Body and soul
Corrosion
Self Worth
Girl in the mirror
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.
Empty
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.
Falling 🍁
The Youngest One
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.
Untitled
Making Peace
I remember when it felt unbearable.
The silence I yearned forever,
Was distinctly audible.
Is that how it feels being vulnerable?
Tears rolling down everywhere,
bedsheets, toilet, dining table.
‘But it’s good for you’, I told my reflection.
‘You are a big girl now,
Stop craving for attention’
Sometimes being alone brings perfection.
“You chose it for yourself why cry now?”
Said someone for whom I had greatest affection.
So I began to wait to get used to it eventually.
Like the first time I wore specs,
Didn’t like them immediately.
If it were a battle I would’ve fought courageously.
But Ashoka seeks Buddha,
When victory is celebrated regretfully.
Some affairs demand you yield.
I know I will be called a loser,
If ever, my secret is revealed.
Yes I surrendered, I bowed down, I kneeled.
For all I know and care about,
Is the pain will slowly get healed.
Random Thoughts 