#poetry

August 16, 2019

” The stars were out and how bright they were!”

Chapter 5: Your Daily Horoscope

Fresh morning coffee brews in the kitchen,
no pants on, you open the crisp print of daily news,
What bothers you isn’t the presidency of the reigning superpower,
although we watch how it’s slowly crumbling,
Losing freedom which once weighed on its shoulder with overwhelming pride and vanity,

What bothers you is,
your daily horoscope,
“Mercury in retrograde”,
and not the vanishing rings of Saturn,
the relieving compensation of your sins in beautifully strung words,” A full moon in Aquarius means things are going to get weird.”,

And these illusions you hold between your fingers like an ornament,
or a fabric you wish to tie around your neck,
And remind yourself that every consequence is a result of a heavenly celestial body or otherwise a sinister hinderance,
All out of reach,
All distant,
yet so plausible,

How is it that the mind believes,
Antidotes for fever come in specific doses,
refuses to believe that some actions are to be held responsible by thy own,

It’s like romance, just pure belief and trust,
but it’s also like romance,
The yearning to belong somewhere,
to feel home somewhere,
to believe you are not alone,

(to believe all Aquarius are doomed)

And there,
you close this daily newspaper of yours in two folds,
Place it on the dining table with the weight of your coffee mug,
A little cream and sugar you add to the coffee,
Give it a stir and three clinks by the rim,
sip away your fascinations and imaginations,
And get on with your day.

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#poetry, Uncategorized

January 28, 2018

“these two pictures, disjointed and disconnected and nonsensical as they were, were for ever coming together and combating each other and had me entirely at their mercy.”

Chapter 4: I carry uncertainties

 

There’s an unfathomable weight resting in my body,

Something so heavy hanging from my lungs,

I want to ignite an inextinguishable flame,

I do not know how,

I have so many questions and I’m running away from them,

 

I want to know how the graveyard carries disembodied souls,

And still makes the wilting flower bouquet look beautiful,

I want to know how people cry when they see the cold cement,

Bearing someone else’s name,

 

For I am unable to make myself cry and I feel like a disembodied soul,

I am in disgust,

I am that wilting flower and they still call me beautiful,

 

I want to know how to exist in this very moment,

And paint joy over my body,

My lungs feel heavier,

My head hangs and my neck hurts,

I apologise for this morbidity,

But I want to feel and I don’t know how,

 

I want to see the nightingale sing tonight,

I want to breathe the cold winter air,

I want to stand still and just let everything pass and relapse in time,

Perhaps I am asking too much,

Perhaps I only have to let it pass,

And wait for time to break dusk into dawn,

 

There will be a new day and,

My lungs may breathe,

I will stop running and,

Will build an eternal flame,

I will carry this disembodied soul and,

Place a crown over my head,

I will still be called beautiful.  

 

Song for today : 

Little Talks – Of Monsters and Men

#poetry

November 12, 2018

“Fate has always been the realm of the gods, though even the gods are subject to it.”

Chapter 3: How I protect the poetic heart

 

Do not trust the poetic heart,
do not bestow it with such a thing called trust,
a heart that is so naive and foolish always treads on the hems of uncertainties,
romanticising the concept of fate.

Fate: a gamble of few possibilities weighing against each other,
ask an intellect, and it would be otherwise known as a casual complexity,

the poetic heart never understands the cause and effect relationship,

tragedy is always bearable when it is known that one does not have any hand in it.

A poetic heart lives in a nebulous space
in between a foolish belief and unapologetic acceptance,

the poetic heart celebrates obscurities,
it accepts half-truths in totality.

If I were to carry a poetic heart,
I wouldn’t know what I’d do,
I would probably reek of love,
my poetic heart might paint huge billboards with ridiculous amounts of hope,
colouring the diabolic world with unrequited love.

It would be a silent adventure to find sinister comfort in impending tragedies,
like the sudden disappearance of a smile on both cheeks would be welcomed with open arms,
a star will not be awaited to disappear and a black hole will be painted in advance,
home would find a new place, it would be less tangible,
home would be replaced as a state of mind like the first hit of a sea-breeze,
the spiralling vortex with no ends will be made slightly exciting,
childhood memories will find a safe place in an old cassette or CD.

If I were to carry a poetic heart, I would let it protect me against the ugliest odds.

#poetry, Uncategorized

October 2, 2018

“They started leading me out of the crowd, and I have to admit for the first time in a very very long time, I felt absolutely happy.”

Chapter 2:  The romance of sunsets and a playlist

stained teacup by the window sill,

lavender swatches across dusty clouds strewn haphazardly,

across the long drawn blues,

scarlet plays catch with the aching blues,

stained teacup by the window sill,

close to the swatches of the dusty glass windows,

lavender appears across the clouds haphazardly,

the blues of the transient sky still remains,

it still remains, aching, waiting for scarlet to play catch,

unflinchingly and  unabashedly,

the stain grows stronger,

the pale ceramic turns a murky auburn and still remains by the window sill,

trying to belong to the transience of the sweet lavender,

trying to wash away what’s left, what’s leeching onto it,

trying to paint a little scarlet, 

it aches just as the blue, 

for it knows such transience is only fictional for its existence,

just as Van Gogh paints his intestines yellow

just as he he thought he could paint a little happiness inside him.

 

Playlist today:

Rock on- Tum ho toh

Rock on- Yeh tumahri meri baatein

jaane tu ya jaane na- Tu bole main bolu

Prateek Kuhad- Kadam

Zindagi na meligi dobara- Sooraj ki baahon mein

 

 

 

Uncategorized

September 29, 2018

“But mostly, I was crying because I was suddenly very aware of the fact that it was me standing up in that tunnel with the wind over my face. Not caring if I saw downtown. Not even thinking about it. Because I was standing in the tunnel. And I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite.”

Chapter 1: The Beginning

This is my first official blog post  and I would like to address all my posts as a chapter. Today, I’d like to begin this chapter and this blog with a small list of things that makes me happy:

  • Julia Robert’s Smile
  • Jimmy Fallon
  • Robin Williams running gloriously on a field as a cheerleader
  • First sip of morning coffee
  • A hot shower
  • Tuesdays with Morrie
  • Patrick from Perks of Being a Wallflower
  • My 5 close buddies who are more than family
  • Sunsets
  • Puppers
  • A good cup of tea in the evening

 

 Here’s a little poem written by me to close today’s chapter

WhatsApp Image 2018-09-28 at 21.29.38

Boisterous laughter leak through broken pipes,

Breaking long drawn silences and painting technicolor on the surface of grey,white and black,

Rebellion reeks in the cold, bitter corridors of the hallway,

Sun finds way through crevices and reflects against fragile glass and mirrors,

coated with dust,

collecting dust ,

Sun finds way through crevices and reflects against fragile glass and mirrors,

coating orange and yellow,

making most of its life creating a warm embrace.