Posted in Poem

The Last Few Calls

You came across these words
Glad, probably intrigued
Hence, here I assume you have a shelter to retreat
I know you can read;
I wish you understand.

The world has come to a standstill; even though for a brief timid while-
It had been all over the headlines
But there’s a mother in a village who knows not why-
The world is shutting down
While her’s isn’t even around.
What went wrong? Why was the voice trembling in those last few calls?
A wife cooks that humble delicacy now reduced to two or even one meal
She might not understand the written-
But deciphers the silent cries in those last few calls.
The little children roaming around had been asked to stay home
While their mother struggles to get their lessons right
They wish their father’s stories were a little more convincing over those last few calls.

-Ruchi Bhardwaj

Posted in Artwork, Poem

Can I?

Can I tell you a secret,
Even if my lips promised the head to keep mum?
Can I narrate you a story,
Even though I don’t want you to recognise the fiction reeking with reality?
Can I sing you a song,
Even if the music can’t hide the shenanigan beneath the happy lyrics?
Can I look into your eyes,
Even when mine would let you glance through the tears I have been holding back?
Can I say all the promises I make are mere words,
Even if I stay wide awake making the ends meet?
Can I walk you across that one dreaded street,
Even if it ends amidst the unkempt memory lane?
Can I show you all my fears,
Even if I won’t be able to mend you for eternity; followed by those beautiful years?
Can I paint you a picture,
Even if I wish to mask the vision blurry?
Can I write you a letter,
Even when the words fain to lead towards the true expression?
Can I leave a mark,
Even if you wish to flaunt you’ll embrace it hidden?
Can I say the rose on my cheek is newly bought,
Even when your presence does that to me?
Can- I – Can – I – Can; but-
Alas! I better keep that secret.

Posted in Artwork, Doodles, Poem

The Room Called Boudoir

Trapped in a room
There wasn’t just a woman
A man too; In total there were people three.
Always aware of what had to be done
He didn’t realize what has he done
His feelings were undressing-
Him being callous and cruel to one
While love daunted the woman who was deemed the OTHER.
She now dressed herself in scars;
Scars she was too shy to reveal
Too dignified to compare herself with the OTHER
And a bit undignified to be the one left behind alone; but only for a while.
They stood amidst the boudoir
Surrounded with confrontation-
While running towards oblivion
A room no more a room
But a storm of emotions
Flooded with being understood and misunderstood.