NaPoWriMo Day 5 - Home

I own homes, way too many

To remember each one of their addresses

In their articulate spaces

And yet I know, every single nook

every single lane, every other crook

I run my fingers along their edges

Nourishing myself, pouring them into me

I learn, I breathe, I bloom

Cherishing every stay

I return in happiness and in gloom

They hold me, they cherish me

Make me feel one of them own

I am taken to travel, I am taken to meet

People so many

Humanity, human psyche

Black, white, grey and everything in between

Emotions, unnamed, understated, unknown

I have known from these

I live amidst all the books I have read

In their pages

Lurking between their spaces

They have my heart, they have my head

No matter what

I wouldn’t trade this home for anything ever instead

# Writing for NaPoWriMo attempting to everyday for the month of April. Combining this with prompts from The Alipore Post 

NaPoWriMo Day 4 - Unsolved

in that irritated tone for no reason

in that everlasting smile 

in every season

the anger that piqued without your permission

in those excuses given for canceling plans

in the fear of being uncomfortable amidst new

and yet, in the inability to say ‘no’ to even a few

in that obsessive gulping on books and booze

and even in the smugness that you choose

in judging your own actions

and denying self-care

hinging your identity to people

who are hardly there

living with the feeling

that you always belong else somewhere

in feeling like a walking apology

balancing everything on eggshells

being somebody to whom everything overwhelms

in lashing out

when you actually need help

in the muffled cries

when on paper they are dealt

in being afraid to make mistakes

the unending feeling of everything

being always at stake

it hides itself

festering from inside

unprecedented, unmoving

visible, yet invisible

this unsolved, unknown trauma

# Writing for NaPoWriMo attempting to everyday for the month of April. Combining this with prompts from The Alipore Post 

NaPoWriMo Day 2 - Patterns

lines, dots and crosses,

some twisted, some turned

a few straight, others overturned

molding gradually into soft designs

they must fit tightly into their confines

it holds you, beholds you

captures and enslaves

in its beauty, in its calmness

in symmetry and finesse

control your hands

and patient your mind

only then you will understand

that a Mandala is

not just some pattern and design

# Writing for NaPoWriMo attempting to everyday for the month of April. Combining this with prompts from The Alipore Post. I have suddenly become fascinated towards learning to draw a Mandala and this post talks about just that.  

Things I want to feel again

1. Breathlessness after a good workout
2. The soreness of my eyes after a night spent reading, unaware of the clock 
3. The joy of tasting what I have cooked and it turning to be absolutely the way I had wanted it to be
4. The audacity to go anywhere without carrying any medication
5. The smell of parijat flowers blooming in my backyard
6. The glow in my eyes after writing my heart out
7. The wind on my face staring at the horizon,sitting in my balcony, tea in my hands, made just the way I like it
8. The jitters in my body on your touch, the flutter of my heart every time I saw you smile, the softness of my hands in yours and the warmth of the browns of your eyes on my skin
9. Listening to my favourite songs and feeling the rhythm inside me
10. Hope

Pic source: Me

Every time you leave

Every time you leave

I start counting backwards

Holding my breath

And your memories

For the time when I will again

Hold you in my eyes

And be held in your arms

Every time you leave

I get engulfed

In an arid sadness

And dizzying loneliness

That only gets cured

After getting inked 

With your smoky lips

And warm embrace

Because whenever you leave

You take a part of me

Leaving your bits

And slow and gradual

I am

Not me anymore

But a reflection

Of nothing

But

You.

I smell of..

I smell of longing and sweet nothings
Of passion in eyes 
Merging with those browns

I smell of a divided time
That I counted with my heartbeats
And a black watch

I smell of unsaid words
And written diary notes
After which I fidgeted a lot

I smell of fragility, beauty and everything I cannot undo
Then I remembered
That I smell of you.

Cigarette Memories

Night sky burning with my vulnerabilities

I see my being rising up in flares

Slow at first

And then it sets ablaze

As I inhale 

Your words that meant a lot

And my naivety as an afterthought

The smoke of our moments inside my mouth

I clench them together

Till my eyes begin to sting

And mist begins to form in their crevice

As I try, I try

To imprison the hazy memories inside my lungs

They smolder me incapable

To breathe, to exist

A bond that ‘once’ was

Begins to seethe

And I choke on my gullibility

And your latent abilities

While I finally release you from me

Trailing behind is the ashen taste

Of bluntness that could nip associations

A bond that was envy of the town

Which now

Has slowly died a slow death

How I wish

Terminal worries too could be exhaled in thin air

Right there one moment

Becoming invisible the next one

A bond that was an intoxication

Left behind a bitter aftertaste

That scuffled with other senses

Blinding, effacing, burning

A ‘me’ a ‘you’ and maybe an ‘us’ too!

Spill Yourself Again

Searching for you

On those empty endless nights

Between blank paper stares

Hide and seek it used to be

Extinct you are completely

Talk, laugh, scream or cry in pain

But spill yourself again

Your creator anxious awaits

My dear muse

Where are you?

 Written for dVerse Poets Pub, Quadrille 11 – ‘Spill’

Silence

A silence

That looms between us

Hanging around like summer air

Hot, humid and stifling

Relationship or not

Illicit or what

Melancholy hanging in the air

Hot, humid and stifling

I taste smoke on your lips

As your hands trace my silhouette

The silence still

Hot, humid and stifling

A joke here, a nugget there

The new music you heard

A good book that I read

A steely silence thereafter

Hot, humid and stifling

I seek the reasons of our togetherness

All I hear is silence still

Hanging around us

Like a dull ache

Hot, humid and stifling 

Will you be my tomb?

Blue like my thoughts

Deep like my remorse

Your incessant roar

Like my emotions gone hoarse

Cold like my heart

Vast like my delusions  

Your recurrent crashing waves

Like my imminent apprehensions

Hollow like my chest

Wild like my fears

Your bottomless water

Like my salty grey tears

Dear Ocean,

Engulf me like wildfire

Will you be my tomb?

I seem to be tired

Let me rest in your womb!

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Courage

Drawn into him

Day and night

Attraction, attention, temptation

He was mine

Insides would glow

On the sight of him

In his glorified togetherness  

I would begin to swim

Jealousy took over

When he talked about her

That he seemed happy

Was the only succour

Oh, the suffering,

This heart endured

It does take courage to love

What isn’t meant to be yours!

Written for  Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Courage

The Beauty of Friendship

You hadn’t messaged

I hadn’t too

Because I always called

Never did you

I was supposed to be angry

Behave all haughty

And tell you I am busy

But today when I heard you

Amidst all the noise

It was as if I had no choice

Stories and instances found themselves a voice

Now I am angry with myself

For not showing it to you

And wonder why my anger

Around you takes a dip

But then I guess

That’s what they call

The beauty of friendship

Shadows - The Oddquain

how

and why do

shadows of past ghosts

follow though we have dissolved

ages

ago in murky waters

of flaring egos

our ashes

rot

Written for B&P Shadorma and Beyond –The Oddquain

Oddquain Butterfly – a nine-line stanza with 1-3-5-7-1-7-5-3-1 syllables

In the Boardroom

Excitement high

Gathering of the bigwigs

Discussion papers hang

With Blackberrys in their hands

Tension in the air palpable

Everybody in their nerves

Decisions are awaited

On issues that are long going to be served

Discussions begin

Gazes stern

Reasons demanded

Explanations provided turn by turn

Tea mugs poured in

Spreadsheets in discussion

Myriad proposals on the table

Pros and cons presented in every possible fusion

Papers ruffled with clammy palms

Some rejects but acceptances are high

With each passing agenda

The employees breathe a relieved sigh

Instructions doled out for the upcoming meet

Pens and diaries, how fiercely each other they greet

And then as the ends are drawn

Relief on faces finally starts to dawn

Imperfection Is Beautiful

The slant of my eyes

Freckled skin with a tan

This lopsided smile

Messed up hair

Tied under a worn-out band

Collar bones that don’t show

Layers around my waist

Oh, they hardly go

Those chipped nails

Ah, they never really grow

The curve of my hips

Stretch marks on my skin

Wound that got healed

But the scar?

I can still feel

The fickle odd world

And its standards of beauty

Matching them

Is neither a necessity

Nor a priority

Not much to flaunt

Not much to drool

Because they say

Imperfection

Is beautiful

Sharing this with Poetry Pantry # 262

Y - Yours, Just Yours

He:	You know I am angry with you, right?
She:	Yup, I know. I am just unsure of the reason this time
He:	Why can't you be mine, just mine? I don’t really like it when you talk about your other 'guy' friends
She:	Isn't this hypocrisy coming from you who goes around with a new woman every other month?
He:	I know. But you do know that I can be yours, just yours
She:	Just mine?
He:	Just yours. Do you want me to be?
She:	Nope
He:	No??
She:	No. I don’t want you to be just mine. Because you overwhelm me and exhaust me at the same time. You fill me up and empty me - together. I do not want to own you and I want to own you, both at the same time. Because you are to me what poetry is to poets! We poets are obsessed about our poetry. We love it and hate it at the same time. We marvel at it sometimes, and cringe too. We want others to love our poetry, but we also fear thinking we won't be the only one who shall love it. We want to showcase it to the world, flaunt it, make people jealous of it, but we also want to keep it shut inside the corners of our heart not letting people know what we possess. Poetry... you are my poetry This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge - 2015