Posted on by Anamika

Mediocre at best

Photo by GM Rajib on Pexels.com

Mediocre at best
No better than the rest.

Jack of all trades, master of none
Stuck at second, never the one
Neither mastered nor failed a test
Mediocre at best.

Middle class, middle seat
Yellow traffic lights in the middle of the street
Marigold among roses red
Mediocre at best.

Average height, ordinary looks
Hiding behind a shield called books
Iron treasure in a golden chest
Mediocre at best.

Unremarkable journey, no stories to tell
Abandoned by conformists not hailed by rebels
Hard fought battle for a lost conquest
Mediocre at best.

Posted on by Anamika

Girl in the mirror

Pic credit: Pinterest

I am so proud of her
The way she is holding up
By herself, gulping it all
Like poison in a silver cup.

The falls, the jumps, the heartbreaks
Sewed her pillow with jewels
Cause no shoulder was worthy enough
Of the tears that could fill pools.

Pitying yourself is the worst
Asking what led to this hell
She picked up others from the mud
Failed to get up when herself fell.

Even when on the ground
The passerine loved the sky
A broken bone and dirty skirt
She stood up again for another flight.

To hide the ugly swollen eyes
She adorned her face with a smile
The loveliest faces are always those
Getting eaten away from inside.

‘Just another 24 hours’
She imitated from behind the mirror
Oh! I am so proud of her
My sweet little silly dreamer.

Posted on by Anamika

Empty

Pic credit: Pinterest

I imagined a piece of flesh hanging from the ceiling
In the blankness of the mind it fitted in right

How long has it been there?

It will take them days to realise
Who will look for me, who will be the first one to find?

The train of thoughts was moving fast skipping all the junctions
I pulled the chain and got off at some random location

Time to eat, the stomach said
Will have to cook, said the mind
The train consumed all the fuel, I can’t wake up, not even as much as to switch on the light

Let it be then both agreed
It’s anyways not unbearable
And what’s the point of throwing food
First get accustomed to cooking for one person

Last night I broke into tears while laughing hysterically on a joke
It’s no mood swings, not my periods
Just the echo of my laugh that makes me choke

People ask me to ‘make’ friends
Are they some craft? How do I make them?
Or may be this is how it was always done?
I just failed to learn the art, not even in decades

Now the blushing sky tells me the sun is almost here
Then the knocking on my eyelids must be some sleep
Take a nap before the train departs again
And takes you on an endless journey of emotions like some forest deep.

Posted on by Anamika · 2 Comments

The Youngest One

Pic credit: Pinterest

The pampered, the spoiled, the privileged one,
Yes you guessed it right, I am the youngest one.

My sister’s wardrobe is my wardrobe, but my wardrobe is not hers,
Shoes, lunch box I don’t buy anything, I always get them from others.

And my brother of course is so protective almost like a father figure,
Whatever I want I just take it, coz mom says, “She is younger no…let her.”

But being the youngest is not all rainbows and sunshine,
You could be twenty three and treated like nine.

And just like the closet which never get empty My heart is always filled with insecurities.

Yes, luckily enough I wasn’t the experimental child,
Mom and dad learning parenting with you must have been wild.

But then how did you turn to be so damn perfect,
It’s like they molded and shaped you exactly how they wanted.

Now how am I supposed to match your excellence,
I am tired of these comparisons, somebody show them the difference.

Please don’t think I am not thankful to you for paving the way,
I’m just trying to figure out my identity, my own pathway.

Above all the biggest curse of being the youngest kid,
Is feeling in 20s what my siblings might in 30s mid.

By default I will get to spend the least time with my parents,
Like writing this poem while scared of their sudden disappearance.

The lost, the neglected, the insecure one,
Allow me to introduce myself, I am the youngest one.

Posted on by Anamika

Home sick

Pic credit: Pinterest

Remember the day you took off from the nest
Dusting off your feathers resolved to never rest,

Until you reach the dream destination stuck in your mind,
The road leading upto it, you knew you would find.

What you thought to be a desert turned out to be a farm,
Thousands of young saplings each with its own charm,

And somewhere on the road among the charm of strangers,
You lost your way and got introduced to new dangers.

Now far away from home, but farther away from stop,
Forget blockbuster, “what if I flop?”

It’s like running out of fuel in the middle of the road,
No matter where you’re headed to, you miss your abode.

Subconsciously looking for the option of going back,
It prolly wouldn’t hurt much to unpack the bags.

But, brood strokes fear of being held in the name of embrace,
Otherwise it’s still easier to follow someone else’s trace.

Now that’s where begins the journey addiction,
You gotta keep moving with o’ without conviction.

Of reaching atleast somewhere, now that there’s no comfort zone,
Afterall what’s worse than being home sick, is being sick of home.

Posted on by Anamika

For the want of your love

Pic credit: Google

Another prayer went unanswered
My wish remains the same
Like it’s the first day
Make us meet again.

Can I get another shot at first impression?
As the ‘first’ one didn’t went well.
I know myself better now,
After you introduced me to myself.

Now I know what not to do,
The definition of charming as per you.
Bending rules for the want of your love,
I will forget me before you.

But, something tells me
I will still be the same,
And you will never love me
For who I am.

Sadly, this isn’t bollywood,
We’re into reality.
Here, getting rid of specs
Doesn’t change your personality.

You can pray, you can cry
Or you can beg them too,
At the end of the day
You can’t ‘make’ someone love you.

Posted on by Anamika

The odd one out

You! yes you
The black among the whites
The lone star of dark nights,
The tortoise in rabbits’ race
Nah! Not the winner
That’s not always the case.

You, who were too big to fit in the box
So they chopped your ‘useless’ wings off,
Now you look more like the other products
To serve uniformity
All of us have sacrificed a little bit of us.

For individuality stokes fear
You did whatever kept you near,
The flock of one’s who look like you
But differences became stark
The closer you drew.

Catching up, keeping up, living up to them
Drained of all glitter, was once a shining gem.
It’s an endless chase with no finish line
It ends with you
Either you decline or you resign.

No matter how much you try to fit in
You have already committed the sin
Of thinking apart, of having doubts.
The road ahead is deserted yet,
Regards, the odd one out.

Posted on by Anamika · 1 Comment

The pages of a diary

Pic credit: Unsplash

When you filled the first of our days with your ambitions,
I believed it’s going to be a fun trip.
That we will be together for a long time,
With our bond strengthened at every stroke of your pen’s tip.

At times I was scared of how much I know of you;
The crushes you had, the people you loathed the circumstances you feared.
I felt special that only I knew what made you cry,
Before the words were boldened and then smudged by your tears.

It was painful when you tore pieces off me,
Scribbling the most beautiful anger art.
The “dictators of your life” could never find the rebel’s hideout,
I made sure to absorb all the pain in your heart.

It was decided the moment you entrusted me with your beloved’s flower,
That if the world ever puts you on trial I will defend and be your attorney.
I swear I called your name when the “little one” invaded our privacy,
As I meant it when I declared myself a confidant in this journey.

I felt the burden of your heavy heart
when you started filling me with your emptiness,
I still carry the guilt of knowing
the exact moment you gave up on life and liveliness.

The flower has changed its colour
I won’t embrace you with rented fragrance like before,
The pen is as lonely as me in the company of my pages
My dear why don’t you pick us up why don’t you write anymore?

Posted on by Anamika · 2 Comments

Point of no return

His love was like a treat
Had me begging for more at each step,
I thought I was climbing up a ladder
It was a clifftop of unfathomable depth.

Do not leave me here in this maze
For I am unaware of these ways.

Yes, I committed the sin of opening up,
But my alibi is your assurance and my trust.

You took me up and up till the ground disappeared into clouds,
Wandering in the sky I felt like a kite.
Between a bird and a kite one is dependent on thread,
And oh dear how did you forget that I am afraid of heights?

My head hangs low admitting it’s a point of no return for me,
We either move together or, if you set me free,
You might not have any regret, not even it’s whiff,
But I will have no other choice but to jump off the cliff.