I Wish I Was Your Santa For A Day

I have never been to get wrapped gifts.
Nor have I seen The Santa.
But if I could see, or believe in,
I would wrap the world for you.

The regret isn't you.
You are the joyful bliss.
But my veins turn blue everyday,
With the thought of your kiss.

I heard you got a box of chocolates,
I heard you got a box of your favorite things.
But I wish, I was the one,
To watch your face gleam.
Like that which engulfs my room,
The early morning sun.

I had to race against your Santa,
To a race of who knows you better.
I had to race against your Santa,
For that minimal touch, I craved.
I kept urging the want of your aura,
But your Santa stayed with you always.

I wish I could make you happy,
Like you Santa made you everyday.
I wish I would be the one to give,
The box of everything you needed,
In a small little box, for your smile.
I wish I could be your Santa now.
And make every Christmas worthwhile.

The Original Sankalp Article- which isn't THAT edited

#SorryNotSorry

You might have read about how time is important,

Or it might be about, how time has affected them.

But here I am a mere commonality.

Where time acts as a polarity.

Nineteen years of what has been my time,

But I have no tale of misery with me.

A gypsy, I have been all my life, as I call it.

Like my life is not kept on litmus to test,

My life has been the hovering hourglass.

Engulfing the normality out of me, and making me what I am right now.

CRAZY.

Now that it has been some shitty effort on making a good poetry on Time. Here is the real deal.

TIME.

When Harshil and Bansuri told me about writing article on this subject, I was like, “Yeah, I am the Shaktimaan!”

But after crossing the deadline, here I am where I have no clue, as I now have the panic attack of not knowing what it is. Millions of people must have told you, “Time is precious as Gold” or “Nikamme kaam kar.”  And more than that people must have come and say “Don’t worry; time will heal all the wounds.”

But I am here to tell you something really different. Time is your life span. Which is what? Around an average of sixty? That is really short. Because I remember I wanted my 10^th standard and 12^th standard to never end, and it went away like a blow of air. Time is your life, in short. If something should be begged from the million Gods in India is not money, wealth, respect or a good life partner, (believers of Sola Somvaars! Food is holy, should be followed religiously!) It should be TIME.

Before I tell you that why you should ask for more time, I would tell you what time is for me.

Time is that trip to Goa that you plan out of the blue with your sibling and a random stranger.

Time is that moment when your long time crush proposes you and you both become inseparable.

Time is the moment when your life gives you kick in the rear and your friends give a kick to that ass.

Time is the duration of that applause you get after your first dance performance.

Time is that affection of warmth when you see the beloved for the very first time, the beam of spark in eyes, and the windblown hair.

The time you and your friends make a special place in the college and restrict everyone else to come there, because you are the boss, and it’s a fake swag.

Time is the very first time a mother sees her child, in her hands, with the tiny little fingers and an angelic face.

Now, just rewind these small little moments, and look back at the hourglass. Don’t you want all this to happen once again in your life? Don’t you have a craving of being in that moment for a longer period of time?

Now let us imagine a situation, where every one of us just had 24 hours of life. No matter how famous the person is. Be it Mahatma Gandhi or Bill Gates or Deepika Padukone for that instance. Given 24 hours, the British wouldn’t invade India, there wouldn’t be any Quit India movement. Nor any Microsoft would happen. No one could scintillate the audiences on screen, as ‘Nobody got time for that!’

Now those who did not get my analogies, what I mean to say is Time is Life. Unpredictable, uncertain, unreliable, racing, confusing, betraying; but yet the most beautiful and astonishing element that the world encircles in. Time is not everyone should be worried about, what we should worry about is that we shouldn’t live in regret. Time is that element on which we blame all our mistakes on, just like the concept of God (but the fact is God is imaginary and time is not)

Instead of 24 hours we have millions of hours to LIVE the life. Live the moment. Time will make both of the bifurcations of incidents where you get kicked hard and also where your path is paved with soft beautiful roses. I have seen people who are really close to me, give me an hour long lecture on how you should utilize your time, and then regretting the fact that they couldn’t do a thing which they craved for. My mother for instance, being the most talented woman on earth and being good at what she is amazing at, that is painting. I see her regretting the fact that she had to leave her passion to raise a family, and then fulfill the holy duties of motherhood and family life. What is the point of living a life, where when you look back, all you find is disappointment? I wouldn’t say I don’t have any regrets in my life, but every day when I wake up, my mission is to stay strong and be an optimist.

And to the entire Uncle and Aunties and their take on utilizing time, well, I am too small to give a suggestion, but anyways I would love to.  Do not speak on how to utilize time. Instead, tell them how to make the fullest of the time given.

See the colors of the wind, watch a baby smile, watch the green leaves shed in autumn and watch the rebirth again. Feel the rain like a lover, feel the breeze, and feel the touch, of mother, father, and the beloved. Live wild, where there are no boundaries, drink if you want to drink, kiss if you want to kiss, fly if you want to fly, eat bugs if you want to, just what we need to keep in mind is DO NOT KEEP A REGRET.

To do so, it is not a piece of cake; it’s that hard push you have to give to a rock, while pushing it down a hill. People will stop you, humiliate you, torment you or lead to tyranny. It can be a friend, your lover, or even your parents. But the fact is you make your own way. And walk on it alone. Once you are through it that is when you realize that what time is and how beautiful the time is.

Speaking about me, those who know me I am an Ex-BBAite. Not by fortune but by choice. I remember the time I wanted to take Arts and report news holding the microphone labeled NDTV. But I was forced to take commerce. My friends and my class teachers know how I passed my 12^th. I got into the best journalism college in the country but couldn’t go there because again, I was under the test of time. I still remember the time I used to give my mid semesters in this college and used to weep internally and feel that I do not belong here. My best friends Bansuri Dayal Chouksey and Shweta Dadlani, noticed my pain. I wasn’t myself anymore. And they became my genuine pillars of my wings in making. I had three true friends, Bansuri, Shweta and Nishita. Who are still the love of my life. They gave me the push to believe in myself and gain myself back. Especially Shweta, she cried all day on my decision of leaving the college, tried all the things that could make me happy, texted a man I needed the most beside me that time. She gave her life to make her happy. I held hands of these three girlfriends of mine and left this college and headed to the airport to start my new journey. And look at me now, I am pursuing Mass Communication in Doon University, which is a premier institute in India and with everything I wanted in my life.  I live in a hostel (it is awesome). I now look back and do not regret any decision of moving here at all. And I am thankful to the supernatural for it.

My opinion is to live time, to embrace time, and to walk along time. Let yourself go without hurting your self- respect. Dance on the rhythm of the clock ticking. Because like time, life is too short to whine and regret. It is to celebrate, love, live laugh.

So I would end with a quote by a famous personality.

"Stay Raw, Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish, Stay Wild."

(quote by Anokhi Dasgupta, who forgot exactly what MTV had quoted)

Dear 16 Year Old Me! Hear Me Out!

Dear 16 Year Old me,

Hello, how have you been? Where have you gone? I really do miss you. Being 19 is pretty much a tough job and sucks. Well it will pass like you did I guess. I thought and and realized that I had not been fair to you. I hid things and did what I don't even do now. So I thought here are few things you should know or be aware of. So that no other 16 year old suffers from inhibitions. 

So dear you. Bullying is not cool. May it be bullying someone or bearing someone's shit! It is not cool. 

People in the world, and in our country are like crabs. When they see you growing taller, they pull you with their tweezers and bring you down, crash you, destroy you, kill you. But be a hammer. The strength you got after being destroyed for two years shouldn't happen to anyone else. 

What you have been spoon fed since your early childhood isn't the truth. Your mother isn't always right, she is human too. She is the breed of the incomplete knowledge. Like me, like anybody else. And so is everybody.

Dear, deciding to be single for life is an obnoxious idea. You won't be happy by just crushing on a drummer of the school band, who now survives on heroine. You won't have even the slightest bit of the heart to live alone to say 'I love being single!' Because someone will invade that space of yours and never leave that space.

Your parents will go against you when you need them the most. But also they love you unconditionally. They will stick to the thoughts of their "Zamaana" and appall you with the unscientific and irrational logics of 'Log Kya Sochenge Phenomena.' But never back down.

Make mistakes, take your scooty, lie to your parents and just get out once in a while, for hours, even if your butts start to sleep. And then begin a fresh.

Do cry. It is important, otherwise there will come a time, life will kick your rear ends so hard that you have to cry for years. Staying strong and not crying are two very different things.

You will love and get hurt, over and over again. You will feel like pulling your hair out. Your, 'I never freak out' attitude will not work, when he does not attend even one of your calls or when slightest things become big. 

Do not love too much, little me. There is no deeper pain than loving too much. Keep yourself first, because that is what it is meant to be. The stones melt like candles in love, yet we are humans. Little me, love yourself more, or try to. But because you are my conscience, you won't be able to. He will do things which you can't bear, he will do things which wrecks your heart way too deeply, but you need to stand up again. Coz everything will be be fine, if not today, then tomorrow, at some point.

You are not perfect, so do not even try to be one. Your weirdness make you beautiful. Your gigantic and satanic loud laugh, your mole on the right cheek, your height, your weight, everything makes you.. You.

Do not fear to revolt against to your elders. Wrong is wrong and must be rectified. They will go away and that is for your good.

Dear 16 year old me, you were amazing, you were carefree, you were naive, you were lovable, innocence reflected your face, you sang, you danced, and you were welcoming. I miss you, I want you back. Adulthood sucks to its extreme. People will want you to be mature, when you are having the worst time. Do not grow up.

Do not grow up at all little me, it is horrible here, but it will pass. 

Missing you,

Yours forever

Anokhi

Every Count of His Breath

Last night, when they were talking.
The words of wisdom and the silent caress.
And then while she said a word,
He fell asleep,

And she could hear his breath.
Every innocence that his breath had.
The rhythm of the sanctity of the love they had.
Every kiss they had in an enclosure.

The softness that his hand had,
Ignited it in her heart.
Like nebula does to stars.
His breath was like a sheet of ice,
On her burning wound.

Her ears felt like the ocean waves that crashes down.
And his breath felt like the moon,
Which swam through her heart, and created,
Tides.

 

Its All About You..

I lie here on my bed,
Covered in quilt in this shivering winter.
Where I see the dew condensing on the windowsill. 
The city lights, red, blue, yellow, glistening through the horizon.
But yet, the beauty was diminishing,
As I was made beautiful by the paints of his heart.

The slender caress that went by my face, the stroke of breeze.
The tender softness that my cheeks could feel, when he said, "Smile for me please!"
I remember how I used to be.
Careless, ruthless, incomplete my heart could see.
But came you,
The silent whisper in my ears,
The storm that I would get carried away with.
The cafune, my hair would die to feel.
The lingering that my skin would crave.

My life was an incomplete poetry,
The song unsung.
The loosened knot in a rope.
The unraveled gap in the rocks.

But came you,
The one who knew how to fuck reality,
And paint the life with colors of imagination.
The brush being your lips,
And the canvas being my disarrayed life.
To the love,
To the life,
A million cheers.

She Was Her Own Heaven

Her hand, 
Her hand now showed marks of the tight ropes around her.
The reigns of disbelief.
The marks of tearing up inside.
By every quarter, every inch, every cell, every nerve.

Her body cracking through her skin,
Slowly turning up and showing the marks of her heart stretching.
Her eyes dyed deep blue.
Not of sleeplessness, but the twitch in her heart.
Of her wishes which remained unfulfilled.

Her face wrinkled,
By the storm that went within her.
Because she forgot that happiness is her.
She forgot that it was not just him, that she lived for.
She was not born to be forgotten.

With a cup of coffee in her hand, sitting along the long grass.
In open air, her eyes wandered away with the smoke from her cup.
Wandering away to the land unknown where only tears of sorrow lived.
Following the smoke along,
She felt that stars make the darkest of nights beautiful.
She realized that maybe shooting stars are rare,
But they do exist.

The misty mornings,
Do turn into the clearest of skies.
The wounds do heal, 
Wrinkled hands and clawed up chains can be healed and broken.

But only by herself,
Only she was the hindrance between her,
And her happiness.
She was her own shooting star.
She was the white clouds behind the grey.
She was the long tall grass.
She was her own heaven.

If I Were A Boy*

Well, today I do not have fancy poetic alliterations and other poetic devices to let you know what I feel. Because today what I want to say is outright so that it reaches you, and you can't say, "It was too poetic that is why I couldn't understand!" So here it goes.

After having severe pains in my back, so much that I can't feel my legs right now, I feel like cutting them off, (no exaggeration), after puking multiple times because of this pain, all I get to hear from my mother and other people whom I shared my bad times with, is one phrase.

"It will pass. Girls are born to take pains. You are exaggerating."

Whereas on the other hand if a guy complains about a headache, he will get all the attention in the world coz, "Mard ko dard nahi hota." And if its happening its genuine pain!
 
Yes, I am pouring blood, bearing pains, I feel handicapped, because, yes, I am born to bear it, putting up a smile and saying, "Yeah! Its that time again when I get to feel like a woman!" I mean lets face it, isn't being a woman or a girl shittier enough? So it came to my mind, how really nice it would be if I were a boy, with every empathy to that of a woman! Yes, Beyonce inspired me for this! 

If I were a boy, I would seriously stop blaming women for mood swings, because it is not PMS that screws us up, but it is the discomfort and unbearable pain that makes us cranky,and then of course stupid behavior of all men!

If I were a boy, I would actually understand that Yes, Pyaar ka Punchnama does show the truth, but their is a whole inverse world out their which the hysterical PMSing director hasn't shown you yet.

If I were a boy, I would actually make any one wait for ages and pretend to be cool. Whether its a 'Wassup' text from your best friend, a basic Hello from your boyfriend, or just anything else, lets say, waiting and searching for a washroom when you're on a road trip, and you need to pee so bad that you can generate Niagra falls then and there. Whereas guys can just easily stop a car and do their thing and say, "Babbar sher washroom nahi jaate!"

If I were a boy, I would dump every chick and stare down at someone's booty and then try to make that girl mine. Come on girls just love to get dumped and been clinging upon.

I would just hang around late at night, and never get questioned as to where I am going? When will I be back? I could just shower all my frustration on my lady, coz come on, she is born to bear anger and have patience in the best possible way, see what is wrong and remain numb.

I could just make lame cheesy jokes on every woman possible, and become a comedian. A successful one I should say! Coz come on we are the only people who nags, gossips, whine and get angry. Men do not have something called anger. They are the coolest people ever. (And that makes me say WTF!)

I would just stare at any girl's assets even if she is fully covered, coz come on, its cool and manly! And who cares whether the girl is uncomfortable?

I would just do anything and be cool! But still! 
ITS OUR FAULT! 

WE nag. WE complain. WE do dramas. WE irritate. WE are moody. 

YES ITS OUR FAULT. But the fact, we can do without you. But you Men can't!!

*Not that I am a feminist, I love, laugh, and love settlement, but these are the facts.

BEING COMPLICATED

She saw her hands bleeding.
There were thorns of every possible heartbreak on her hand.
Sitting on the corner chair, her hands bled.
Dripping drop by drop, and then now gushing out.
Her eyes lost, in every mistake and every contradiction it had to follow.
Every thing she did, and yet which is to be undone.
She realized, the test of time never stopped.
She realized that she was tired of all the disbelief in her.
She was tired of waiting for someone to say,
"I am proud of being with me."
She was tired of not hearing, "I am proud of you to be my daughter."
She was tired of not being ignored by him.

She never complained.
She took care of her elder sister like her parents told her to.
Forgot her entire life that she too had desires.
She gave up her entire life being a role model.
For friends, for cousins, for every human possible.
She was that girl, who scored well, behaved well.
Never dreamed.

But one day she started dreaming.
He made her dream.
He made her realize that she is something.
She is unique.
She tried giving her all to him.
Her sleepless nights, her every share of feelings.
Her timid times to the tidy tornadoes.
She made him a part of her everything.

One sight of his wasn't enough for her.
So she didn't think twice on the thought of seeing him again.
She tempted the smell of his skin.
She tempted that face of his.
She wanted that myriad of happiness on his first touch.
But it was way too Complicated.

Now she lies, with that very hand bleeding.
As she thought someone thought on her perspective.
Someone just thought that it was tough being her.
Her eyes still lost as I see it.
Her eyes talking about the,
Complication which she gave and had in life.
Her identity being COMPLICATED.
 

19th June 2014, 6:15am

I was just not living a love story.
I was under the test of time.
I was sleeping under the sleeping shadows
Or standing under the clouds above the cherry blossoms.
I had been the warrior for years.
Slaying and reasoning the part of my existence. 
Switching my faith like the sand in hourglass.
Everyday, was a different thought.
As to, will I ever see the true magic?
Whether will I ever be able to fly when I am standing on my feet?

Struggling for what seemed like decades.
Finally the moment arrived.
When I suddenly felt a pang of various such emotions.
Like the myriad of stars, my excitement was beyond compare.

He stood their smiling on the busiest railway station.
As my eyes wandered everywhere for his one glance.
He stood there, smiling, as he knew what my eyes searched for.
As my eyes met him, I got kicked.
Kicked by the mixed bag of feelings.
As I felt gravity, didn't follow their rules,
The busiest station wasn't busy anymore.
I could not feel my heart in its place anymore.

As he came like the God just embraced me with every arm he has.
His blush became my survival.
His kiss on my forehead now became a substance of my existence.
The hug he gave me, was more than divine.
Like something celestial just happened in this barren life.
His eyes, as brown, as deep and a mystery.
Yet shouted, volumes.
Volumes of the affection he had been trying to hide.
It felt like for once all my questions of existence had now been answered.
Like a part of me just filled the missing puzzle piece.

The crooked smile he smiled.
The every brisk touch he touched.
Still lingers on my skin as I still feel it.
As comforting as an Advil.
As soothing like the first ray of sunlight in winter morning.
My life is complete since then.

This day is now embarked.
Embarked with his fingers on my hand.
Embarked with the positive weirdness.
Embarked in my heart,
The day when I see the light, amidst the misty fog.

A Few Hours More

I laid there.
Silent.
On my bed with nothing but a drape like thing on my skin.
He was sleeping like an angel, right on the small little bed beside me.
Yet he looked like an angel.
Like a myriad of stars are spread across his face.

I wanted this all my life.
Just lie down somewhere where there is no noise.
Just gaze, wander and worry about nothing.
See him sleep like my daughter slept,
With her face resting on my chest.
Without a crease to see of worry.
And occasionally smiling, like heaven said him the sweet words of love.

But today I see creases on his forehead.
Like wrinkles in the old and obsolete cloth.
Wrinkles of, "She has a few days in her hands."
Wrinkles of, dieing within, 
The twists of not growing old with me.

I want to watch him like this a few hours more.
Even minutes more will do.
The dark patches under his eyes of rubbing my hands and feet for days.
I want to go to him and tell him for one last time,
"That I will love you till the end, and beyond."

I saw my mother coming in, with that same worry she had since I was a kid.
But now, she just patted my forehead.
I could see her lips quivering.
I could see her worrying for him, who has been like a son to her.
I could recall how she forever screamed at me.
And I would protest and scream back.
But now all I want is her to scream at me.
Scream at me, "That how could I be leaving them in maybe a few minutes?"

My sister and father entering,
But now I can't keep my eyes open.
It feels like I am flying to a land unknown.
He has woken up.
All I can hear is the faint sound of him.
A faint touch of kissing me, the very last time.
A faint noise of my mother finally screaming but to her almighty.
A faint noise of a bunch of doctors rushing in.
Slapping on my face to wake me up.

All I can see is their happy faces now.
The time my mother baked my birthday cake.
The time my Dad said, "You are the best!"
The time I saw his red blushing cheeks for the first time.
The time I heard him say those words for which I am still the luckiest girl alive.
The time I exchanged my rings and vows with him.

But it is time for me to bid adieu.
And at last I see the light.
And at last I feel myself releasing.
Releasing through the syringes in me.
For once I am not a Hindu, a brown, a caste.
I am a spirit!
Just a spirit!

_/\_/\______________________________________
 

When my Room Spoke Up

Who am I?
Just a room.
I am the one with just four pink walls.
I am the one who made to accommodate.
Accommodate her in specific.
Accommodate all of her.
She came in with her warm smile,
Excited to dress me like her kingdom.
Innocence and fear of making me her friend forever.
She danced around in the empty me, 
She danced around when she filled me with her other belongings.

But this girl was not like the other people I have embraced.
She never slept in me.
But often she came inside, with the highest of her emotions.
She came in with a storm in her.
A hurricane of rage.
With a vessel full of despair in her.
She came in with her not perfect but melting smile.
She came along with her dreamy eyes,
Thinking of going and escaping the cage she is into.
She came in with the dilemma she had with her hormones.
She always came in with the stupidest 
To the most wildest of her dreams.
She kept me the most untidy, but also decorated me with her dreams.
She came in with the magic called HOPE.
Where she lied heartbroken but yet saw a ray of hope.

I saw her being the most strong girl and turning into a punching bag.
I saw her battling everyday, with her illness,
With her love, with her imperfections, and specially her mother.
Who once had been her best friend and now turned into her greatest fist of rage. 
I saw her making love to the man,
She woke all night and talked to him,
So that he stays and they live happily ever after.
She had all those gossips with her sister who is also her best friend.
In me.
Where I stood watching her.

She cried all night in silence, hiding her face in the pillow.
But there..
I stand there, with just a curtain to flow on her face and make her realise,
That I am always there.
But I am me.
A room, a materialistic beginning and end.
I can only be personified,
But cannot pacify a broken soul like her.
Or cannot laugh in her merry making.
I cannot sway with her when she talks to him romantically.

But despite of my helplessness.
I am man made, a man made me devoid of every human feeling.
But they forgot.
Walls too have their ears.

I am a room.
But today I speak,
Through the eyes of the ruler,
To whom I am a silent slave.

The First Feelings...

I had been that lonely warrior.
Who had survived the earthquake, storm and avalanche.
Who had seen her reflection in the snow.
It was just me.
Always, in the mirror, in the reflection,
I saw me.
The girl, just an ordinary girl that I have been.

I didn't know what this type of numbness was called.
Loneliness?
No, not that I was left alone.
I was a puzzle unsolved.
Waiting for the missing piece to be in place.
Waiting for the every 'first' feelings,
To be feelings after all.

Someone who would waltz with my soul,
Someone who holds my face like a frame does to a picture.
Until, one day, when I completely believed that I will be unsolved forever.
Came he, out of the blue.
He came from the cloud 9.
Which I thought never existed.

Stepping in the ballroom shoes, which fitted my waltz.
He became the frame which beheld me.
On which I could lay my head, and he held me like I don't need,
Any other frame.
He came like the balmy breeze, which eased my pain.
He became the morning sunshine,
The first sip of Coffee, which rushes through you.
He became my moonlight, the beam of light which showered upon my lips.
And made me smile.

Amidst of all the storm, he stuck like the autumn leaf on the ground.
Like the sand to the sand storm.
All night I lie awake.
Just seeing his face all day and night long.
Caressing through his hair, thinking of his angelic face,
Confessing what we had for each other all night.

Through thick and thins we have been together.
Through every thorns we walked together.
And then we knew, what goes around comes back around.
Has to come back around.
We are made together, and will be together.
With rings of the holiness.
With promises of togetherness of life.

We perfectly imperfect.
But can't live without the imperfections.
It is like,
You have been my own brand of drug.
Like my own brand of heroine.
Like my quick rush of adrenaline.
Like the blissful first kiss.
Like the first summer rain.
Like the first blossom of spring.
Like the the feeling of wedding ring!

BLOW ME ONE LAST KISS

Bruised.
Her hands are now colored blue and black,
With the wound of holding on too tight.
There are memories embarked on them.
Of the person whom she loved the most.
But could give him nothing back in return.

Clenched.
Her jaws and fist all clenched.
Because she knew she tried well enough,
Of restoring, protecting and grasping onto him.
Her hands could not open.
As she had nothing to give.

Sweaty.
Her palms were sweaty of the hard work she did.
The work of leaving the world behind,
And making him the world.
The wide world she saw in his brown eyes.
Which now just showed question,
Which she is still unable to answer.
Her sweat drops every time she sees his eyes.

Goosebumps.
She gets goosebumps,
Every time she hears him speak.
But the voice isn't for her anymore.
She does get goosebumps when her best friend says,
"How can you love him so much?"
And,there,she is just thinking to herself,
'Coz he is the gift I got when I did something for real good.'

Dense.
Like the forest in the tropics.
Like the snow in the Antarctics.
Dense like his brown eyes, his brows, his intense hair,
Is her destiny.
Dark, unanswered was she.
When he asked, "Can you come here?"

Turned Tables,
Turned her tables when once for whom she meant happiness,
Now she turned into a sorrow,
A question,
A severity.
An imagination.
A false fairytale.
Which he saw in her.
She was a melody he once knew,
Which now was a cacophony.

Irresistible.
Is still his eyes.
His heavy, balmy voice.
Like the first summer rain, like the first breeze of autumn.
His dark brown eyes,
Like a dark secret entwined in branches.
His hair,
To which caressing in dreams is heaven.
His eternal blush she remembers,
Like the redness of the sweetest apple.
To which any Eve would eat the forbidden fruit.
His little broad nose.
To which she made fun of.
The thought of waking up 
And seeing the morning light explode on his face.
Which radiates the inner him, the angelic face he has.

Is all a question.
Is all a confusion.
Thus, came a day, where she let him go.
To explore the world.
Because at the end she realized.
Her heart didn't belong to her.
It is his, his happiness,
Being the harmony to which her angels dance.

Before she could see her demons in his eyes,
The question getting deeper.
She can't hold him back anymore.

Apology is a mere word she could express to him.
To devastate him as she became.
Unanswered, from a love, to friend, to someone in between.
So as the song says,
"Blow me one last kiss."

 
 
 

Love, Sex and India

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Slapped By The Shadow

She forgot what sleeping is,
Because she had a nightmare.
She saw that he was going far away.
A shadow fading slowly away.
The shadow she could give her all too.

A blur of the image she had,
Coz she didn't find the man she adored anymore
In the image.
All she was a completely changed man.
A man who was devoid of everything they had.
A man who had once been the pillar of strength.
Had now vanished.

The man who could go black and blue.
Was now pale for he was numb of the feelings he had.

Her words didn't appall her anymore,
Her work wasn't good anymore.
She did not fit in his hug anymore.
She wasn't the beholder of his appreciation anymore.

Her song didn't appeal to him anymore.

Because he didn't love her anymore.

She saw the shadow vanish completely.
And since the nightmare, she didn't sleep.
Every day her nightmare
Became a heart wrenching reality.
Because what she now was empty.
Empty heart, empty soul, because she lost.
She lost everything with the shadow.
The nightmare which slaps her everyday
Even now.

The Waltz with The Angel

She danced it all her way through.
The odds, the evens, 
On a hope that once wrapped around her.
The hypothetical perfection that engulfed her.
The ground, the sky, her demeanour.
All were perfect.

The feeling of being obsolete and worn out.
Is what was least expected.
She never knew that someone could come along,
And dance along with her soul.
Move along with the rhythm inside.
Killing the demons and bringing up the angel side.

They waltz around the space that lied between them.
A long distance which condemned them from getting a glance.
But the rhythm died like any other song.
The story faded like any other epilogue of a story.
As numb as a paralyzed,
As frozen as ice.
They both stood apart.
Feeling the pain in the chest,
Yet feeling the love.

She said, "I don't know"
When he asked, "Why are you crying?"
But inside what whirled around was,
A vision of a deep crack beneath your feet,
A gap so wide open, that she was scared to step out from her shell anymore.
And he was scared of not seeing her at all.
She was scared to let her angels die.
When she knew her demons played with a dagger in chest

All they had was an awkward serenity.
A tranquility that they both hate.
Oh! Alas! What an irony.
Of the sea wave engulfing her feet,
Yet what she felt was peace,
But sharp nails of of falling apart.

She Was An Ordinary Woman

She was an ordinary woman, 
Living the very ordinary life that she inherited.
She was seven years old, when her mother told her,
"Beware, in this lousy world of men who never spare,
Even the slightest chance to humiliate,
First physically
Then verbally,
Till you are broken down, mentally."

She grew up, living in the dilemma
Whether to flap her wings and fly in the open,
Or to put them into shredder all by herself?
Should she be scared to live?
Or live to get scared?

But she, decided to live,
Not for the sake of brutally humiliating her dreams to death.
But for giving her inner human a second chance.
Of being fierce, free and flying.

Now, she was a grown woman.
A woman who woke up with the noise,
Of her neighbours beating their daughter.
A woman, who was harassed on the roads,
While a man pinched her butt, swayed through her thighs,
Saw her with the glare,
That one couldn't bear.
She was an ordinary woman.

She went to teach a few children,
Few adolescent, growing children,
Who kept staring at her in the places, which demeaned her.
She loved to dance, she loved to perform,
Express her soul in a way.
She could not express verbally, come what may.
But she was addressed as a prostitute!
Dancing to earn and fill her physical and erotic desires.
She was an ordinary woman.

While she tackled her angels and demons inside,
She dealt with all the demons around her.
One day they internationally proclaimed to be her day.
A Woman's Day.
But that was the day, few men came around,
Took her to an isolation.
And brutally ripped off not just her clothes,
But also the wings that one grew, the smile she once bore,
But now left with a bruised body,
Demeaning existence,
And her hear left numb yet sore.

But no, she was just an ordinary woman.
Who was taught,
To worship men.
To be and exist in a line.
"She was just an ordinary woman"