklace hooks onto his buttons, And his breaths sync with my grief.
So,
Please make me cry, Be that typical society, Be that ruthless critique, As someone is glaring at you with disgust Just for even considering my request.
Here incityscapes I just want the delicate breeze To lend me a butterfly kiss And carry away the gloom from the afternoon. Thesecloudscapesare way too tempting They make me want to float with them But I am doomed with logic and limits And left with mediocre alternatives. I step intostreetscapes Out of my midday discomfort I trace the graffiti and picturesque walls Searching for signs of paradise, but fail miserably. I sprint acrossmoonscapes They aren’t appeasing, they don’t suffice In letting me witness how a moonbow is cast Or providing a guiding light towards home. So I rely ondreamscapes To dream within a dream may not be A random act of escapism after all At least I get to adjust what I envision.
Never did a man fancy Ribbons or bows Till a tiny tot Tugged at his toes.
Promptly, but not intentionally I snatched the place of his lady love- And she was now bound to be on Either side of my glove.
Everything he bought for her Now came in a pair of two But somehow the reverse Was barely ever true.
It was never a matter of shame To serve him by pulling out his socks And he could be the one To get me into frocks.
Our bond was a fresh example of faith As when he would fling me up in the sky Even a perfect couple remained curious For when I would let out a cry.
As time flew by Puberty struck me Mild touches turned awkward Not even with the exception of a bruised knee.
Tantrums no longer worked in my favour
Nor could I argue that red wasn’t close to pink Instead he was ready with a cane Somehow that was enough to loosen our link.
I met my love in my later years But he couldn’t perceive my emotions Instead he disapproved with a countless explanations And subsequently cited what I felt as notions.
He appeared to be friendly Yet failed at being a friend Because when I needed support He seemed preoccupied even on the weekend.
Gone were those days Of not being tied down by restrictions But now when he comes home late My heart develops a series of intuitions.
His fragile arm sticks out From his flannel shirt Aimlessly flicking through channels As I stretch my little skirt.
He passes the salad bowl From across the table And mashes up his food to cover His worry of my being stable.
~Poem 21
Some bonds are magical (Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)
Thrice upon a time, I chose the glossy finished wood It seemed like a dime, From where I stood.
An ounce of forgiveness, Along with a downpour of the holy river Has only caused me to be a mess And a walking wound generator.
Even the banyan tree shakes its head, And lowers its prop roots further To say I don’t deserve even a death bed, Let alone being pardoned by a mother.
Throughout the path, I subconsciously got tangled in ivy Assuming I wouldn’t require a calamine bath, And brush everything off slyly.
Now I sit here by the lake, All alone on a slimy wooden log For my own goodness’ sake, Passing the buck on the fog.
I can easily ask for a third second chance, And after yet another repeated sigh I will vow not to call it a happenstance, But the real doubt is- Will I?
Oh! How foolish was I to think, That because counting deeds is a sin Draining my misdeeds in the sink, Would mean they’d flow into the mouth of a bin.
_
A day will come when I will stop my search, For a u-turn in a one way But, my soul will continue to lurch, As that day will be doomsday.
~Poem 20
Searching for a U-turn in a one way (Picture credits: Unknown; Source: We heart it)
Prologue An evil eye spots them It sees them canoodling Its eyes bleed the colour of blood And its face catches that of fungi. Chapter 1 Back in the days, When love wasn’t synonymous With the act of treachery Two lovebirds came and perched on my lap. One was the girl next door The other a charming lad She would hesitate while lifting her lashes While he couldn’t resist peeking from beneath. With a little mischiefs here and there They quarrelled for the space That belonged right under the tree shade Or the one far from the water spout. Chapter 2 His excuse was to collect her tidbits Hers was to take a stroll Soon, they became frequent visitors And I a constant medium for the same. Out of all my guests They happened to be my dearest As I got to witness and devour The purest emotion of all. In order to serve them With the best of my potential I would fan myself diligently When the rain showed no mercy on me.
Chapter 3 Once she was sobbing Draining all of her energy Just then he came along And entwined his breaths with hers. On the contrary, She poked his wounds, Even when they’d turned into scabs For the scars still remained.
It was never to trigger him Or fiddle with his emotions But it was to make him feel; Make him feel how it is to feel.
Chapter 4 – Plot twist Everything was going smoothly And a lover’s tiff was usual Until a garden wall full of creepers Popped right out of the blue. It was a third party That couldn’t stand them as one So it ignited a fire around the two And pretended to be the extinguisher!
The plan worked accordingly To what the extra human had in mind And despite my sincere plea They sought the path of destruction.
Chapter 5 Everything had changed As their egos turned into a new sense organ Thus, they could no longer see the tolerance Between the butterflies and the bees. Now when her tears were evident He looked past it, and when he did showcase A decent amount of concern It came out a bit ruthlessly.
Whereas for me it was like losing a leg And being in a perpetual state of disequilibrium Where winters occurred 365 days a year And the fate of a rusted swing.
Epilogue They lived happily never after. Alternate Ending They returned one fine evening To collect what they had misplaced, In the first place- Their unsaid oaths of love.
They do not know, what it is To be inked down by heaven Especially in typewriter font, Be romanticised alongside Novels, logs and even more novels, In a ridiculously fragile binding, That has been marred by an iron grill Tainted with tea stains And yellowed by an overdose of spring. Our words may be missing, Our insides may be stuck, Our edges may be cut But, We never miscommunicate We overcome all hindrances We don’t let a page number define our togetherness. They call our papery pages Grey, gray and boring When they are just a wilted rose That travels through each chapter Without grasping anything, Or, When they are just a postage stamp That guarantees to send our message across Without knowing its contents. Darling, they’ll probably never figure out That we are a classic novel Being published as we go on.
The prime hour to repent, Hatches a drenched silhouette, They say it’s okay, but when one leans Their act is claimed as a call for the limelight.
Legs akimbo and spirit spent,
Wrapped neither in silk, nor in velvet,
But in a pair of tapered jeans, Anticipating a flash of a spotlight.
When confined to bricks and cement, All one has is a bottomless palette, Dreary enough to drain the greens, Yet brimming with yellows and blues in hindsight.
When dawn sprays its everlasting scent,
The sun will gradually blush scarlet, Let this torture sprout like a stalk of beans Because I am sleeping in my blue jeans tonight.
~Poem 16
Sleeping in blue jeans (Picture credits: Unknown; Source: Piccsy)
