A Cure for Broken Shoulders

When the rain gravitates towards you

be still, my dear.

Be still and let it touch you

like a lover’s breath on broken shoulders.

 

It sings quite softly, my dear,

but when it does, I swear to you,

the world stops spinning to

let the stars sing along.

 

You’ll feel the tune escape your lips

and your soul will dance in bliss,

Be still, my dear, and let the lover’s

breath write stories of magic on your skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mulberry Wings

I would give you a long explanation over why I wrote this poem, but it is unnecessary. Just look at it as an expression of anger against all forms of rape and abuse that exist. 

 

The first time i knew the meaning of consolation

was a breath of warm air into my ear,

air that smelled faintly of humour-laced

words and cigarettes, telling me

‘Shhh, you’ll be fine now.’

And I remember looking at his dark

brown eyes and the pockmarks

on his skin as he said this, and the bruise on

my knee stopped throbbing quite as much.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.” I said

as he smiled back at me.

They say how an adult reacts to a situation

has a psychological impact on the child’s

reactions, but those are big words, and I

was but a small child,

and those words to me had nothing to do

with logic

and everything to do with magic.

 

 

 

Years later, I stand in front of the full length mirror,

like a broken sparrow with mulberry wings

and haunted eyes,

and I try to form the same words

but choke up mid-way,

as I see his form approaching,

once so familiar,

now so strange,

as I see his hands reach for me

I realised what words I

once thought were magic

in the way they healed me

were the words that had broken

me in the first place:

he whispers into my ear,

‘Shhh, you’ll be fine now.’

 

 

 

Clay

you impressed me

you were impressed upon me
the faint dent of your lips on the edge of my throat
the hollow of bright red fingers on my fading wrists
the stamp of words whispered against my hair
the print of heel warm on my knobbly knee
the dip of your elbows against my ribs
i was clay for you, dear potter
and i gave you all,
all that you chose to make
a shattered vase.

Hiraeth

I plunge my fingers into the ocean

we call the sky and sift through the dreamy

translucent layers that are wings of

a broken butterfly hunched over

with sunlight streaming  and i

play with the wispy clouds

like puffs from a fine cigar and

watch as the birds stretch their wings

to feel the wind bite into their

throats one last time and the ball of fire

that is saying goodbye drenches my nails

in liquid colours until they become

fire themselves

and one by one the stars appear

like a glimpse of a past long forgotten

guided by the imposter that brightens

the inky black of the nights

and my hands submerge into the sky

that swaddles its baby like a warm

blanket spotted with patches of

swirls and a bosom

of motherly affection,

the infinite that keeps us in place.

 

 

Hold my hand, dear, and say it’ll be okay.

i held a fist of sand as i once

held your fist

and watched as the grains

slipped away

like smooth fingers sliding

out of a warm

grasp

and the hollow air that

remained

was a reminder

of you blowing

whispered promises

into my ear

and my red palms

stayed permanently blushing

from the absence of the sand

and

the absence of you.

Rainbows

our spare room used to have blue sheer curtains

that shielded us from the rest of the world until we

realised that we didn’t want to hide anymore

and now we have no curtains just holes in the walls

called windows and it’s the best decision we ever made

because every morning the room gets flooded

with the richest shade of golden and then we watch

as clocks become obsolete and time is measured by

the mulberry hues that turn crimson and the twinkling

starlight that filters the darkness and as vanilla

and violets alternate to dance into our room

our bodies feel like art

and

our souls feel like rainbows.

Elementary Death.

You can die a thousand ways,

but none as beautiful

and devastating

as in

the hands of the elements-

raw, untamed, merciless.

 

You can die in the lap of fire,

the flames licking every crevice

of your body, taming the curve

of your hip and

your dusty lips.

 

You can melt into lava.

 

You can die in the hands of water,

the waves crashing against you

in fury,

sculpting the stone that is you,

into a

tomb, for what will be.

 

You can dissolve into the ocean.

 

You can die at the mercy of air,

the irony settling in

sweetly

as the life-giver,

slowly sucks the

life out of you.

 

You can steal wings from the storm.

 

You can die if the earth chooses to,

as the green turns into grey,

and the ground rumbles

till there’s nothing

left to shake.

 

You can fall into the earth.

 

You can die when the spirit leaves you,

when the emptiness inside

spreads

like a famine,

and captures

your entirety.

 

You can merge into the infinite.

 

Thank-You

Hey guys!

I just got around to checking out my stats today and it turns out that over the past 3 weeks alone, I’ve got nearly 200 likes (?????!!!!) and hundreds of views and tons of warm, encouraging comments, and I cannot tell you how much that means to me. ( A LOT A LOT A LOT )

Unfortunately, I’ve had to delete a couple of posts for personal reasons (sounds ominous but it really isn’t), but I will get around to writing and putting up more poetry soon!

Once again, thank you all so much for reading x

Lots of love

First Draft

I tried to write
poetry
for you.

But I cant find

a suitable metaphor.

You see,

You aren’t my Sun,
even though you fill every
pore of my body with your
everlasting warmth
even if
you set the linings
of
my belly
on fire.

You aren’t my Moon, either,
even though I’d be
left stumbling in the blindness
if not for your gentle
guidance
even if the
tides of my heart
are controlled
by you.

And neither are you the Stars,
even though
you take my breath away
when you’re
in your glory,
even if
every time I look at you,
I keep finding
more of you.

Sweet boy,

if anything,

you’re the whole damn sky.

You’re the infinity that
controls my
nights
and my
days
You’re the comfort that
wraps my entire
world

and what is
the sun
and the moon
and the stars
when compared to
the
entire heaven ?

I cannot write

enough

poetry about you,

but call this a

first draft

if you will.

Future

There is wind,

but there are no trees left to sway.

There is water,

but there is no thirst left to quench.

There is music,

but there is no soul left to hear.

There is love,

but there is no heart left to feel.

——–

There is life,

but there is nothing left to live for.

Dream-catcher

AN: Dismal day today. Current mood can be captured by A Fine Frenzy’s ‘Goodbye my Almost Lover’.

The dream-catcher came in a little

blue box with silk wrapping

and a satin ribbon, my fingers

gently

clasping the little

strings of hope

woven together

in a cacophony of connections

and I hid it under my pillow

as I closed my eyes,

hoping,

that this time

when your dimpled smile and

shaggy hair starred in my dreams,

it may do what I

could not

catch

you.

Hidden Conversations

“GO” I screamed.

Please don’t, my heart whispered.

“But…” he stuttered.

I don’t want to, his heart pleaded.

“I love you.” he mumbled.

Me too, my heart ached.

“Well, I don’t.” I snapped.

Don’t lie, his heart beseeched.

“Okay, then.” we said together

wiping our hands clean off dust

I’ll miss you, our hearts chimed together

silent fractures achingly exposed

You should leave, now.

I need you by my side.

I’ll collect my belongings tomorrow.

Don’t break my heart like this!

It’s all for the best.

My world is falling apart.

Good luck, then.

Hug me and say it’ll be okay.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

The sounds of the man

and the sounds of the woman

and the sounds of their hearts

echoed forever in

the strange silence

that followed

and

never left.

You

I choose

you

you with the smile like warm butter on toast

you with the eyes like a time machine

you with the hands like fluttering butterflies

you with the words like soothing balm

you with the voice like satin ribbons

you with the heart like an iron wall

you

always

unfortunately

you.

Feathers

I was waiting for the bus, one day,

when I overheard

a conversation.

There were two speakers.

The first was a boy with

stars in his eyes,

and the second was

a girl

with wind on her lips.

Schoolbags hung

heavy from their wispy shoulders,

but the weight didn’t bother them.

Their hands were entwined,

in the shy gentle way of love

fresh from the oven,

and their voices

were whispered feathers.

I caught one of those

in my palm,

and listened to what it said.

“Where’s home?” the boy

asked,

his voice raspy

and she replied,

“Down the street.”

“Who’s in it?

he asked again,

eager to know

everything,

and she said,

“My parents and Toby.

My mom would be sitting on our

ancient sofa, in her checkerprint

apron reading a magazine.

Dad would have gone to work

in his tweed jacket

his watch wound 5 minutes earlier

to ensure he

was never late.

Toby would be running

around the house

in a flash of gold,

and waiting until I came home.”

She asked him the same.

His eyes hazed,

“My Gran. She has

the wrinkliest face

and makes the best

pie in the world.”

They laughed together,

in their own bubble,

and I

thought

that if someone were to ask me

who was home

they’d get the most

dismal response in

blue curtains

a

broken television

and the

ghost of you.

Red-Skinned

I’ve been writing too many poems with a darker side off late, and I know there’s more to come so here’s a bit of fluff to break the monotony. This is a simple poem to all those girls/boys who have a crush on someone and can’t tell them. It’s infuriating, no?

I can feel the butterflies

playing catch in my belly

I know it’s time

I have to tell you

It’s now or never

My blush has become

a

permanent feature

by now-

I bet you think that

I was born red-skinned

better for you to think that

than know the reason is you

(always, infuriatingly you)

you and your eyes

that

shine the clearest turquoise

images of

you and your large palms

cupping the side

of my red-skinned face

you and your lanky gait

lazily crossing the room

like you

own the world

you and your dimpled smile-

the crowning glory

like the applause at

the end of a play

my fingers clutch the edge of my yellow

skirt

i know you like yellow, you

had told me once

I spot you, leaning against

the wall ahead

the cigarette dangling at the edge

of your chapped lips

you see me walking to you

your raise your eyebrows in greeting

my heart stops

I stutter a hello

and keep moving forward

not daring to look back at your

questioning eyes

I simply cannot confess

I have lost my nerve

and my wit

and my ability to speak,

thanks to

a young boy

with the ocean in his eyes

and death on his lips.

The Bucket List

The hair is gone

I watch

as she chops it off

and it falls down the sides of my face

like a snowfall of brown

I try not to choke

as I remember the times

when you’d run your fingers

through them

and tell me they smelled of strawberries

and now,

my love,

your strawberries lay at my feet

rotten and dead.

I’m sorry.

I look back at my

reflection

“Dear, it’s all done.”

she whispers.

I wince slightly,

as my head reflects the light

shiny in it’s new landscape

bumps and endless stretches

of bald pavement

“I look like an egg.”

I joke,

she laughs,

but I see the tear.

Life is short,

I know,

trust me.

And so is my bucket list.

It reads thus:

‘Let happiness make you cry’

I want to

bubble over with laughter and

joy

so much so that the emotion

marries

my soul

and my tear-ducts

give their

blessing.

I want other things, too.

Time, firstly.

Time to spend with you

tracing

your spine

and laughing at your geeky

jokes.

I want time to create more memories

like the kind

when we spotted an owl during

a midnight swim

and the kind

where we lay entwined

indistinguishable as two separates

and smiled

into each others beings.

I also want,

selfishly,

a baby.

(she’d have your eyes, darling.)

A little token to leave you with.

Without this

to give you,

only one thought races through my head.

-Sweetheart,

when I’m gone,

will you forget me?-

And then,

when my moment of daydreaming

comes to an end,

after everything,

I think

of only one more thing,

my love,

your gentle, patient face

shadows under your eyes

as you held my hand

last week

so bravely

and now, the sound of your

tapping feet

from outside the room

as you wait to see your

egg-headed wife

and smile encouragingly

(as i know you will),

and I ask,

-Sweetheart,

when I’m gone,

will you forgive me?

Make A Wish

The sunlight landed on the streamers

taped clumsily across the wall

chocolate frosted cake on the table

twenty pairs of eyes blinked at me

hands clapping in glee

“Make A Wish. Blow the Candle”.

mum’s voice blew into my ear

And I wished

that i could eat the icecream

from the cart

across the park

and I wished that

she would buy me that blue

car I had seen in the store.

A group of giggling teenagers

sat huddled across

on a warm bed sharing

snacks and stories

“It’s 11:11! Make A Wish”

they whispered,

And I wished,

that I was more thinner

and less freckled

and that the boy with the

hair like gold

and eyes like emeralds

would walk over and

say hi.

It was a long drive

over endless plains and

the dark sky was lit by

stars scattered

we stopped for a while,

laid down on the sand,

“It’s a shooting star! Make A Wish!”

he pointed,

And I wished,

that my dead baby would

come back gurgling

and playing in my arms

and that

my heart would

start

feeling again.

The fountain was crowded

by hopes and dreams

and I clutched the

penny

skeptically in my palm

“Throw the coin. Make A Wish.”

the signboard promised

and tears in my eyes

and a fervent prayer on my lips,

I wished,

I wished hard to go back

to those times

when my only

wish was

something to eat

&

something to play with.

Iridescent

I’ve always been

white light

as far

back as I recollect

pure

&

drab

then you came

dark swirls

of

lust

over my limbs

knotted

legs and

scratched

backs

peppered kisses

&

stolen glances

heart raced faster

adrenaline

coursed

through veins

they tried

to

tell me

“It’s all wrong;

white is white

black is black

and that

would

never change”

but

you see,

that is the problem (in its entirety)

when I’m

with you

I don’t exist

you don’t exist

I’m not white

you’re not black

we

remain,

together,

iridescent.

Frayed

“I’d like some rope please.”

“I’ll fetch it for you, beta, just a moment.”

“Won’t you hurry, sir? I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“I’m getting them, just wait.”

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

“That’d be 500 rupees.”

“500?! But that’s too much.”

“It’s the finest quality, beta. It

will help you well.”

“Alright.”

“I’d like some sheets of paper please.”

“Ruled or Un-ruled, beta?”

“Un-ruled.”

“How many?”

“Five. I’d also like five envelopes, and a blue pen.”

“That’d be 100 rupees.”

“100?! But that’s too much.”

“It’s the finest quality, beta. It

will help you well.”

“Alright.”

“I’d like to purchase that stool, please.”

“This one, beta?”

“Yes, that very one.”

“We have different colours also, and dif-“

“No, I want this very one.”

“That’ll be 600 rupees.”

“600?! But that’s too much.”

“It’s the finest quality, beta. It

will help you well.”

“Alright.”

He trodded

down the narrow gravel path

his

head spinning

slightly

his hands burnt

around the edges

practising

knots

His empty

apartment

said hello

he nodded back and

said goodbye

went to the room

wrote the letters

tied the rope

and hung

himself

all the while thinking

that the cost

of his

life

had been 1200 rupees.

Quick Review

Hello, again! I’ve vanished from the blogging scene for a long while (cons of being an adult and having responsibilities now).

Okay, not many responsibilities.

Okay, no responsibilities.

Okay, I’m barely an adult.

Okay, okay, I forgot my password to WordPress and was too lazy to reset it.

But, I did get around to it now, didn’t I? (don’t roll your eyes at me, reader.)

I have read tons of books in the past month and I’m going to rank them in backwards order for you now, so enjoy:

Rank 8: Finding Audrey, by Sophie Kinsella

If you know me at all, you’d know that Sophie Kinsella is my all time favorite chick-lit author. I LOVE HER. That being said, I didn’t enjoy the book. There’s no use sugarcoating it. I mean, I still do love her writing, but unlike Luke Brandon or Becky Bloomwood or Sam Roxton or Samantha, the characters here in this book don’t stay with me. In fact, it’s been a month but apart from Audrey, whose name I remember for obvious reasons (re: title), I don’t really remember anybody and that goes to show how less of an impact it has made on me.

The story was okay, the idea was actually really nice, but for me a Sophie Kinsella book has always been about the characters and somehow, these characters didn’t cut it.

BUT. The story is actually funny in a lot of places, the writing friendly and affable and very Kinsella, and it can definitely star as a one-time leisure read. (Unlike I’ve got your number, which I do know by heart by now…or maybe that’s because Sam Roxton…hmmm…)

Rank 7: Bet Me, by Jennifer Cruise

Okay, this ranks 7 only only only because the other books are extremely good. This book is light, chirpy, and everything you could expect out of a chick-lit. Minerva and Cal are two adorable protagonists, the situation overdone but comforting, and the entire book is SO DAMN RELATABLE.

I don’t know, I think it highlights how insecure we all are as humans and the idea of soulmates being finding someone who is messed up in a way that fits our own mess perfectly…ah, dream.

Cuddle in on a rainy day, grab a hot chocolate, and read away…

Rank 6: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Let me be frank. I’m not one for the classics. I like my reading language to be in something I can understand easily, and relate to. But then again, I couldn’t really not read Jane Eyre and call myself a reader, right?

I think I can effectively review this entire book in one sentence: Jane Eyre has changed my view on Classic Literature. It is not boring (as previously thought by my hasty, jump-to-conclusions, brain), and there is definitely something to be said about the entire concept of a guy ‘courting’ a girl, as opposed to simply jumping in bed with her.

Of course, there are several elements that are a tad bit too dramatic, but I AM from India, and we DO have Bollywood, so I’m pretty used to drama….hehe.

PS: Um, why don’t we have more girls fan-ning over the sulky, brooding, mystery-man?

Rank 5: The Goldfinch by Donna Tart

I don’t think it’d be a great exaggeration to call this book a Literary Masterpiece. Gripping, beautifully written and achingly beautiful, the world of Theo Decker is going to grip you. Quite simply, it is un-put-downable. I’m going to quote one line used in the book:

You can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life.

All I can say is, the same can be said for books…and The Goldfinch definitely belongs in the ‘all your life’ category

Rank 4: A Pale View of Hills by Kazuo Ishiguro

He’s a brilliant author. His writing is so easy to read and so difficult to understand and aaaah-! He kept me awake till nearly 2 in the morning, and then a further 2 hours researching interpretations.

It is a mind-boggling tale, and while I have my own fragile theories on the book, read this is you want an adventure. It’s set in Japan, follows Etsuko and will definitely tease your brain. However, just because the writing is simple, please don’t read it fast…it’s meant to be a slow read with attention to detail…

….and who knows, maybe you will solve the mystery that is this book?

Rank 3: The Essential Rumi (Coleman Barks)

I have become a poetry enthusiast of late. BUT, I need to confess that I’ve loved Rumi before tumblr posted his “deep sayings” everywhere.

Rumi is soul-food, and I’ll leave you with a lovely line titled under ‘Bewilderment: I have five things to say’

What is the body? That shadow of a shadow

of your love, that somehow contains

the entire universe.

Rank 2: The Bronze Horseman by Paulina Simmons

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH ALEXANDERRRRRRRRRRR

Phew, now that THAT is out of my system, I can begin. I stumbled upon this book randomly, started it, and did not stop until I finished the 800-or-so paged book. For hours, I was stumbling along the roads of Leningrad and hiding in bomb shelters, living with Alexander-nay, Shura and Tania in a Fifth Soviet building, and dissolving through the magic of her words.

If there is something called magical writing, this is it. The words make me tingle. There are extremely raunchy scenes, definitely, fast-paced and thrilling. But it’s the tenderness beneath it all that made me gasp for more. This book is a MUST READ, simply because of master storytelling, excellent gems of quotes drizzled in between, and for Shura- because he is every girl’s dream.

Love is when he is hungry and you feed him. Love is knowing when he is hungry.

You also have delightfully simple love-murmurings wrapped in silk,

I want you to know that should something happen to me, don’t worry about my body. My soul isn’t going to return to it, nor to God. It’s flying straight to you, where it knows it can find you, in Lazarevo. I want to be neither with kings nor heroes, but with the queen of Lake Ilmen.

And, one of my all time favorites (I may or may not have teared up at this part),

Good-bye, my moonsong and my breath, my white nights and golden days, my fresh water and my fire. Good-bye, and may you find a better life, find comfort again and your breathless smile, and when your beloved face lights up once more at the Western sunrise, be sure what I felt for you was not in vain. Good-bye and have faith, my Tatiana.

RANK 1: *tananannana* Essential Gibran (Hachette India)

Refer to Rank 3 where I mentioned I had become a poetry enthusiast. Khalil Gibran is my all-time favorite poet, and my dad got me a Special Calligraphed collectible edition of his poetry for my birthday. It is marvellous, it makes me tingle from my belly and if you want words that will worm your way into their heart of yours and refuse to leave, this is the book you should be reading. Here is just one poem, to tempt you to go read the book:

If sorrow does not carry you

in her womb, if despair does not

feel pain in giving birth to you,

and if love does not bring you

into this world in its cradle of dreams,

your whole life

remains a blank page in the book

of the universe.

And that wraps up the quick review for this month. I have a couple of interesting reads (and consequent reviews, yes) lined up for the next month, but let me know if you have some suggestions!