Last December

Last December was a gloriously beautiful time
I had just begun to notice your gorgeous smile
Felt my heart slip at the sound of that soulful voice
Found myself thinking you so fine.

Last December there were walks on a cold winter night
You told me your stories, I shared some of mine
There was fog in the air and a wee bit of tension
I was love-struck, did I mention?

Last December I lost myself staring into your eyes
Hours filled with love poems and day dreamer sighs
There were romantic movies and cheesy songs too
Last December I fell in love with you.

Last December you were the only man I could see
I was almost convinced you were made for me
You became my muse, I was making art
Last December you also broke my heart.

It's December again, the fog fills the air
But I'm so glad that I'm not there
I sit in a different city so far away from you
It's December again and I'm in love with someone new.

Oh, December is a glorious time
I have just begun to notice his beautiful smile
How my heart slips at the sound of that soulful voice
And every time I see him I think he's so fine...

To Heal a Broken Bird

Everything broken begs to be healed
Even as it tries to fly away
Spreading the wounds wide and open
Flapping the wings hard
Occasionally even trying to run

Everything broken wants to be healed
To find itself between the clasp of warm hands
A sabbatical in a new place
The only job to eat and drink and sleep
As the prickling medicine runs over the hurt
It will still try to break out
Banging it's head against the walls
And many failed escapes.

Everything broken needs to be healed
Even in the naivety of not knowing
How torn it is and where
It's obliviousness to the wound
Is but a sign of how much it hurts
To have been pushed into an unconscious
Too much to bear.

Everything broken has to be healed
Even when flying and dancing
Chirping away with the friends
As it sleeps in the night
Wanders during the day
There is a pain in the heart that never goes away.

Everything broken will be healed
It may say it doesn't want to
It may shake the floor in protest
It may poop all over, tired and scared
It may not touch a grain of rice
Or a drop of water
Even when it does
Not know any better.

Pussy

An act so natural
For the little white furry being
It could be mistaken for a yawn
A nap, the sound of purring
A violation so brutal
Forging innocence in the guise
Of her non-humanness
A shameless creature
Not seeking forgiveness
She doesn't ask for approval
Social sanction,a private room
To stick her tongue down
To the love button
Licking not
Just once or twice
Looking
Neither here or there
Her legs stretched wide open
One pointing to the dentist's office
One to the exit door
And her tongue
Never stops moving.

An act so natural
It could be casually scribbled across
Her time table
An act barred from
Even the realm of my mind.

Aakriti/Shape

there is a shadow of a woman that I see sometimes

walking in me step by step, all the way, everywhere

she is the one who needs company 24/7, she doesn’t speak

she likes to listen, she hides when they throw light on her

she has the power to become invisible, she loves her home

beneath the ground, she likes how she is so neat and defined in her

shape, like warm walls to keep safe, and on the right day

you can see the whole world moving outside of her

she, like a figure that stands the same way every day

staring at the same space, in a canvas mistaken for a cage.

there is a reflection of a woman that I see sometimes

staring back when I try to look at my face, she just blows

me a flying kiss every morning and tells me I look pretty,

she changes all the time, but she never lies; she is 25 one

day with a cat in her arms and a bookshelf right behind,

the next day she’s a grandmother with red hair and lots

of tattoos; she challenges me from behind the glass

to bring her to life, but she has no shape, just a liquid soul

that keeps filling into new dreams everyday.

there is a window to a woman I feel everyday

she is short but walks tall, her hair covers her like

a mushroom cap on rainy days, she has holes in her skin

and needles on her legs, and a flame in her eyes, she holds

a sketchpad in her hand and captures everything that makes

her smile, only she edits out the unnecessary props, she cries

like a baby, and laughs like one too; some days she has a hard

time, her body hurts, she is starting to grow out of her being

she’s changing her shape, she’s sprouting her wings.

When I was younger, I used to ask my mother how is it that we feel alone even when there are so many people in this world.

I

I walk like fire till my feet turn to ash

It does not matter if the world beneath me burns

I do not care if the steps spill my blood,

My spit turning to acid, words melt my insides

I can no longer swallow the shit that is happening

My heartbeats up in flames, the soul boiling

Under the heat of my own being

I live like fire till my days turn to ash.

II

Cry, if the world hurts you, cry like a fucking

Waterfall, and cry till those around can see you

Drowning in your own sorrow; please don’t

Pretend to be strong for anyone, aren’t we all

Starting to look like iron men and women who

Have forgotten what their hearts sounded like

Aren’t we wounded souls wandering underneath

Distracted bodies teaching our children

Never to cry?

III

Oh god, please be kind to one another

You are not ice, you are not a walking blade,

You are not the pointed pistol, or the big stick,

You are not thorns, you are not a fist, a punch

You are not a rational intellectualizing all-

knowing emotionless fucking machine

And you don’t have to be

You are a warm smile, you are a tight hug

You are the stranger who can understand

You are the lover who can listen, you are the

Thing that can break when others crumble

You are so full of love, you are kind

You are nothing like what they tell you you are

You are everything you want to be

You are one person

But hand in hand with everyone else
You are the fucking world.

Oh dear, what a shame it is to not have the heads turn

As I enter the bus in awe of my flawless beauty

The shining face, the kohl smeared eyes, the ripped out

Hairless flesh of my legs, and smooth touch of my hands

No woman will wish her daughter to be like me

For all I know, I’d be one of those young people

That make her look so damn sexy at forty eight;

No man will desire the fool who does not hide her legs

Sprouting with hair as wild as her heart, my head with

As less hair as the damn worthy of all the passers-by

Who, I am told, will decide the course of my life,

Oh dear mommy, I am a walking tragedy.

But what will you do when I go waltzing down the

Streets of Vienna in hot pants and spaghetti tops

And when I would have dyed my hair red, and adopted

Baby kittens displaying their loving scratches like

Constellations tattooed on my skin and not wear black to

Hide my tummy and pick any dress out of my wardrobe without

Spending a full 30 minutes wondering if what I wear

Will please every person who I may or may not pass

On the street? What will you do when I will find a partner

Who loves me when you had your bets on that I wouldn’t

Because, oh what a mess I am and still will be, and what will

You do when my eyes have laughter lines from all the

Shits I didn’t give about the millions of people I should

Have given a shit about;

Will I still be your walking tragedy?

My blog is my most sacred and honest place. This is me, when I'm sad and happy and when I'm hiding away from everyone because life is a little hard sometimes. This is me, broken hearted and in love and when I'm not thinking about any of it at all. And this is me- transparent, no lies, no hidden meanings, no unnecessary metaphors. Me in all my nakedness, my whole being and everyone doesn't like that, and they don't have to. But writing what I write is my choice, and whether you want to read it or not is yours. So let's just respect each other like decent human beings.

And on that note, here is the poem for today, my version of Bluebird by Charles Bukowski. You can find the original here-
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bluebird/

Bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to chirp away
but they’re too tough for her,
they say, stay in there, we’re not going
to let anyone see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to chirp away
but they force manners on her and shout
till she goes quiet
and the lovers and the strangers
and the unknown faces
never know that
she's
in there.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
that wants to chirp away
but outside is too tough for her,
They say,
shut up, why should we listen
to you?
we don’t want to listen

to you
you want us to lock you

in a cage?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
loves to chirp away
but they’re too many, they only let her out
once in a while
when she’s not too loud.
they say, I know that you're there,
but stay inside

you’re not needed here.
So I put her back,
but she's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let her
die
and we sleep together like
that
forced by
a secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a woman
weep, but I don't
weep, though they

want me to.

'Desperate' is the saddest word I've heard
From even far away you know it comes with no good
You start walking in the other direction,
Lonely or alone, who can say?

But why stop a man who wants to love?
I, for one, love being in love and do it exactly like in the movies
Complete with my whole being, and heartbreaking honesty
I sing songs and click pictures and laugh too loud
And kiss like nothing else can remotely fill my empty soul
If I had a lover, that's what I'd call him- lover
Or honey in the soft passionate way of Andrea Gibson
I'd send three am texts with Neruda's poems and tell him I cried to sleep
He doesn't have to reply back immediately
I'd be painting gifts, taking parts of me out to create something for him
I'd write handwritten perfume laden love letters on pink paper
If he cries a river, I'd make origami boats to make him laugh
And I'd tell him he's beautiful so many times
That he'd forget he ever felt un-beautiful in his entire life
And I'd smell his hair.

But here is a conversation I must never have
Here is a truth I must never tell
And here is a feeling that must always stay
Hidden.
Not anymore.

Postponement

The flower bud kept telling the bees

Every day

To come home tomorrow

For soon it would bloom;

I tell the clock and make promises

To hours that one day soon

I will go on a date with time

And do all the things I love to do,

It will just be the two of us

And I shall be present in whole

With my body and soul.

But life for now, is a set of tomorrows

That my today keeps leaning towards

And time keeps slipping

Through my busy typing fingers.

 Poor fat pregnant monkey looking for some food

Poor fat pregnant monkey needs to now look after two

Poor fat pregnant monkey hunts all over the floor

Poor fat pregnant monkey finds some but needs a lot more

Poor fat pregnant monkey can’t find the father anywhere

Poor fat pregnant monkey searches for someone who will care

Poor fat pregnant monkey begs and pleads for bread

Poor fat pregnant monkey wishes she was dead

Poor fat pregnant monkey doesn’t know what to do

Poor fat pregnant monkey might as well go blue

Poor fat pregnant monkey has no other way out

Poor fat pregnant monkey no one listens to her shout

Poor fat pregnant monkey quietly begins to steal some grain

Poor fat pregnant monkey it helps soothe her pain

Poor fat pregnant monkey needs more solids in her tummy

Poor fat pregnant monkey is about to become a mummy

Poor fat pregnant monkey scares the people away

Poor fat pregnant monkey will face the consequences some day

Poor fat pregnant monkey sees them coming with stones

Poor fat pregnant monkey felt the hurt in her bones

Poor fat monkey no longer searches for food

Poor fat monkey puked away everything that she chewed.

An Ode to Whitey

Do you know they’ve started calling you

Whitey-bitey these days? Does it seem like there is

An invisible collar around your neck now

With those words inscribed across, in CAPITALS

And everyone can see it, but only you feel it

Tighten across your throat every time you jump

On a seat to sleep and the people hastily walk

Away or scare you with their fancy multi-purpose

Umbrellas; do you feel it glue onto your skin

Because nobody notices how calm you’ve been

Since that incident 3 weeks ago, they still think

You’re that scary dog; do you find it hard to breathe

When everybody cuddles with pretty Coffee over

There and you try to remember what is was like

To be scratched beneath your ear; and at nights

Do you cry at how suffocated you feel because

You have this invisible collar tighten around your neck

And do you sometimes get angry and show your

Teeth and raise your paws to get rid of it

And do people look at you and say-

Stay away from Whitey-bitey,

Seems like he’s gonna bite someone again.

There was once a very young tree

Who had not yet understood

How to grow; but he smelled of fresh leaves

And the insides of his barks had not yet formed

Infinite circles, and the outside felt like

He always wanted a hug;

There was once a young tree

Who was beginning to understand

How to grow, and how it tormented his soul

For the sky called out to him, and so did

The grass, and he wanted to stretch high up

And far and wide; but oh, how that hurt.

There was once a tree learning how to grow

Who kept stretching here and there, and he

Always wanted more leaves on his skin

To look pretty, and deeper roots to never forget

Where he came from, and higher branches

So that he could spend more time with

All the birds he’d admired.

There was once a growing tree, who

Was so scared of getting old,for he feared he

Would no longer be able to do all the things

He was was so sure he could; and his leaves would

Fall, his branches would grow bald, and all the

Skies he had reached would shrink and he’d

Start mixing with the ground, and all the

Ants and termites would invade his skin

And start chewing him away from deep within

And the grip he had made with underground

Like fathers holding their young children

Would start to loosen a bit, and for the

First time in his life he would feel what it’s

Like to be scared that he’ll fall, and all his

Bird friends would have their own children

And move to a new house; and he’d sometimes

Think that maybe the humans too want him out

Of their pretty postcard picture.

Ode to the Giant Colorful Umbrella

You look like a rainbow that got trapped between

The thick webs of a silly spider who did not know

Of the magic that happens when the rain and sun

Meet once in a while;

You are a lantern house in the night under the

Street bulb, shining your colors so strongly, I

Bet from really far away I look just like you

A rainbow colored girl.

And it’s magical how you have space for everyone

My friend, and her friend, and for the lady on

The street who forgot her rain protection at home,

You shall prove a good wingman some day.

And I had

Always been the rain girl, the one who prides

In her ability to jump over puddles

And finds happiness in the smallest of things

Who would have thought I’d find my joy

In you

You giant rainbow umbrella.

I am alone

In the walk by the cars that shine their headlights

Throwing their glow at my entire body; in the sounds

Of the horns that pass, screaming for someone

To notice their cry; in the mist of the smoke; in the heat,

And the after-rain cold; in the fire of the sun; in a

Raincoat with drenched feet; and in the music

That is always there but never really there with me.

I am alone.

In my joys that I feel scared to share, sometimes

Because someone else seems to be having a bad

Day; sometimes in my sadness because who wants

To add to someone else’s tearful load; in

The petting of a beautiful brown eyed coffee-colored

Dog who needs me so badly sometimes that he makes

Me walk away; I wish he could learn to be alone.

I am alone.

In my body, my skin, my being; there is only

One heart that belongs to me and it is mine; there

Is only one soul pretending to be living so many lives,

Only one mind that walks in one direction, needing

One kind of songs, and one kind of poems, and one

Kind of friends, and one kind of love; alone in the

Shower making myself feel joy after a tiring day.

I am alone.

In life, and will be, in death. Taking with me my

Steps and my words that are shared honestly only

With a few, only a few times; everything else is just a

Murmur to escape the silence of how alone we all are

In our pretense of being together; hugging and kissing

And making love again and again, trying to run

Away from ever admitting to ourselves

We are alone.

An Ode to Food

What a tragedy it is to have forgotten

The exquisite names of meals that had once

Rolled down my tongue, made my lips curl

Into a toothy grin, and how it had once made

My belly feel so full, I couldn’t care if my

Heart felt empty; these names seemed to have

Jumped off the edge of my brain- now all I

Know of food is rotis and curry, and dal, a

Little bit of dosa and idli; the menu of the

Chinese restaurant near my house, the fried

Delciousness can now only be found in the

Stains of my diary entries; and the utterly butterly

Punjabi paranthas that I could once eat

Four at a time, are such a distant memory;

The break up with that plate of momos, how

We once used to meet every day; there was once

Andhra pickle in my room, we had a date with

Rice and curd; once there was biryani with shahi

Paneer, we would just eat without saying a word;

Months back there was a home, the fridge always

Leaking with fruits, and cucumbers, and cheese

My favorite place in the house, it always had something

For me; how long has it been since we met

My dear gulab jamuns, and rasmalais, the kaju

Ki barfis with wedding cards, and the rasgulas

That were present all the time; there

Were once visits to nani’s house, and yes

She loves to feed- bhel puris and aloo chaats,

And her special bhindi; and now the loss of

Rajma being called 'razma', I could still deal with it

But they got the taste all wrong; There was once

A winter with nothing but green methi paranthas, 

mirchi ka aachaar, and malai;

but these days I eat only because

This woman needs to survive.

And ah, the whole world shall empathize

If by some tragedy I go deaf or dumb

But so few ever understand this loss

Of the taste-buds going numb.

P.s- When I called my mom up to recite this poem, she was eating a mango. What's a mango?

The first time your heart broke you realized

That something inside you actually hurts, the ‘break’ is not

Just a mere metaphor; And when it broke so many more

Times you started thinking that you were no

Longer a whole being but broken pieces floating in a

Complete-looking body; Each person came like a star in

The moonlit sky of your life, but each new one got duller

And so you’d cry, basking in the loneliness of your own

Moonlight; but you know, you shine, so don’t you ever

Fall in love with just a flashlight, and never let anyone tell

You to have just a bite, and never tell yourself that less is

Enough when you deserve more than you think you deserve;

So wait for everything you’ve always wanted, and I’ll pray

You get it (with a little bit more); till then listen to all the

Romantic songs you want, all the movies that give you hope,

And look at every passer-by asking yourself “Could this person
Be the one?”; give your heart one time, two times, too many times;

Don’t you ever stop being hopelessly romantic

One day you’ll find someone who looks at you like..

(yes, you’re right)

Like you’re magic.

The poem that will always be under construction

There is still so much growing up to do.

Like learning how not to be disappointed
By my handwriting on the first page
Of a brand new diary.

And loving myself when a new pimple
Pops up on the nose (maybe the pimple too)
And how the hair gets all messy after sleep.

Looking inside to find the courage to finally
Empathize with the people I love too much
But am often reckless with.

Like how to express feelings for which
There are no right words, and to say the right
words when there are no feelings at all.
 
To become friends with the shadow that lurks
Behind, scaring and warning me of who I am
And what I could become.

Learn how to let a word seep into my bones
And let it run through my nerves and veins
Without feeling the need to tattoo it.
 
And how not to judge the first bencher
Sitting and making notes in a boring class,
Asking questions as I stare at her from far behind.
 
There is still so much growing up to do
Before the dust rises again and I begin to forget
All that I had learnt when I was growing up.

The Death of a Tree

He died so young, they say; how unfortunate, they say;

Such a time consuming affair, the cars slow down in front

Of his open casket, paying homage, their cries sound like horns

And the sky weeps rain, and the wind runs wild

Offering comfort to the trees nearby, families and friends

Of the one who lost his life; he died so young, they say

Swept off by a storm, somebody needs to teach these kids

To stay strong, to keep their roots firm, to hold on to their ground;

The college students walk by, with him they shared the shade on a

Sunny day, the first kiss, the smoke of a cigarette, the weeping

On a call; the shower makes it hard to see their tears today;

He died so young, they say, but he smells like the first time

His leaves were born; he looks like he’s finally fallen asleep

After a tiring day at work; he died so young, they say

But I can’t stop thinking about the bird who lost its home

At such a young age.

It is time to pack and say goodbye
But all I want to do is refill my now empty Almira
Back again, so I sit inside it
Trying to fill this hollowness I feel.

It is time to pack and say goodbye
But can there ever be enough bags
To record the magical laughter of the people I’ve met?
Of randomly opening up to complete strangers
As we sit and talk under the stars?
Can a bag ever hold all the warmth I’ve received
In libraries, while crossing paths, and during
Awkward bathroom conversations?
Who can ever express the feeling of being in love
With people, sometimes without
Even having spoken to them enough?
It is time to pack and say goodbye
And the fuller each bag looks
The emptier I get inside.

Is there a bag somewhere that has stored
All the hair I have given up,
All the inhibitions I’ve lost
All the fears that scare me no more?
Is there a bag with moments of songs
And crying, chocolates, and colorful festivals.
 
Where do all these go?
These magical moments
That vanish in the blink of an eye?
Who gets to keep this part of my life?
 
I remind myself that it is time to pack
And say goodbye
But there are still
So many hugs to give
How can I just say goodbye?

Wild Girl

Wild girl, keep thinking of all those songs
Out there that you could fall in love with
Never go crazy about the playlist you have;
Wild girl, keep staring into and away from the mirror
You're most beautiful one day, most unbearable the next
Are you even the same person every day;
Wild girl, heal them when they pass you by
Cut them when they come too close
But dare you ask what you want of them;
Wild girl, go hide in your fantasies
Where the flowers have no bees, the sun does not burn
Look if you can find anything that matches the real world;
Wild girl, get scared of your darkened thoughts
Your sadness, your anger, your evil ways
Wonder if your smile and love is ever real;
Wild girl, don't ever let them tell you to change
Let them tell you but you tell them back
You love and hate at the same time,
You give and take together,
You smile and frown at once,
There will never be another like you
You, wild girl.

She sits there like a quiet wooden doll, a personal puppet

With her eyes cold and dry; the curve of her lips a straight line,

Sitting there in the clothes they gave her, now all she has to do

Is stay as quiet as possible and it would be over so soon;

They came in with their knives and cloth; heating the wax to a high degree

And spilt it on her skin, little by little; she hid the frown on her face

Ignored the chatter of thoughts inside her head; waited as they ripped

The cloth off her skin; ask if this was a part of her she wanted to save

Or would she rather be without? Too late, the decision had already been made

Before she could think all the things she can think now;

They bent her legs up and down, asked her to turn over,

The wax reached places other people were not allowed to touch

It was bad to feel pleasure there, but it was okay to get this hurt;

Closed her eyes to feel better; but all she felt was the movement of a

Puppet doll, now her arms are raised, the way they are after a winning

Cricket match; now they are sticking to her sides, all timid and closed;

Now she opens her hands and passes them forward; each part is

Dripped with wax; each part ripped apart; she can feel the sticky itch

As the wet towel runs over, offering comfort to the wounded body

It is amusing to think it would make her feel better; she tells

Herself that one fine day it will stop to hurt;

Till then she must sit quiet, she must bear

The cost of looking beautiful.

Every once in a while

I go about my day

Without wearing a bra

Beaming with joy

At this rarely felt freedom

Of fooling a tradition

I was taught to follow since eighth standard

When I learnt that

The blooming of my breasts

Is something to be hidden, tied

Lest they go wild

Lest they be wrongly eyed

Lest I enjoy the attention

Lest the girl loses her mind

Becomes a woman too soon.

But I am a woman now

I have already given away that

Which they fear

I will lose

I have let my head have

As less hair

As my soul could bare

And given my heart

To more (kinds of)
Men and women

Than my relatives would like.

I am woman now

I am no longer fooled

By fairytales

And the promises I’m offered

If I promise to behave

Their standards are a

Different type of ceiling

The kind that seems

Achievable at first

But keeps lifting

No matter how hard I try.

I am a woman now

And I have no intentions

To behave

To keep a glued smile

To be quiet

My bra will be there

But only when I will it to

I will be free.

Every time I want to tell you

The truth, you ask me

For a lie.

I want to say I did that because

I hated him in the moment and

Wanted nothing but revenge

Blood for blood

Pain for pain

Heart break for heart break

But what you want to hear

Is that it was a silly mistake

A misunderstanding

A miscommunication of words.

I want to tell you that I’m hurt

There is a needle in my heart

That pricks all day, I’m aware

Of it all the time, that

I don’t want to smile right now

Not today

But you ask for a smile

You want me to say

“I’m fine”

I want you to know that with

Him life is different now; we

Are on two unsimilar paths

And yes things were beautiful

When they were well

Now too much has changed

Including him and me

But you want to hear

That we will try

To be the same people again.

I want to tell you the truth

That sometimes forests burn

Flowers go dry; shores are

Washed away, roses prick; and

Crows are not secretly singing

profound songs; but all you want

Is to turn towards the sun

And close your eyes.

Loving someone without them loving you back

(and being okay with it)

Is a tiring game of disgrace, because every seen text

with no response hurts; every smile given to someone else

aches; every moment you could have had, had he looked

at you the same way pains; humiliation because you hate who

you have become; because you want to text him even when

there are no replies, because you can’t stop trying

even when there is no point; And then slowly it becomes

a game of shedding inhibitions, of sitting right in front of

him and admitting that he makes you weak; of breaking but

never being broken; of being able to laugh when it hurts;

of being fine with him not smiling back the way you

wish him to, just as long as he smiles; of talking about other

things, as long as you get to share stories;

it no longer hurts to not be loved back,

just as long as you can love.

I am going to write the worst poem today

And you will close your eyes and read it

Deep words deep words deep words

Meaningful blah blah blah constellations

But then what is life in the scheme of things

And who ever thought that sonder, shush…

Afterall, who decides? Hunger for what

In who by who? Fill the room with smoke

So that I can stare at just one lamp, it’s light

And shadow, their secret dance;

I wanted to kiss him tonight, have his teeth

Dig my skin; finally find an inspiration for

My poetic constipation; I think I can do

Even with a fart- a three sentence poem

But here I am inducing vomit

Just to feel fine again.

Hush, dear child

Hush dear child, now please don’t speak

All these tales you make up, they’re worrying me

Your daddy is tired, your mamma had a long day

Please don’t frighten us with your scary tales

Yes we love you, of course we care

If he scares you, just stop going there

Hush, dear child, quiet for a while

Things will be better tomorrow, sleep, good night…

Hush dear child, what are these things you say

You’re at the school, not a place to play

Don’t ask those questions, what have you learnt at home

Good kids don’t talk like that, hush, no

These are dirty things you tell, go rinse your mouth

And don’t repeat them to your friends as you move about

Hush dear child, it’ll be fine when you grow

For now stay quiet, you don’t want the others to know…

Hush dear child, now please don’t cry

Your grandpa cares, but he doesn’t understand why

Why this is happening to you,

What is he supposed to do,

Stay close to home, next to ma and pa

Grandpa will make sure that uncle goes really far

Hush dear child, I promise to try

All will be well, just give me some time…

Speak dear child, oh please tell me

Who hurt you so bad? Why do you bleed?

Did you tell your parents, your teachers, some adult?

There must be someone you can trust in the world

Tell me what happened, why don’t you speak

You must be in pain, all those tears on your cheek

Say dear child, who did this to you

When did this happen, what did he do?

Hush, he said, don’t you shout or scream

We’ll play a secret game, just for you and me

You’re so special, much more than the other kids

I love you so much, that’s why I’m doing this

It’s nothing wrong, I’ll get you chocolates and sweets

It’ll hurt a little but please bear it for me

Hush, he said, don’t say a word

Hush, my story just wasn’t heard.

Falling in love with someone who is not thinking of you

Develop a new hate for technology, a pleasurable bitterness

because you want to but don’t want to know when he last came online

if he’s seen your messages, and how long ago

You wish there was no way of knowing, maybe it would make this easier;

Sit with your friends and pretend to care, but let your eye-balls roll

every second towards the door, keep checking if it’s him;

wander into conversations that have his name, or his best friend’s name,

or his dog’s name, anything that would give a clue

about whether he’s been thinking of you;

listen intently, check if he is fine, is he calm? relaxed?

Or does he have the look of a butcher who just killed for the first time?

Take in the bitter taste of thoughts that tell you,

No, he’s not thinking of you at all; question his heartlessness

How he continues to walk straight, doesn’t even smile too much for you

to think that maybe he’s hiding the hurt; give yourself reasons,

Fill his silence with excuses, his quiet with your thoughts,

His lies with your lies; and before going to sleep each night

Fill in the void of his presence, with the paintings of what could have happened

Weaving tales of what could have been

Had he texted you at his ‘last seen’.

It was rose day yesterday and I couldn't stop thinking

Whether I’m becoming too disagreeable a person to be with

It would never make me happy to have fresh roses delivered at my doorstep

At best, I’d appreciate the attempt at expressing one’s love

At worst, I would cry for the roses who had to die

So that this foolish man could express his feelings

To a girl he claims to love

But doesn't know at all. 

Pick up a nameless insect

The one right there, that flies by

Minding its own business

And hold it in your hands,

Like a pearl in a shell

But don’t give it a name yet,

Now in your left hand hold its body

Observe first its fight to escape

Count the number of legs

The flutter of the wings

And think to yourself

How ugly this thing is

Then slowly with your right hand

Pluck its first wing

And blow it in the air

Pretend like you didn’t hear

The silent scream

Feel big, and huge, and dangerous

And tell this insect that this is a warning

To its siblings and friends

To never come close to you again,

Observe again its attempt to escape,

When it begins to settle a little

Pluck its second wing

And this time place it right next to the body

To remind it that there is

No escaping now

Laugh and let it loose on the ground

Watch it crawl across the floor

And keep staring at it

As it escapes foot-steps

Heading towards some place

And see if it is lucky enough

To make it to the other side

Without getting trampled

By our busy life.

Then go back to your room

And pick up the newspaper

Talk to your mom about

The man who was set aflame,

The girl who was raped,

The kid who was gunned

The woman who was beheaded

And discuss how

We’re losing our humanity

Every day.

Late night tips on how I should change myself

You’re defensive

No, I’m not

And contradicting

What, no!

And unsure

Maybe

You cry too easy

These are not tears

You hurt too fast

You don’t see my scars

Try, it’s easy

But it took me years..

No buts

..to get comfortable with myself

Listen more

But I’m tired

Speak better

Do you promise to understand?

I fought a battle last summer

Try this trick, it worked

That’s great, but what if I’m in a

Different war?

You should be like me

But then who will be like me?

Walking around with a broken heart

There is not much to say

Except the throat promises to burst any moment

And the chest, it’s still figuring out what to do

With all the space

Now that the heart is recoiling and shrinking

Hugging itself in the warm shower

The pretense of being loved

Despite the prickly broken-ness

The lie of laughing a little too loudly

Hoping someone will understand

That the damn joke is just not funny

Walking around with a broken heart

Like carrying your severed arms in your mouth

Dragging your broken legs in the burning sun

Punctures, wounds that keep spilling

The pain drips like water from a cracked drain

Picking it up in glasses, you have a bag full of hurt

Trying to clean up after

the bleeding ruptures of your broken heart.