2021, here I come

I have made a list of resolutions every year. And every year, I have failed to achieve them. I hope the fate of 2021 is different. 

So this year, I want to do things differently. And making realistic resolutions is a part of it. 

I want to discover who I want to be. I know who I am, just not what I can be. And it is never to late to be what you might have been. 

I want to learn to accept others’ opinions even if I don’t agree with them. 

I want to be honest with others, even if it breaks hearts in my doing so. 

I want to be able to learn to live with the grief that has taken up permanent residence in my heart. 

I want to learn a new skill and I want to hone my other language skills. 

I want to read more. Appreciate more. Love more. Live more. 

 

But most of all, I want to be able to look back at 2021 next year and not feel an ounce of regret.  

Edit: After my friend told me he messed up and caused trouble for me, I thought it fit to add a new resolution: when shit goes down, be calm. 

it's a beautiful day

The skies are a lovely shade of pink this morning, 

and the seas look ever beautiful reflecting it. 

And though everything is open and clear 

I can't help but adhere

to the scene in my head; I am lost in a jungle

and the canopy is thick, there is no Tyndall effect. 

No light leaks, no sunshine, 

it can be morning or night, but in my head, 

there is nothing known as time. 

It's a globe or a circle, with no beginning, no end. 

I walk, and walk, and walk, 

and step over the same ferns, bleed because of 

the same sharp thorns, hop over the same stalk. 

But outside my head, it's a beautiful day, 

and I can breathe, watch the clouds

as if I'm watching a painting, which it perhaps is, 

because no matter how warm the ways are outside, 

I am still in the jungle and I still can't feel the light. 

stars

 The sky was a midnight blue, tinged with purple streaks of faded clouds. And as we sat there looking at it, indifferent to the cold wiring through our nerves, we saw our breaths expel towards the sky and melt into the clouds.

10/12/20

I woke up one hour late on Friday. I was supposed to board the bus but I was asleep. I did some research and found out that I slept soundly because I was extremely happy the night before. And why was that?

I found someone I thought I had lost. I was swimming in a lavish pool of felicity. I felt this was one of the things done right by me in 2020. 

It was never in my heart to hurt the people whom I loved and who loved me. But I did. And I realised it later than I should have. I was blinded by my own pain. I had thought I was the only one who was hurt. And it was only when I lost them did I realise how I had messed up, partly. The guilt ate away at my heart. I was not so much guilty about hurting them as much as I was about not being able to tell them how sorry I was. And this was something I thought I'd never get to do. 

That is, until they contacted me-- after a year-- and I finally found the opportunity to apologise. I bared my heart to them, every single thing I had kept concealed. The words flowed out of my mouth like a perennial river. I could feel the remorse and guilt slowly rising out and away from my chest. I felt relaxed and happy. As their voice started filling up my brain like snowflakes on the onset of winter, the memories that I had kept hidden for so long started unravelling. Their laugh made me remember the poems I wrote. I could hear them smiling. I could feel a wave of serotonin inching towards me gracefully and engulfing me in its thick blanket. 

That night, I slept like a baby. And even a few days later, today, I find it hard to believe that something which was impossible in my mind actually happened. 

I know not a thing, and you don't either

The music hurts my ears, but the silence does more. 

The chaos just eats away at my peace. 

If my shut my eyes, I think the sky outside is red,

but when I open them, I still don't have any sight. 

Waking up feels like a chore, so does falling asleep;

I exhale a tear but I wish it was a snore. 

 

The wind scars my skin, but their words do more. 

I'm not one to commit, because I am the sin.

Because a person is the sum of what they do, 

and I have just transgressed. 

The worst of me said may be true, but so is the good. 

 

I know not when I will find the warmth I so desire. 

I know not when I will find a version of myself

I am happy to be. 

So I wish I could. 

 

Till then, I am the stone while I am the bird, 

I am sensible yet I am the absurd.

gulp

She sits and I stare, 

my headphones don't cancel noise

and she knows, so she says

"You're useless, a disgrace, a black spot in my life,"

I blink, consider rolling my eyes, why would I not?

I am the bad guy, the rampant teen. 

"Your heart is selfish at its core, you hurt others, 

hell, you can only use others for your own benefit,

if it were up to you, you'd use your own brother, 

so here's the truth and hear it clearly - you're shit."

I blink again, so nonchalant. 

There is a brief silence. I say "Well, go on. Isn't there more?"

"O Lord, if you hear me, never let anyone have anybody like her

in their lives, no matter what the have done."

She turns to me and says,

"Yes, you're nothing but a curse

to anyone whose life you're in,

you're in my life only because

in my past life, I must have committed a hundred sins."

I blink. Make my eyes devoid and look right at hers, 

which brim with hatred and disgust. 

As she looks away, I silently gulp,

and push down the block in my throat. 

aunty

She was sitting on the bench near the hollow tree, 

where squirrels rarely do come. I asked her if she was okay, 

she told me she was fine so I asked her again because that's the rule:

fine the first and honesty the second.

She told me it was nice of me to ask, she asked if I wanted 

to be burdened by the problems of a woman who will attain half a century

in less than a decade, and I applied in the affirmative. 

She began, and it broke my heart more by listening 

than it fixed hers by sharing. 

"My brother, oh, I raised him like my own child, 

though our ages fell not even 5 years apart, 

he was my son, because I raised him.

I betrayed him once by letting go of him 

while he bicycled for the first time, and the second time

when I pushed him too fast to make him skate.

I taught him everything I learned,

then I gave him my good habits, my cubes, my morals

my books, my toys;

but as he arrived to a certain age, my friend, 

he started spitting fire at me. 

His words hurt me the way nobody had ever:

the first boy who broke my heart. 

And now look, he's there and I'm here. 

I live in pain each day, for I never meant for us to part."

i am lucky to be alive

I was walking in the park when I started thinking...

The world is a beautiful place, and I am lucky to be alive. 

I have never quite heard anything like the falling of water on leaves,

or the scent of a winter morning. 

It is fascinating to see a mama bird protect her baby bird, 

or build her nest from what we see as mere twigs. 

When I look up at the sky, I realize how amazing it is

that birds fly in different flock patterns, 

I am amazed when I so much as think about the existence of humans, 

our brains are powerful and I daresay omnipotent.

The day I wake up and serve myself positivity, 

I can walk through the day as it it's ice and I'm moonwalking. 

When I look at the moon, it is lovely, and sometimes

its craters remind me cheese, 

and isn't it so magical how the Earth rotates and revolved, 

but the only way we can tell is by the passing of time, 

and day and night. 

"The world is a beautiful place," I thought,
"and I am lucky to be alive."

Villain

The feelings of utter loneliness come 

when you become the villain in everyone's story. 

Nobody believes you, you are a nonentity,

they don't listen to you, you shout

"Lend me your ears! Hear me out!"

They are inattentive. 

Everyone has pareidolia when it comes to you,

anything you do is up for evaluation,

your good is bad, and your bad is without reason,

of course, what else will it be? You are the villain. 

"Please, I only wanted to help" but they only see 

where you fell short, not what you brought up, 

it's not your fault, it's who you are, the villain. 

When do you plan on surrendering? 

Will you give up your life

or will you give up your heart? 
Will you become the actual villain

or will you keep playing the part

of the misunderstood?

when rishabh got covid :(

 

Dear Diary

 Dear diary

I was at the solitary bench tonight,

I waited for him to come, but he didn't, 

and my heart broke again. 

Today I brought him flowers, 

my allergies acted up, 

but the flowers were for him;

so can you guess

what my heart and the flowers

have in common?

They both wilted when he didn't arrive. 

It must be rich to have a daughter 

whose heart keeps mending;

I remember when I used to wait

and he used to bring me candy. 

He promised me he would never leave me, 

he was supposed to greet me, dear diary, why

did he cancel our meeting, dear diary, why 

would he knowingly let his daughter be lonely, 

doesn't he know she might just drown in the sea?

Do we get another chance

Plato said that each of us are a matching half

of another human whole;

that love makes us search for that half 

which completes our soul. 
Apparently, love is supposed to heal  
the wounds of human nature. 
Meaning that there is only one person
fit for another-
the notion of soulmates
is two unique and one-of-a-kind lego pieces 
that only complement each other, none else. 
 I always used to say that soulmates were like 
          the perfect lock and key, 
           but look, sometimes you lose the key, 
           so the locksmith makes you another one

         and it fits, just like that:

a brand new replacement. 

So what is it then? One for another?

Or do we get another chance at true love? 

there is no one left inside to save

 

To Live in Your Dreams

 In the middle of August, a storm of great strength comes, 

the wind whistles, the birds warn, yet the old man hums; 

Sat across his garden with trees bellowing, 

his face serene with its lines mellowing, 

he fears not a thing, not what the storm shall bring. 

Staring into the puddle of water beside, 

he sees the reflection of roses, and then his beautiful wife; 

And all in the world, the wind, the whirl, ceases to be seen, 

for the ghost love of his life is now more than just a dream. 

She smiles at him, waves run across her face from the rain, 

but she is just as he remembered, she hasn’t aged a day,

thunder cackles above him, winds blow faster, 

birds fly away even farther; 

but all in the world, the wind, the whirl, has ceased to be seen, 

so of what importance is reality, when you can live in your dreams?

half a woman.

 

dead fires

 

i am quiet, but not utterly mute

I sit on the bench
facing the sea, the massive expanse
of foams and buried sand,
I am sad,
I want to cry, or maybe hold a hand,
maybe have someone rub my back,
but mostly I just want
someone to be seated next to me.
Dark days come, they go,
they come again,
but as I celebrate the sunny days,
what of the days when it rains?

I sit on the bench
facing the sea, the massive expanse
of foams and, suddenly, everything I want,
beckoning me to take a infinitely long dive in.
It seems my sadness has got the better of me,
it seems to my time, attached, and to I, fond,
and I feel bound to let it make me home.

I sit on the bench,
and that’s just today that I face the sea,
because I could be facing the trees,
the TV, the books, the whiteboard,
the buildings, the cars, the fence
and still feel sad, and still have nobody,
to share my sadness with, and I wonder
if this is the price I pay, feeling the wins shrewd,
but I am reserved, not completely locked
I am quiet, but not utterly mute.

I sit on the bench

I sit on the bench

facing the sea, the massive expanse 

of foams and buried sand, 

I am sad, 

I want to cry, or maybe hold a hand, 

maybe have someone rub my back, 

but mostly I just want

someone to be seated next to me. 

Dark days come, they go, 

they come again, 

but as I celebrate the sunny days,

what of the days when it rains? 

I sit on the bench

facing the sea, the massive expanse 

of foams and, suddenly, everything I want, 

beckoning me to take a infinitely long dive in. 

It seems my sadness has got the better of me, 

it seems to my time, attached, and to I, fond, 

and I feel bound to let it make me home. 

I sit on the bench, 

and that’s just today that I face the sea, 

because I could be facing the trees, 

the TV, the books, the whiteboard, 

the buildings, the cars, the fence

and still feel sad, and still have nobody, 

to share my sadness with, and I wonder 

if this is the price I pay, feeling the wins shrewd, 

but I am reserved, not completely locked

I am quiet, but not utterly mute.

The Good Woman is Misjudged

When I was fourteen, I wrote a poem.

I called it “The Good Man Dies” 

because it was about how

the good man is always slain. 

Now when I am seventeen, I am writing a poem 

called “The Good Woman is Misjudged”

because it is about how

the good woman is always misunderstood. 

I wonder why drama ensues whenever 

women work under the same roof. 

Why do they have to bring each other down, 

isn’t men’s actions already enough? 

Why do they have to judge each other, 

and why do they have to look for a scapegoat 

among themselves? 

Why do the bad ones group and frame the good one, 

and in the end, why does no one believe the solitary? 

She stands alone, framed, drowning in false blames. 

She is the good one, but it is decided that she should leave 

because the others say they can’t stand her, 

and they judge the good one’s good actions,

they score them wrong, but the actions are good 

Are they blind? 

So I sit in my room and write another poem

about how the bad conquers the good, 

and I write because I want to control my anger, 

and distract myself from bringing down those bad women

who misjudged the actions of my mother. 

The Step

In the morning, when I wake up, 

And feel the wind blowing in through the window,

The sun streaming in, the birds calling out:

every creature welcoming the new day, 

I turn over and shut my eyes, shut the world. 

I want to embrace this gift of a new day, 

But something heavy in my mind settles in, 

And I have conflicting thoughts. 

I want to get up, go for a run. 

My body feels tired.

I want to take a shower, make breakfast for Mother.

She cooks better anyway.

I want to start the day with positivity. 

What good will it do when all my days are the same. 

I should take control of my life.

I should just roll with what happens. 

Only dead fish go with the flow, and I am not dead. 

Aren’t I dead already?

I am alive. I am living. 

I am numb, and I don’t have the drive to live. 

The first step is stepping outside of the comfort bubble.

Shut up, shut up, shut up. It never works. 

Just one step. One step and my journey will begin. 

The more optimistic I am, the more failure hurts. 

On some days, depression wins. 

I stay in bed, shut everything out, 

push everyone away, lay in bed

as if I were dead. 

On fewer days, I take that step. 

I get up. I push myself to run. 

I experience the flush of having

oxygen running in my body,

I feel thirsty, I feel my muscles aching

as if I were alive. 

Sometimes, it is that small step that matters. 

It changes everything, disregards life’s incongruence. 

And after, even the taste of failure 

is the mark of successful existence.

suicide

 

we speak a lot, noiselessly

 

We understood our silence more than we heard it

There is something meaningful 

about the silence that two people share, 

there is a depth to it, yet it is not heavy; 

like the experience of being underwater 

and not moving at all, merely floating, 

just lying under the blanket of silence. 

People who share a million decibels

worth of conversation, only in a turn of 

the minute hand, often those people 

are linked with an invisible string, 

for they can speak noiselessly, voicelessly. 

In is in those moments of silence

that they take in everything about each other, 

the craters in one’s left eye, the scar on their cheek, 

the way their eyes flicker back and forth, 

the way one’s fingers are interlocked. 

It is those moments of silence 

that leave an imprint of their minds forever, 

such that when they meet again, millions 

of turns of the minute hand later, 

and they look into each other’s eyes, 

they bathe in the memories 

of their silence. 

beautiful sinking sunset

 

it was still orange

 

the sun rose

on the Wednesday

I decided to wake early;

pain in my heart,

numbness in my face,

I saw orange colors in the sky.

the sun set

on the Friday

I decided to go for a stroll;

there was still

pain in my heart,

still numbness in my face,

and the colors

were still orange

death will set me free

 

the execution ; the aftermath

 

you got your first roses

 

i will always wait.

 

untitled

 

Finding Love

As I look at him, I wonder if we could ever have been something more than just friends, after dating him briefly, for a month. Maybe in another lifetime where he wasn't him or I wasn't me, where he would learn to appreciate people who let down their self respect for him, where he would know what pace to follow in a new relationship, where he would prioritise properly, giving adequate attention to all relationships in his life, not only friends, where he would make promises that he could actually keep, where he would be better at loving. 

It is strange how people can be amazing and kind and wonderful and generous in their hearts but end up being assholes at relationships. 

As I look at him, I prepare myself for saying "No" to his proposal. It is a miracle I don't fall for his cheeky smile or shy eyes and end up saying "yes". 

I take a deep breath, pause and enjoy the last moments I will spend looking into his brown eyes without missing him...but I miss him already. 

Instead of reading from the points I typed out on my phone, I look straight at him, who is now looking at his uncooked noodles, and start. 

"You know, after my first disaster of a relationship, I really wanted my second to be my last. I wanted it to be the best decision based on love I ever made. I wanted the person with whom I had my first kiss to be my last. Yeah, I am a sucker for hopeless romanticism. But with you, my second (wrong) decision, everything turned out wrong. It made me angry at myself. How could I want to be with someone who decided to pause our relationship only because a mere distance of 10 kilometres or fear of being found out? We are very different and should not be together because we will not last--" 

As I say this, he interrupts my soliloquy and says "I get it. I also think we shouldn't date." 

I pause. I breathe. I pause. I breathe. I think, "Am I crazy? I wanted to be with someone who, knowing I am a poet and writer, didn't think twice before interrupting my monologue...Wow. He did not even want to listen to my reasoning...cool cool cool cool...okay okay...Good thing I did not say 'yes'." 

I smile at him, point towards my phone and say "I have to attend my online classes, bye." 

I go to my room and cry.  

Thoughts at Night precisely 2:49 AM

2:49 AM 

Struggling to sleep, listening to songs 

just to find something to vibe to. 

Thinking about all the excuses 

they made me just to escape 

the punishment

of my company. 

How long before the ticking bomb 

in me begins to shake?

How long before I find 

an ocean deep enough for me 

to dive and drown into?

They call me suicidal

then they call me funny

and then they don't laugh at my jokes. 

Ironic. 

They call me fickle,

then they call me unfunny. 

They call me sad,

then they dive into a mockery

of none

but me. 

Anxiety Attacks v1

I asked the girl in the mirror why she was in so much pain. 

"I live in a constant. Any constant. But lately, the constant reason for my anxiety attacks has been the fear of dependency. There is somebody in my life on whom I depend for happiness. I live in his wait. And for me, to be alive is to be missing him when he is gone. And that reminds of all the little dependencies I have on everybody in life. Someone for happiness, someone for love, someone for money and someone for shelter. What would I do without them? No, actually, what would I do without them? Where would I stand? NOWHERE. That makes me anxious, it gives me pain to realise that all anyone is dependent on me is for my reliance on them" she replied.