Posted in Poem

I Am Not Superstitious, Touchwood.

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”.

Posted in Poem

As The Age Goes By

Victim of gadgets and networks
Funny, how we think of flowers, trees and birds chirping-
A foliage from mountains and waves from unknown seas drift right across the bittersweet memory lane
Days pass by-
A few with new learnings
A few with breath afresh
A few with just breaths.

Meaning or none; Feelings or some
Time- it doesn’t cease
From bud- to flower- to withered remnants all lost in blink of an eye
We try to heal from “wounds of actions”
Only to find ourselves etched with “scars of experience”
Creations once brimming with youth
Narrations now by voices forever tired
A medley of gallantry: no, I am not certain
A hum of survival: a lullaby before I say the final goodbye.

Posted in Artwork, Poem

Memories I Wish Weren’t Mine

Have you ever been in memories?
No, not in love- that in itself is a bitter ball game
But in memories of someone not for a day or two-
Somehow, managing to take heed for an eternity
Not the same forever
A picture- new and vivid being painted each time
One morning, a flicker of the first kiss
Another night, all the reasons why you walked away
An evening filled with contemplation of who’s, what’s and why’s
A noon in remembrance of all promises made with fingers crossed and heart set free
A dusk of those absurd fairy lights with giggles and laughter
A dawn of tears when we couldn’t stand each other.
Do you ever stop by in someone’s dream?
In nightmares hurting them;
A little more dramatic than reality,
In day dreams- as stories that were never lived.
Do you know? Do you realise?
Somehow I wish they weren’t just mine.

Artwork- Akash Patwal; Poem- Ruchi Bhardwaj.

Posted in Experience, People, Poem

A Man Sleeping On The Road

Wasn’t a morning, neither a night
It was just a noon- a time nobody cares to write with pride
That is when I met him
Rather a glance while he was at rest.
A beggar, a thief or just another vagrant-
Simply I do not know.
I saw a man that just ‘another afternoon’-
A man sleeping on the road,
The penchant for pain was obvious
Hence, I stood there in awe and wonder
No alcohol, just a dirty pillow beneath his dreams
An ugly torn quilt atoning the crimes of that winter wind.
I looked and looked; It was more than a while
Tucked in during the day time
A tiny wound let his head hurt
Did anyone sing him a lullaby?
Did anyone, anyone kiss him good night?
When ire of his destiny started knocking at the door of my empathy-
That is when I decide to get past

I saw the man
Now a chilly night
He still was tucked in, sleeping sound
I stepped towards him
That is when derision mocked life
He still was at rest, but now in peace .

-Ruchi Bhardwaj

Posted in Doodles, Experience, Poem

The House In The Village

After years of dodging; every occasion with a more bitter excuse
Finally came a day when somehow the visit just couldn’t be refused
From far away, that house in village stood still and tall
Now haunted with lifelessness
On inside did it suddenly grow small?
Or was it the memory of it that brimmed with grandeur?
The windows creak
The walls reek
Spiders smile weaving a trap of nostalgia
The garden once full of roses and lemons is now musty;
Haunted by emptiness somehow braved through my grandmother’s beliefs-
Evident by the statue of Shiva I remembered since I could remember;
Survived lessons from my cousins teaching me to play games-
While I stood there being timid, young and shy.

Monkeys in the yard
My aunt’s smirky remarks
Talking to uncles altogether a hurdle-
I knew I never would fit in there,
Now affirmed.
Yet the lullaby from past lingered longer
Singing to me of a wish why did I let go so easy-
So early at an age so tender!
Alas! Now it is too late to return
Only reminscence, what hath been done cannot be undone.

Posted in Doodles, Poem

What Does She Seek?

A pretty lady with thoughts gruesome
A heart lady-like but deeds one and all unkind
She looked fear in face-
No act of medallion or an attempt of being brave;
The mere trouble that she craved.
A wish to leave it all behind
Yet a victim of trauma and memory that she cherished and longed to embrace
Each day a new person aids her introspect the vacillating soul
Better or worse- she doesn’t realise upon dusk or dawn.
She’s curious, not lost
She’s not damaged, just hurt
She seeks muse, not love
She’s tired, not afraid
She is heartbroken, not disappointed;
Or is this all she speaks to put herself to sleep each passing night?

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, Poem

Horrors Of The Female Body

Media: pencils, 2B and 5B

Each morning she would wake up to a dream-

A dream so deluded with perfection

Ball gowns and dainty glass slippers scattered across her boudoir

Alas! It would vanish opening her eyes to the difficulties and the forbidden realities.

She stood in front of the mirror-

Thinking of the norms of beauty

She skipped a heartbeat or two

As the realisation dawned upon her that she was hideous-

Or was it her vision for the eye to be pleased that she fained to redeem with!

Each noon she would come across women-

Frivolous and jittery; dispersed all along in a fashion too random

To her a few were pretty; And a few blatantly ugly.

Each night she would go home

Undressed- standing in front of the mirror yet again

She knew she wasn’t perfect

Analysing herself from head to toe-

She felt captured by her endless flaws

Her expression would shrink to that of personified melancholy

All she wished for was a procrastinated meet with the horrors of the female body.

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.

Posted in Artwork, Doodles, Poem

WORDS

Words, if they had a name
I’ll call them agony
For every minute of pain they welcomed.
Words, if they had a name
I’ll call them misery
For every tear a poet could shed.
Words if they could scar
I’ll silently let them mark every inch of my skin-
Beneath and beyond- untill the sadist dies a learned death.
Words- I’ll let them pour
Untill and unless the fear is drenched-
And now has a cure.
Words, I’ll let them bruise
Because violet purple red and blue-
They come with avid hues.
Words, if and only if they had a name-
I’ll call them illusion
Because in the end did we really understand?