My words will hurt more than the loss The story I would narrate will speak more than I ever did to you No matter the pain you brought upon me No matter how evil of you I speak I pray for you to never be my muse.
Hidden beside the glory of being remembered eternally There lies the misery of truth too bitter for you to taste Your words left more scars upon my skin and beneath I fear- so much chaos I cannot contain Neither the excitement nor the joy Neither the agony nor the fears.
Sure, with utter delight I would paint your pictures in colour But wait for the colour as it eventually disappears Do you dare to witness the hullabaloo reek? Do you dare to see yourself step down from the pedestal within my heart and thoughts? Do you dare to see my attempts to heal by blotching my paper- Sometimes with ink, sometimes with colour, but mostly in tears? Do you dare to be drawn in an attempt to be buried in the graveyard of memories? I thought so- In honor of the good times we shared long ago, I pray for you to never be my muse.
Through years of learning and madmen humming I grew up listening to music that was a bliss, With years of taste and daunting intellect I felt the force of tunes could bind people together- Sometimes in name of attraction, mostly claiming it to be a forever.
With years of experience and a few heartbreaks- a little over one or two I was entrapped in realisations of lyrics being cursed Not the rhythm, or the melody Sheer words sent by a lover- Deciphered as his eternal feelings Too late to be reciprocated only to learn that eternity here was short lived.
Oh! That one song from him And the another from one before They speak of clear intentions- A baritone saying My Love Will Never Die And the one was it righteously named Ruin My Life? Alas! these and Johnny Cash smugly sitting in a candidly curated playlist Reminding me of lovers from past A few more minutes of shattering a heart- And hours and may be days of reliving the moments of chaos that follows a severe loss.
From one playlist, the songs might seep and merge into others May be I’ll become numb to these tunes May be I’ll sing the words out loud like they were my own jam But I’ll not erase the face that appears before my eyes- Only learn to silently smile as if the torments were tamed.
Slightly grazing my hair- oh it was sunny That day it felt a tidbit funny Something didn’t come across as right What was it- I couldn’t put a finger on quite. May be those were my shoes that felt itchy To solve the riddle, an unsettling puzzle- I moved ahead and took a walk I was meeting with answers but wasn’t sure of veracity In a quest to seek affirmation I made a decision, may be with a tinge of bizarre- I walked further to try on shoes that belonged to others.
The first shoe was warm from misery of a lost lover The second seeped agony from unexplainable deeds The third harboured chaos from qualms of kin, I could feel the sadness for one and for all But- with an ick ’cause of my own thoughts Thoughts- afflicted by experiences of past. What do I do?
I stepped back in my own shoes Alas! Now were they drenched with ideas Ideas that might have not been mine Reeking of stories I never lived, only attempted to empathize. Alas! Now it’s all blurry And my head running haywire with no decision to make- Without considering a bit too much. What could I do? I was living the curse of empathy.
He is tall but used to be taller Weighed down by responsibilities, shrunken with age His ego has now ebbed away as he brims with pride- Ah! Those grand children and their glories he cannot stop talking about or may be try and hide.
Done with his fair share of responsibilities Still anxious to make his children and grandchildren succeed He wishes to see their next conquest and subtly even great grand children. Passing on the tradition from one generation to another- He aims to keep the lineage pure But embraces the changing times with a clear scoff. Stubborn just as am I, we know he is kind He is made of experience and days that were a little too harsh.
In turn of events life played the inevitable turncoat- Left him alone with people he loved Each day he silently sheds a tear- As his wife who rested her head on his chest now rests in peace. He is strong but used to be stronger Calmness harboured by him- I hope it never reaches stillness Now he scolds a little less and hugs a little longer My Grandpa’s hugs are now warmer.
Recently I had a chance to collaborate with Smriti Gautam on a project with subject that we share a mutual interest for- women and the overpowering emotions.
Here is a glimpse of a very strong emotion- insecurity, that women face often and how they deal with it or choose to live with it.
A birth mark that looks a lil’ uncanny A beauty spot in place revealing which feels funny Scars from the everyday battle called life Etched on my skin is my story. Gazing at the color- The pensive pigments and frivolous freckles I see myself from a stranger’s eyes The eyes with a shattering voice caging me in notions of beauty Peeping at the mirror- I stand, I quiver, I introspect A narrative of glory was written only to be trapped in qualms of unfortunate desire Alas! I cover most of it- Forging a smile attempting to embrace silence of my skin.
Days, weeks, months and years pass I question who am I- I discover many talents and some experiences worth tooting Only. If only, I had the courage to stand tall with no fear of those wretched eyes and unkind voices Alas! I stand covering myself in a piece of cloth constantly feeling naked. The day I break away from the chains of being wanted The moment I learn to savour my unconventional beauty That day shall my skin recite the glorious tale of “becoming” Till then I’ll stumble upon zones beyond comfort wishing to nurture who I am.
A big thanks to Smriti Gautam and all the lovely ladies who shared a piece of themselves and their stories with us.
After ages of tossing and turning on wrong side of an empty bed Asking myself questions about the world, the crises and vividly my own existence I lay awake- no more; battling the torments of purposelessness I lay naked with a blanket of thoughts keeping me warm to spend a peaceful night No man beside- just tomorrow’s ordeals to make me feel alive.
As the sun rise- I shall embrace new beginnings with dawn I shall set foot for my journey- I know of directions, destination yet being anticipated. After a day’s hardwork- I’ll smile for trying The food will taste sweeter with flavors of progress I shall then sleep well- visited by dreams brimming with meaning Might be nightmares; just a little kind- For my body shall lay too dog-tired to pay any heed.
Exhausted by one, traumatized by another People are fickle yet they love each other Are we desperate, needy and alone? Wait, let’s not set that undertone.
We act fierce; irony- in the interest of life so farce But isn’t it healing when a friend sees your scars? People are annoying- with those quarrels and bickering But isn’t it cozy when a parent listens to your qualms?
People bring drama- chaos muddled in heaps But why does it hurt when a beloved weeps? We wish we had never known someone But why do we tear up to see them leave for a distant land?
Happy curious excited astonished envious, wrath fear sadness confusion jealousy Emotions too twisted to decipher Not as layered as a person Yet here we attempt to unravel each other.
In times of uncertainty My thoughts being naive- they brim with curiosity Maybe, maybe I feel and might I even understand Still- can someone answer my question in words that are clear Here again I ask- ‘ why is it that we love’?
Not one not two- there stood a queue never-ending Each one splendid with joy Holding a spot for the friend beloved- For a gathering dressed down- a little too rugged Ushering the loved ones gleaming with joy What was the occasion! I could only wonder as a passerby.
Curiosity led me to the front of the line Whilst I heard the intense remarks of a day being gracious Oh to my surprise! It was a celebration Oh to my dismay! An ill served meal was the occasion . Hungry stomachs and tired hearts were being fed But what happens to the day that comes next?
Coins scarcely managed for a day of survival Shall now be kept aside for a daughter’s dowry dragged till the law-approved age Or even better saved for a son’s education Empowering him to work at a humble position in an office barely fancy- An upgrade worth aspiring from the startling slums! With dreams being fuelled- indeed, the meal was scrumptious.
The roses on earth are colored pink, yellow and white Somehow it is always the red that them people crave- Layered and beautiful, tender yet fierce Erotically scarlet- so has he been told The cupid struck the arrow But he understands not Not blind, but colorblind- The rose he sees is not red.
Two people meeting together, At times even ‘some’ becoming one The usuals, straights, queer, extraterrestrial what not- All the glitters, butterflies, drama and hate The cupid knows what did he create But he feels not.
The magic in the air, a spell hard to get rid of Red flags decorated as dainty- A little too in love to ignore A sweet disaster worth the taste, a tempting high worth the chase The cupid sees the forbidden fruit But he desires not.
Flip flip flop flop, flip and a flop- The flip-flops on the floor went on quite a toss Nothing unusual just a pair lying upside down on the floor As I stare at them trying to decode where all have they been Appears a friend rushing, she slaps her own face- A reflex to deviate the quarrel that shall follow I smirk at the peace bearer for missing out on her lessons in science.
The diva in me stood awake one night Before dinner I proceed to paint my nails pretty from pale Cutting them in the right shape- I dare not compromise on the tiny streak of glamour Click! I cut them off- Appears my mother horrified, she banters about the disrespect- A fear masked in the name of disobedience I pity the tradition for not evolving with time.
Are you afraid of them too? I asked my grandmother looking at the cat that just passed by She stood in silence for a while As I noticed the color black Appear her words calling the creature demonic- Waiting to escape the years of bad luck I sympathize with the feline for the misconstructed symbolism.
I share the day’s details with a man of wisdom Seeking logic behind actions Too proud as the one being rational Bragging about the mind boggling progressions Appears the thought I shouldn’t have let out- “I am not superstitious, touchwood”.