Merciless

I have exploded my mind
On the tender interwoven fibers of my paper.
That absorb my emotions- as if though
My soul is an endless well of water.
I have saved a life, maybe it is mine-
By moving a burden from my heart-
The burden of living life.
Words intertwine
like bare branches on a windy day
And horses gallop through the landscape
like thunder- and the trees feel lightening.

I have shared my happiness
With the paper as my friend.
Every moment that defines me
has been recorded in this memoir.
Illegibly, maybe- but understandably.
My ups and down, what if I fail?
That is every human’s
greatest fear. But you have to learn
to get over it. I will fall
otherwise I can’t get up. My head in the
highest clouds. I have entered
an infinity. Feels uplifting.

I have reached a crossroad. Where my vehicle
stops with a start. Revving up the engine
is fruitless. I am stuck. Stuck in the middle of
blaring horns, of some mediocre phase of life
that I came upon by chance.
I am stuck. Stuck, in the arms of another
who never understood me. I am stuck.
Stuck in the anger brought on by unfairness.
Sometimes it feels like I’m
deceiving myself. Telling myself lies
to believe I am the best.
But does it matter? That those lies I tell
they turn into truths
because they make me happy, after all.
Anytime soon,
The truth does not seem pacifying.

I have seen what it’s like.
To be left alone, excluded.
Be the ‘new kid’ at school.
So I confide in words. I write
to feel what it is like, to live
without fear. A tiny tear
drops down, a small damp spot
on my floral-patterned dress.
the one my grandmother sewed
staring out the window at pouring rain.
And so I put pen to paper
The pen is my weapon
to diminish my enemies, rescue my allies
and restore the gift of living life.
Around me I hear crying, but I am smiling.

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A Reality

I resign myself to perpetual showers,
Disappointments with the rain
But with the new year approaching
I find earnest hope again.

Hope for an adventure,
Hope for a smile
Hope for success and achievement
Inspiration all the while.

Go riding on my dreams,
Sailing on wide seas
Joyfully come back after
Celebrating my victories.

At the end of the new year
I do hope to see
That once I had a dream
Now I have a reality.

Just a Child

I can’t remember
how I came to be a child
midst of darkness and frolic
and the mazes of childhood
roaming paths unknown to many
yet knowing the world will care.

Hand outstretched, I plead
say- to be or not to be
feel free to ask of me a favor
but none too big to accomplish
beyond my reach, my tender brain
my immature soul and loving embrace.

Flowers have been my companions
to create a wonderful simulation
yes, a world of my own, a lie
is what I crave to live in
and grow up in, far from
rules and taunts, just to be what I am.

Never very special, yet loved, I know
but did not before. I cried tears
till dry eyes gave way to angry words
and neither did I repent
should I? I ask, and why?
No care for tears, why for family?

Glowering at unfair praise, to rivals
fits I threw many, no one understood
as to why, little child, were you a nuisance
not the sweet angel that children can never be?
they ask, and I have no reply
I just cry, and they stare, as if children don’t cry.

And they can say as much as they can
but will I listen? maybe not
but all I know is they have no right to make
me listen, if they did not listen to me
and understand my pain, before
asking for my help with their troubles.

I will love, every creation must
but, will I be wrong as always ?
I think not, they have no right
to control my emotion as well
just because I am a child, an I not
live free, and be bound by duty?

I will lie, yes, and not care for ones
who pushed me out of where I belonged
my age, was not my decision
then why be punished for it?
punishment, sure as I am a bird
will never last long.

But words will bond, be drilled
into hearts of fame; beloved
children will hate the world for
making their decisions
uttering their words, and
changing the world from the original.

Iconoclast of Childhood

My birth has touched revered soil,

Where people bury their heritage,

From the land which radiated strength,

From the time it gained independence in war.

At midnight, our soldiers rose.

 

I rise from the talented hands that held me,

Passed on from ancient ancestry,

Blow away, wind! Over my child, they said,

In heavy rain, humid heat, and frost.

 

I am from the land that honors its fallen,

And its handicraft made from blistered hands,

From everlasting love, and patriots many,

From the northeast of the rich peninsula,

By the music of the song that carries overseas.

 

Merry mutiny, disagreeing sisters,

And Frances, a childhood possession,

That now grew up to be a charming maiden,

At least in minds that cherish dolls.

 

The words that held a significance,

Eat up! Don’t make a fuss!

Be the best in what you love,

And I’m from the hands that sold,

Worli art and Madhubani paintings.

 

Basil and raw turmeric, always followed a cough,

Kitchen smelling of spices, in eagerly awaited dinner,

Colored lamps gave a golden hue,

Felt like a haven, friends a couple paces away.

 

From words did I grow up,

Sanskrit, French, Hindi, and Bengali,

Kathak dance performed amidst culture,

Of my family and country alike.

And then it all fell away.

Corpses

Splinters of fine wood apart,
Continues from the ancient start,
Havens in the skies of gold,
New corpses with flowers to hold.
Crosses in the graveyard be,
Underneath a single tall palm tree,
Flying in the air-borne noise,
Playing with an angel’s toys.
Stairs to hell, and carpets to heaven,
For all those who were good old men,
And the fine young children, dead galore,
Wait patiently, anticipate much more.
Between mourners in the cemetery,
Names etched in dusty upholstery,
But as they look down from the sky,
They’ll be remembered by and by.

Joanne

La fille est tres belle, elle est sympathique,
Elle s’appelle Joanne, le bel nom,
Mais, elle est triste, oui, mecontent,
La vie de Joanne est mourir.
Elle etait une contente fille,
Habite a Lyon en France,
Elle crie, mais non, elle,
habite en sa laide vie.
Sa brune cheveux a vole dans l’air,
Sa rouge chaussures danse un moyen,
sa yeux bleues regarde le monde,
Le monde tour sa un moyen.
Ah, chere Joanne!
Joanne etait une bonne fille,
Mais elle est mort,
Pourquoi? Joanne mort?
Il n’ya pas de reponse.
La petite fille Joanne.

The Definition Of Love

Love is what you think of hatred,

Love is what you make it out to be.

Love is what you think of while you waited,

Love is what you think of you and me.

Love is the sky, love is your soul,

Love is the earth, love is your sole,

Comforter, and your heart.

Love is infinity.

Morning

You say you will be gone by the time,
the sun sets, the light dims, the world sleeps.
The sun says you will be too, but why?
When you go, the whole world weeps,
and so do I. Because you hide, and I never,
accustom my eyes to see you ever.
Fighting my way to seek refuge in you,
but you don’t open your arms, in the misty light,
of your slender body, of your stone-studded bright,
deeply and enchantingly, you appear,
beautiful in contrast to the morose night.
Feet in stilettos, at the door of cafes,
they while away in you, revel in blissful gossip,
But when the evening dulls the energy,
words of farewell are on the tender lip.
Between the changing seasons you,
witness the familiar scene time and again,
You watch the snow, you watch the rain,
The world waking up behind the window-pane.

Miss Conceptions- Poetic Expressions of a Young Girl

It was as if my world of imagination in rhythm had come to life, when I finally saw my first book, “Miss Conceptions” in print. I never thought that my poems would all be united into a book, and would gain such support. My writings were all scattered, on my blogs, and in my files. Why not make them into a regular treasury?

Check out Miss Conceptions, a collection of fifty rhythmic and soulful poems, which collaborate to make a delightful combination. Now with over thirty copies sold, I would say that it has made me happy.

Miss Conceptions on amazon.in

Miss Conceptions on amazon.com

Miss Conceptions on notionpress.com

Miss Conceptions on Goodreads

Miss Conceptions on google play

Ghost

Behind the hollow curtains,
Moves a black shadow,
A figure, sliding noiselessly,
Diving deep.

Into the fear of my fears,
The dark, the mysterious,
How could I see,
What was coming after me?

Hull of silent white,
Shadow of you over my nose,
Trying to make me remember you,
Even after you’re dead.

Don’t scare me,
Because I’ve left you in your peace,
Don’t give me nightmares,
Because they don’t let me sleep.

Tearing away at my window,
Howling, creepy sounds,
Ghostly songs ring through the night,
And I break out in a sweat.