Muddy and Crumpled


My fingers have dug in
Way too deep into my palms 
They have torn through the skin
Seeped deep till my bone
The hand drips 
Blood
And I hold the scrunched letter
Dipped in sheer red
As it soaks my agony
The sounds in distance 
Hold no meaning
Only the silent 
And orderly clatter 
Of your mud thrusted boots
Seems to matter
You haven’t looked back
In the nineteen seconds 
You walked away
And the hundreds of years’ worth
My hands and my heart have bled
I lift my hand 
To stop you, to make you stay
But my words fail me
I don’t know what to call you by?
Love? Darling? Sweetheart?
But would you know you’re still all those things 
To me?
All I can see through my upheld hand
Is that your figure grows smaller 
And the blood begins to clot
And fewer drops hit the floor
And then I finally let go 
Of your wedding invitation
Just where you stood three minutes ago
And of all the things 
I should’ve done
I step on the letter too
As I lay rest
To the muddy, crumpled love
That ours became. 


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The Social Box

 

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Stepped in a box,

Looked giant, I was small.

I sat playfully,

Never complaining.

Mother smiled, father jovial.

 

All I did was play with toys,

Sometimes fall asleep with my car held close.

 

Trouble in the paradise,

When I turned four.

When father found I possessed more cars than the dolls.

Mother worried, bought me some new frocks.

With striped socks, I matched them to my shorts.

 

Soothing father, mother declared, it’s just a phase.

The phase became a period.

A chapter, now a hard bound book.

 

The giant box still present,

Sat in, but my ass won’t fit.

Mother and father don’t want me to play with cars,

Instead marry a guy who drives a lavish car.

Mom says no more frocks,

And a big cross on shorts.

No crop tops, they expose a lot.

Be a lady, wear sarees for sure.

 

Don’t sit cross legged,

It’s a crucial requirement on the ‘Lady list’ that needs to be checked.

 

How do I explain it to you mom,

Throw away the box now.

Neither will I fit, nor will I bow.

Beauty And Strength

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They say love is supposed to make you strong

But it didn’t.

It just frightened me to care of someone’s breaths

More than mine.

 

They say fear makes you strong

But it didn’t.

It made me listen to my heartbeats

Like a murderer’s footsteps.

 

They say childhood is beautiful.

But it isn’t.

It turned my laughter

Into muffled screams of unexplainable horror

 

They say adulthood is beautiful.

But it isn’t.

It has turned my ambitions

To imprison me into an unformidable jail.

 

So, through all my life, where was beauty and strength?