Poet's Block

It’s stuck in my throat

It refuses to go in, it fails to come out

All it does all day

is ruin the taste of what I eat,

All it does

is flavor the words that I say;

I don’t know what it wants

This poem that needs to leave

But wants to stay.

There are two kinds of happy places in my head

Scene one is in summers

Scene two in the depths of winters

Here I am lying on the sand, near a beach

There I sit, in the fog next to a bonfire

Here, no clothes, just my skin and the wind

There, wrapped around in the arms of someone I love

Here, the sound of waves filling up my senses

There, the calming music of your breath

Here, the scent of water

There, the perfume of your skin

Here, the quiet bursting dance of being independent

There, the joy of never feeling alone again.

How to really break up with someone

You don’t have to say it again and again

Sometimes it doesn't work;

You can try not talking to him for a while

But it’s difficult to forget a face so beautiful;

Try hating him for no reason

But you’ll end up hating yourself;

Try, if you can, to fall in love with someone else

But we all know the Ross/ Russ story*;

Ask me how to really break up with someone

And I’ll tell you

Tell him the truth

He’ll run away.

*refer to Friends, Season 2 Episode 10

A Poem by a Woman

I poop. I have hair everywhere.

Above my lips and below them.

I have hair in places you always thought had none.

I have hair in places you want to visit, check out.

I have eyebrows that are shaped every three weeks

to look like a curve, a road, a neat path

so that you don’t feel lost when you see me.

I also pee. Sometimes I fart.

I sneeze, more than a quiet sound, and then things come out of my nose.

I love laughing out loud even if I sound like a witch.

My eyes are not always full of kohl.

Sometimes my lips have more than a coat of gloss,

They have anger, and bitter words.

Sometimes, I cry. I’m not always happy and smiling.

There are nights when under the sheets

my hands slip into my underwear,

I masturbate.

Some days my shoulders hunch, I don’t always walk straight

And I like to sit with my legs wide open.

Once every month, I menstruate for four days

There’s blood, it’s thick and red and dark

And it hurts, and it flows continuously,

Also, my clothes hide it well,

but I have a tummy and marks and scars

from childhood games.

Every day you expect me to hide who I am

from you

So that I can become an image you can idolize

an object too perfect.

But, when you cut me, I bleed.

I’m human.

Things I Think of When I Look at the Stars

I stare at all those stars hurdled together,
so natural, almost like dandruff in someone's hair
and think to myself how happy they look together
but also how far they are from each other,
but there are so many, so many stars in the sky;
I ask them if they look after each other
take care of each other, or just live on their own;
I often think to myself that there are
so many people in the world, so many people,
then why should anyone ever have to feel alone?

Covered in mud from head to toe

I don’t like the way I look anymore

So messed up, so dirty, so gross

No, I don’t like this feeling anymore

It’s a dream, I know

It’s out of control, I know

It isn’t real, I guess

But I just don’t like this mess

Insects are crawling

Mosquitoes all around

It itches so bad

And yet somehow

I can’t get myself to wake up

Then all of a sudden

In this crazy dream

Someone arrives and walks up to me

It’s the mud doctor, I believe

To fix me, to get rid of the mud

Takes me hand, and starts to dig it out

Digs in deep, does the best he could

Digs too deep, more than he should

I look at my hand

It’s horrifying

I look again

It’s terrifying

There is no skin, no blood

I have no body

I am the mud.

Keep stalking him till the liberating day

When you realize that you’re okay with not knowing

About his statuses and who they were written for,

When he last came online and who he spoke to.

Keep following his steps

Between the pillars of Facebook and Whatsapp

To see if he has left even the slightest footprint of his thoughts

On the vast sand of social media.

And when you find those footprints

Dig deep till you find shells, and bones, and bottle caps

Keep looking for that one item of yours

That once belonged to you

The one that you gifted to him

The item that no longer knows

Who it belongs to.

I wonder if it would help if I knew how you kiss

And your favorite place to kiss,

I want to know how you’d hold a girl

when you realize you love her;

And how your body burns in her presence;

I've tried to imagine your smile when you see her,

And how your breathing slows down

when you hug her tight;

I imagine your eyes when you look at her

And all the things that must be going on in your mind.

I wonder if it would help if I knew,

Because I just can’t stop thinking about you.

The Kind of Person You Should Fall in Love With

Fall in love with a person who is quiet

Someone you’ve never spoken to

And from the corner of your eyes you can make him

Anyone you want him to be.

The steps are simple

I will walk you through them-

Find a face you like, a height of your choice

But never ever have a word with him

Though it’s okay if you think about his voice,

And when you chance upon a conversation centered around him, quietly walk away;

Imagine him listening to your favorite songs

Dancing alone as he cleans his room;

Close your eyes and see him lying down on the grass

Staring at the stars the way you do;

You can choose whether he’ll be gentle or rough-

Any way you’d like him to be;

You can feed him with all the right words,

All the beautiful acts of love,

All the strengths and weaknesses you can bear to adore;

Think of his family the kind you would like

And place him in a hometown you’ve always wanted to go.

Fall in love with someone you’ve never spoken to

And every man can be your perfect man;

But darling, don’t come crying to me

When you speak with him for the first time.

The Room

On the pages of the accidental poetry notebook

Is a poem about a room, the one that makes the poet incredibly happy

For every day she finds pieces of herself in it

And revels in the chaos that the room shows her to be

But now that she has gone away

The room feels like something else to her

For every time she returns to it, it seems bigger and older

Reminds her of days that seem way back in the past

And all her favorite things belong somewhere else now

The stories she left behind are now covered in dust

And that always makes her sneeze

Sleep comes with great difficulty at night.

She can’t decide who is to be blamed

For the way she has changed,

Or for how the room has hardly changed at all

It still looks at her as the person she used to be

And every time she leaves, she whispers

this room no longer belongs to me.

For a while now I've wanted

For a writer to fall in love with me

For I've always thought of myself as the perfect subject for poetry,

so that I could search for my fingerprints

In the words that he writes.

I've also wanted since a while

For a painter to see the beauty in me

I know I don’t have the perfect body

But I've wished to see a lover put down on a canvas

How love makes his lover look like the most beautiful person in the world.

I've wanted a singer to sing for me

All the songs that melt my heart;

But all I have is you

You, the person who repeats the same things in his letters again and again

You, even the hearts you make look disfigured

You, you know no words to the songs, let alone the tunes

But on days when I feel uprooted, lost, and alone

You, all you do is make me feel like home.

The Looking Glass: A Response

This is my response to a beautiful poem by Kamala Das titled The Looking Glass. You can read the original here-
http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/kamala-das/the-looking-glass-11/


The Looking Glass: A Response

Getting a man to love you is easy
But ask yourself first if you are willing to love him
back. Don’t stand nude before the glass with him
don’t let him see himself the stronger one
when you know that in your softness and youth
you can break him when you leave. Question your
infatuation. Notice the imperfection
Of his ways, his body weakening as he looks
at you, the shy walk across the room,
Dropping hints, and the timid way in which he
shows you his penis. All the gross details that might
make you fall out of love with him. Offer him your worst,
offer him what makes you who you are, the stink of
your longings, the burden of anger between the breasts,
The monthly stab of menstrual blood, and all your
Endless sorrows. Oh yes, getting
A man to love is easy, but living
With him afterwards may have to be
Faced. A living without love when you move
Around, meeting strangers, with your eyes that
keep searching, with ears that keep listening to new voices
wondering how they would sound when they say your name and your
Body which now longs for a new touch
to bring it to life, as it now stands hardened and aloof. 

The Breaking of a Family

The room is lit with yellow light
The smell of food is dry and cold
just a hint lingers in the air,
The table sits in a corner with four chairs, all scattered about
The plates dressed in an incomplete meal
The spoons and forks begging to be cleaned
And half empty glasses strewn about
The three year old daughter and her parents
have just finished a meal,
A family that dines together.

Weeks later, the table sits lonely
The forks, spoons, glasses yearn to be with each other
The yellow light hides in the ends of wires,
in the dusty insides of the bulb;
The family hasn't had dinner together in a while
for he has started to cook his own meals.

There is one world that I know of

The one that I see through the lens of my rose-tinted glasses

Where I see puppies playing in the rain

Jumping on the grass

Wagging their tail

Beautiful big eyes of a puppy making a puppy face;

A world full of orange-black butterflies

Dancing over the grass

Fluttering their wings

Inspiring many a poet to write.

There is one world that I know of

That I see through my rose-tinted lens

And then there is another world

Where I see a puppy eating a butterfly.

You give me the sweetest scent as I hide my face in the pillows

The warmest warmth as I wrap my body around the rajai

And in your calm quiet, my music finds new meaning.

You give me warm food to dig my cold hands into

You bring me hot kawah at night to heat my insides

You give me Diwali days and bundles of ferry lights.

You become my reason to ask for longer tighter hugs

You give me excuses to hold hands

And every year when you come to make the world cold

You remind me to stay warm at heart.

In return, I pretend to hug you when the wind passes me by

And I close my eyes to listen if you’re trying to say ‘hi’

At night, I send you kisses through the sky.

Welcome back to your fleeting affair

Welcome home, winters.

Warning - A Response

This is a response to one of my favorite poems titled 'Warning' by Jenny Joseph. You can see it here --> http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/warning/

Because I am young now I shall wear red

With blue hair that goes blonde, and too many piercings

And I shall spend my pocket money on beautiful diaries that I may never fill

And bags, and say I've no money to eat out with friends.

I shall ask each guy I like out for coffee

And I shall hold hands and laugh out loud even if we're in a public place

And run my soul along all beautiful things

And make up for the sobriety that will be expected of me in a couple of years.

I shall go out without my slippers in the rain

And continue to try to catch butterflies

And learn to snort.

You can take a break from studies to explore new things

And pretend to know everything even when you don't

Or you could wipe your mind to learn anew

And hoard poems and quotes and words in boxes.

But later I will have other things to take care of

Maybe kids, a dog, and a job

And I will have to act sane and earn money to live.

I will have to pretend to care when I don't.

So maybe I ought to be young and foolish right now?

So that when I'm old and wise, I can sit with my grand kids

And tell them how I asked their grandfather out for coffee.

Also, this is my 100th post on blogspot and it's an overwhelming feeling. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged and inspired me to write. May your life always be full of beautiful words that break you and make you.

I have loved chaos and tried to stay away from symmetry

The pictures on my wall are never in a straight line

And my handwriting changes every day;

Sometimes I like to say things that make people fumble

And my lips speak what my heart feels

I run towards extremes.

And so, from where I look, the moon is always complete

From where I walk, time moves fast and slows down with me

From the angle I take, the picture looks gorgeous in it's asymmetry.

Say to me that sex is all about lust, and I will tell you

How rare it is to find someone who makes you want to be naked

When each and every day, all you’re told to do is hide under clothes

So wear a bra, and panties, but that is not enough

Add a layer of jeans and a t shirt, because that is the right way to be

So don’t cry when you feel sad, and don’t laugh out too loud

And anger is best expressed in suppression.

There is a reason to rejoice when you find someone

With whom you want to be naked

Because you want to hold them tight and so close despite all the hair

Because they’ll kiss you when you laugh and they'll kiss your tears

So rejoice it when you find a person who loves it when you moan so loud

And rejoice it harder when they moan with you

For it is rare to find someone who’s worthy of knowing

How beautiful you are without any clothes.

And ma’am, what shall I serve you today?

Get me the hottest soup you have, my heart is as cold as my skin tonight

I want to feel warm again, I want this mist to leave

My bones can’t bear to be so numb, my hope needn’t shiver so

Get me a meal that’ll remove this fog,

Get me a meal to feel warm at heart.

And tomorrow when it starts to melt again

Get me the sweetest meal you can cook

So that when I open my mouth, only the brightest words escape my lips

So let there be light in my soul, and let there be space for more

Get me the sweetest meal to fill this space

Get me a meal that puts a shine on my face.

And because with your love you’ll heal me so

I’ll cook you meals to cure you too

From your anger, your pain, your hurt

I’ll serve you warm meals and sweet desserts

We’ll dine together with these meals that heal

To cure ourselves of the things we feel.

In the reflection in the window of the bus
I see him standing next to her
He doesn't talk too much, he hardly even looks
But you can see his smile and the color on his cheeks
And you know his eyes want to look in her direction
The way a flower turns to the sun.
 
Such innocence
Of having someone who makes you smile
And wanting nothing from that person
Except to see them smile back at you.

I was once less scared of who I used to be

Maybe that is why I truly loved my teeth story

It was a great conversation starter, and people enjoyed it

When I told them about swings and messy childhood pictures.

Also, it made me laugh when my dentist warned me

That without braces I'll have problems with matrimony;

Like that even made sense.

But one day after a few years

Those words began to echo in my ears

And I stopped smiling for a while.

I was once more scared of the person I used to be

So I wanted to hide behind covers

And smile without showing my teeth

I wanted to be locked in my room

And not have any people to meet. 

Now I'm back to enjoying my stick out teeth

On most days they show the world

That I'm as happy as can be

I smile so hard that my teeth don't fit

Its like when I smile

The world knows that I mean I it. 

ये पीली सी खामोशियाँ

ये पीली सी खामोशियाँ
इन मे मैने कुछ लफ़्ज़ों को
उड़ते हुए देखा है,
दिल की बातों को जिन्हे ना वो कह सके ना हम
इन्हे खामोशियों के गुब्बारो मे उड़ाने का सिलसिला
ना जाने कब तक चलेगा |

ये पीली सी खामोशियाँ
जो तुम्हारे मेरे फ़ासले के बीच
कुछ यून ही मासूम से बच्चे सी बैठी रहती है
मेरे ख्वाबों की तस्वीरों में
जो तुम्हारी साँसों से रंग भरती है |

ये पीली सी खामोशियाँ
जो दरबदार तुम्हारी परच्छाई में
शब्दों के निशान तलाशती है
की शायद तुम्हारे होंठ मुस्कुरा कर वो कह जाए
जिसका आँखों को कबसे इंतज़ार है |

इन खामोशियों में शोर ढूंड रही हूँ मैं
मगर आज नही
आज तुम यूँ ही मगरूर बैठे रहो
अभी इन पीली सी खामोशियों के आसमान में
मुझे कुछ चॅन तारे नज़र आने लगे है |

I opened your diary rather mistakenly (not) the other day
But I had promised not to read the words, the sentences, and their combined meanings

So I searched for you in the curves of your Fs and the hats of your T's;
In the pages I saw your words fall on the bed of the lines
Some days to the left, some days to the right,
Some days just striving to stand straight;
You changed everyday.

But I found you in the circles you draw on the top of your Is
The ones you draw the same way no matter which side your words fall,
I saw your twisted smile in the Cs and your crazy laugh in the Ds
They were all the same everyday,
Maybe you don't change as much as you think you do.

On the last page I found your attempt to write with your other hand
The one that doesn't have years of practice
And I laughed at how you thought it was fun
To break 20 year old habits.

I opened your diary yesterday, mistakenly, or so I'd like you to think
And as promised, I didn't read your sentences
But I wasn't ready to find you sitting silently
at the ends of the Ys and the Zs
Making fun of me as I searched for you
Between the spaces of your words.

All children deserve lessons from the swing,

Each child deserves to be on the swing,

To learn that if they try hard enough, they can hug the wind,

And that they probably can't catch the stars

but they can reach close enough,

To get used to the ups and downs

and the occasional hurtful falls,

To learn when to stop

before the tummy starts hurting and the head begins to spin.

Each person deserves to be on the swing,

So that when they go down

from the topmost peak

they learn that it is possible to fall

without letting yourself get hurt,

without hitting the ground.

Half-baked meals only result in empty stomachs
Because flour and sugar and baking soda don't taste
even half as good as a chocolate cake.

Half-baked poems out of my head
Always leave my mind hungry for a better cooked meal.

When you say 'hello' to your diary after months,

between the fluttering pages you will find

a sheet of paper that will jump out to fall on your lap

and if you want, then for a few seconds

this page can be anything you would like it to be.

It could be a torn sheet from the diary you burnt

because it constantly reminded you of a heartbreak,

but you saved that one entry anyway,

you weren't ready to forget.

It could be a song you wrote when you were in love

or just inspirational quotes,

a drawing of you made by your 4-year old cousin

or just words, because you like collecting words.

That page could be a love-letter,

an angry ramble,

a sketch,

or notes from counselling psychology.

For the 30 seconds before you decide to open it

you have the power to fill that folded sheet of paper

with all the words in the world.

The wind is heavy outside as the storm makes its presence felt

The rain knocks on the window and the thunder makes a request to come in

The electricity is on a break, it’s dark and cold

Yet they smile in the middle of a storm

For now they realize, there is nothing quite as safe and warm

As home.

Someday, one day, today

Look at your naked body

Do not search for marks and imperfections,

Look at it like your parents saw it

The day you were born,

Look at it like magic.

Houses

I have always dreamt

at least since a very long time

of a cute little house just for myself,

To paint the walls with stories written in the form of pictures,

Of furniture that fits my tiny size,

With windows where I can sit alone,

Listening to music or reading a book;

A house to myself, in which perhaps one day I can roam around naked.

But today,

You all have gone for some work

This house, right now, is mine

Yet I sit here fully clothed

Not near a window, but tied to my room

Because I have no one to tell my stories to

And I can’t inform anyone of the sudden realization I had-

I hate empty houses.

On days like today and moments like right now

I know that something inside me is shrinking, withdrawing, dwarfing

I know because something feels empty

And the emptiness hurts.

I know it’s my heart, that scared little creature

One day larger than the universe

And today, so small that it could fit into my pocket

Requesting me to hide her in the almira, at the far end of a drawer

Covered in books, clothed by dust, lost in the darkness

Where nobody can see it, nobody can touch it

Oh, this scared little creature, how it begs to feel safe again

But how do I explain this to my heart

That what forces her to shrink down

Is the same thing that will one day make her grow.

If I could

I’d marry poetry

And winters

And rain

And laughter and jokes

And then make babies with all of them.

Yes, if I could

I would.

I don’t know what to make of it

When he never turns back once he leaves

Sometimes, I think, he notices too much of the obvious

I wonder if he can ever see the subtleties

Like the saved pictures of poems on my phone

And how sometimes they break my heart

I wonder if he notices

That I like odd numbers more than even numbers

And somehow prime numbers are my favorite

Does he notice that I fall in love more with movie trailers

Than the movie itself

Does he see a pattern in all this?

Does he wonder what it means?

Because sometimes I wonder

Whether I want to be loved as a whole

Or for beautiful little subtleties.

If one day you come up to me and say

that my room is an exact reflection of who I am,

I won’t be surprised even one bit

Though I’d be a little surprised you noticed.

You see, I’ve never seen my mind, I’ve only felt its presence

And if I had to draw a map, it would look so much like my room

Because its walls are plain and simple, except one that is colorful and messy

And on the walls are pictures of people I love, so you know you’re always on my mind;

Though I guess I’ve explained this a million times, but there’s a jungle theme to it

So much beauty in the raw, the untouched; I like to feel close to nature;

My room has symbols of birds in every corner- a shadow, a picture, a nest

It even has Diwali lights to light me up when I feel low;

Some days it’really messy, full of things I can’t let go

On other days, I’ll throw it all out, clean it up

My room has closets and drawers behind which lie thoughts I hardly visit; fears I know are there

But I try to leave the doors open, for anybody who wants to come in

Though, I’ll have to say, my favorite part is the colorful messy wall

It has quotes, cartoons, thoughts, pictures, ideas

It has word I like, tattoo designs, hand puppets, and the lights

It has a bill of the first time I dared to have coffee alone

For the people who are new, the wall is cluttered

Some say it destroys the room’s beauty

But the people who have lasted, when they see the wall,

I know they can see me.

Undying Spirits

They sneak behind closed doors
They enter through broken windows
They move in like rain from between the cracks
They linger on like the smell of agarbatti
Like the taste of food stuck in your teeth
Like words that echo in your heart beat

They come, they come like smoke
To give little baskets of prayer and hope
To those who should have given up
long ago.

What is the simplest hardest thing I know?

Erasing the entire playlist of my phone

But sometimes, it’s just best to let go.

How to function in dysfuntionality

There is a fine line
Between hurt and abuse
Between dislike and hate
Between fear and terror
Between wounds and scars

Every day, every single day
we stand on one side of the line
every day, you choose to cross it
every day, I choose to stay.

How does the crescent moon feel on a dark day

Trying to light up the world, trying to float above the vastness

Does she sometimes wait to feel full again, to feel like herself again

Not knowing that she has been complete all along?

Does she know that even on her weakest day, she means so much to the world?

How does the moon feel on the strange day

When the Scientist comes and tells her that she is 384,400 kms away from the earth

And that all the people she loves, can’t probably even come to meet her

Does she feel alone in the sky?

Not knowing that Lovers look up to her every night,

And that Poets have loved her beyond distance, have craved for just her sight.

And how will you feel when you realize

That you’ve been cheating yourself all this time

Telling yourself that you are weak, that it isn’t yet the time to shine

But maybe like the moon you are beautiful and bright

and that behind the happenings that change you every week

is a person like the moon, sometimes broken, but always complete.

It was a different test I was giving, the kind that would tell me the kind of person I am

But it didn’t ask me the questions I expected, instead it asked me

What my pulse was like

So I placed my hand on my neck, and closed my eyes to feel its sound

And I remembered how long it had been since I realized that my heart was beating

Every day, every hour, every minute

Even when it was broken, even when it felt too full, even if it was so tired that it could have just given up

Months have passed since I saw my shadow following me, giving me company when I couldn’t bear to be alone

My footsteps, oh they’ve given me sounds, like music in the background, so beautiful but tuned out

And after months I notice how my hands dance as I write this, how my finger jump, how my arms move

And I never saw the expressions change on my face from delight to wonder to seriousness.

Some days, I feel too lonely, too tired, too alone, too broken, too sleepy

But I like to think of it as ‘in recovery’

Because I realize, I have a pulse that is slow and smooth, and a lovely heart that works day and night

I have a friend in my shadow, a radio in my steps, a dance in my hands

And no matter how I feel, I will always have people who’ll make me smile

And random strangers with something new to learn from

And so, from now on, ‘broken’ will be a word thrown out of my dictionary

When the hurt arrives, I’ll tell the world I’m in recovery.