Poetry

Alive //

// i feel heaviness in my limbs
hurt in my chest
hope on overgrown cuticles
they say i look dead
but i have never felt more alive
never quite realised how heavy
the burden of breathing is. //

Poetry, Quill

Bravehearts In A War

Bravehearts often fall asleep,
With wounds inside their minds,
Yet silently they wash away,
Crimson off their eyes,

War is noble, war is good,
Preach it to a child,
And soon enough all it knows,
Is war torments the kind,

And all you wanted was for men,
To be vicious and vile,
To slay your foe, to be an end,
To all that made one smile,

You wanted war and all was lost,
Beasts kept running wild,
You might’ve won, but at what cost,
Again, I see that child,

Guillotine upon your neck,
A fire in its eyes,
Alas a monster that you made,
Was causing your demise,

“Don’t be scared now, be a man”,
I hear it in my brain,
I’m still afraid and I’ll always be,
But I’ll be a man again,

“Cry like a man”, I’ll tell my child,
For I know those tears are pure,
He’ll be whatever he wants to be,
Of that I will make sure,
I hope he opens up to me,
So those wounds could still be cured,
Oh what a braveheart that must be,
Unafraid to be insecure.

Poetry, Quill

The Woman I Love

Dear Mother
She’s beautiful
A little dark complexion
With beautifully highlighted features
Her arms exposing the stories of her life,
And oh her words, the way they make me smile.
She’s everything you said my life partner should be
Mother, She’s everything I need.

Dear mother,
I am scared
I do not really know how you would feel
Or react perhaps, when the love of my life would you meet.

But didn’t you always tell me that she’s a safe place?
When at the age of 12 you
taught me the difference between a male and a female.
When a ‘girl’ friend meant ‘perfect’
And a ‘guy’ friend meant ‘slut’
Then why today when I am in love with a girl,
Am I looked down upon?
Why is it not okay?

When at the age of 20, it was suddenly okay to bring women inside my bedroom
But not men. . .
Then why when today I want to bring her home,
Is it not okay?

When in 7th standard I walked my way back from school to home,
Were you not the one who said ‘Baby, befriend
girls and do not let any guy travel the distance with you’
Then why when today I want to walk
the aisle of my life with her,
Is it not okay???? You are deemed ‘the perfect girl’ your entire life
for you did exactly what they said.
What’s that? You may ask
Well, for starters you had around You more of females
And less of these men they called ‘beast’
Main course had these dishes with extra flowing repellant behaviour towards male friends
And the delicious desert offered you the opportunity to finally be semi-naked inside your bedroom with your girl-friends,
Then why today when you want that one girl around for the rest of your life,
Is it not okay?

When sharing the same lady’s room is the rule,
When listening to ‘Hey I like your bra’ is the ultimate goal
Then why today when my body aches to touch her, to love her
Is it a sin?
Why is it not Okay?

Dear society,
Love is boundless
Love is the purest form of life
Then why my love is not loving?
Why I have limits, laws claiming me
Holding me in shackles
Why the same girl everyone loved,
The same girl termed pure
Is now a disgrace. . .

Poetry

Pretty Empty

The air smells like a wildfire,
And I keep breathing it in,
I’ve found myself drawn to windows,
And balconies keep whispering,
They love it when I’m not around,
It’s silent and I make it grim,
Some things are best left emptied out,
It’s pretty when it’s never seen,
Perhaps that’s why I feel a void,
A void where no one’s ever been,
It’s pretty enough to hurt my eyes,
It’s best to leave it buried within,
I wish to come another time,
But I wouldn’t dare to begin.

Poetry

I Saw You Lying

It was a normal afternoon,
Cappuccino mugs; crescent rolls,
Decorative crystal pots,
Under the blaze of clear skies.
She was lying there wondering,
Drowning in the sweet misery,
As he was sabotaging the ties of their relationship,
Little water droplets running down her rosy red cheeks,
Coming from somewhere lying deep down inside her heart,
With a Mozart song playing in background,
Her heart is racing ; it’s pounding and deafening
The beatings,the words, he left her weak but her heart can’t let go,
She wants to hate him, for all the awful things he did yet she always found herself running to him,

She’s heartbroken that he looked into those eyes and lied ,
All the ‘dire’ meetings when he got ready hastily at night,
and slowly slipped into her bed at 5 am in the morning,
So she lies there,
Wondering why would she never be enough?
Wanting to mend the holes inflicted on her soul,
she knows, as soon as the bell rings,
She would open the door , whilst her mind whispers with a rasping voice like a rewinded record ,
she would be smiling at the outside, but she’s dead inside
And once more, he would smile & sleep thinking that’s he’s adept at the art of lying
And she would know that he couldn’t see the truth because he doesn’t look into her eyes anymore,

He’s the burn of a cigarette smoke,
He’s harmful,
He’s causing pain , she’s drowning in grief,
Yet she needs him, she craves him.
While he, takes a drag with his other lover.

Poetry, Quill

Phoenix

I am shoved under,
My opinion is shushed,
My soul, sundered.
Day after day, scorching my existence
Day after day, disdaining my resistants
Worldly affairs might burn me down
Turn me into ash and extol my breakdown but,
I am the PHOENIX and I’ll rise from the ground.
I am the PHOENIX and I’ll rise from the ground.

Poetry

My Mind

Oh mind
Why you play
The same melodious song again
Oh mind
Why you sing
The same wonderful words again
Whereas you know
I am the only one
To listen to it
 
Closing my eyes
Perched, relaxed
Oh mind…
You are making
My inner soul dance
To that melody
Whereas you know
I am the only one
To watch it
 
A soothing breeze
Kissed my cheeks
And wrapped me
With a sweet scent
And made my eyes open…
Amazingly saw
The nature too dancing
To the melodious song
Of my mind…
To the melodious song
Of my mind…

Poetry, Quill

The Weaver

Amidst the rain
Amidst the thunder
There was a tiny weaver
Seeking to build itself a nest
Typical yet stood out the rest.
The tree swirled a million times
The twigs kept falling off the climb
Still determined.
That bird endured the bitter clime
It tried and tried until the nest held shape
And not for once did the bird even attempted an escape
What startled me the most was not the nest
It was average looking yet better than the rest
What startled me the most was the bird.
Its persistence its trivial and its pluck
And if that tiny weaver could brook such a hefty trap
What has made us handicapped?

Poetry, Quill, Write Ups

A Gospel //

// you can build the thickest,
strongest, tallest door but
grief will find its way in ;
you can have the perfect body
but sadness with find itself a spot ;
you can surround yourself with
all the fanciest things yet
your heart will yearn for love ;
you can pretend to be numb
but loneliness with demand to be felt ;
however ordinary or extraordinary
lives we may lead,
we are all plagued by our sorrows,
just hoping tomorrow brings less pain. //

Poetry, Quill

माँ

मैं मिलों दूर ही सही
वो कभी फासला नहीं करती
मैं कभी भूल भी जाऊं बात करना
वो कभी मलाल नहीं करती
मेरी याद में बहाती होगी आसूं बहुत
मगर दर्द को अपने बयान नहीं करती
मांगती रहती है जाने दूआएं कितनी
पूछूं जो कभी तो कहती है गिना नही करती
दे कर अपना सब कुछ मुझको
वो माँ ही तो है जो कभी हिसाब नहीं करती |