Lifeless

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Messed and entwined.

Like a promise to hold on.

Much like you made,

That night in the lawn.

 

One soul, you wowed.

Like a root,

Letting her children.

Branch out and bow.

 

One your knee you sat.

Messed everything up so bad.

Proposed me nonetheless.

Fool that i was, i said yes.

 

Beautiful as a sunny day.

Our marriage grew every day.

Not the way you would expect.

But, like the waist cut from a belt.

 

Kicked in the nerve so hard.

You shoved a blow.

I fell away too far.

Moment struck, we hit the low.

 

Now it’s just a mess.

I wait for your minute,

To confess.

But you won’t, knowing so, i leave my side of the bed.

 

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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. 


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?

Embracing Your Lies

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I should have been wise.

Should’ve heard my heart’s cries.

As my body slowly dies.

For the love I once saw in your eyes.

 

Oh look, how the time flies.

Shattering your guise.

And I fall now, from the mirage of highs.

I think I pay a prize.

 

For wanting to reach the skies.

But I never thought of the clouds’ size.

Never knew they were allies

With your lies.

Marked

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Born in a hospital room, I was marked a girl.

Lying in the incubator, they labelled me with a name.

A name that would give my existence validation.

I had no say.

At 4, I was marked as a daughter.

My father’s hand hitting me hard across the face.

Too fragile to fight back, I cried.

I had no say.

At 14, I was marked as a girlfriend.

A kiss and my hands in his hair was all it took.

No matter my age, nobody ever asked.

I had no say.

Marks and scars grew with age

Hand in hand, pain and gains.

At 20, I was marked as a student.

He should’ve taught me psychology, but I got a piece of his mind.

Groping me by my waist, I stood there, numb, aghast.

Too humiliated to respond, I ran.

I had no say.

At 26, I was marked as a wife. On our wedding night.

His touch set my scars ablaze, like burning through a flame.

He’d come home every night, take me for 11 minutes and would push me over to my bed side.

Too used to sustain, I cringed at every turn with pain.

I had no say.

At 32, I was marked as a mother. It was a feeling like no other.

The little fingers touched my now yellow bruise.

I’ll never mark you, I said, it’s a truce.

No scars for you, no writhing with pain.

If there is, I’ll flush it down the drain.

You’ll always have a say.

Be marked, you never may.

I’ll Hold You

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Why didn’t you come?

I said I’d wait for you.

No matter how long I had to,

But I would.

And I know for sure,

That if not days,

If not months,

You would come by years later 

But you would.

But, you stomped on my trust and faith in you.

In time and in love.

You showed me a dusty mirror.

Which was squeaky clean with a promise of fruitful longing.

Again,

My love,

I ask of you.

Every time I offer you my hand, 

My hand is a tree.

A tree,

With branches for fingers.

Fingers that are lush

And fragrant of care and love.

Bloom, will flowers.

Once they feel you warmth.

Grab onto any one of them

I’ll make it the highest branch.

The branch which takes you closer to the sun, 

To all the warmth it has to offer.

 

Ignite

She burned herself

In the quest of the unknown.

Someone called “him”

And hysteric conversations at odd hours

Of the night.
She screamed.

Exploded in tears and fresh sweat.

“I see him.”

She was comforted, by mother and father alike.

“But, there is nobody.”
She would know, 

By the ticking of the hour hand.

When it strikes 4 

And everyone is in a slumber deep.

He would make her scream.

Yet not letting her take his name.

She would call out,

“It’s him, it’s him.”

“Save me, it’s him.”

But his mention is silenced by the tear of her dress
And the blanket that lays slumped on the floor.

He leaves just as the hour hand strikes again.

And she knows it’s time.
When she would gather her gown lace,

Wrap it around her hands

And muffle her scream into a ball so made.

When she should sit in the blanket.
Too afraid to drag her naked, 

Scratched frame any further.

When she has to start accepting,

Yet another morning

That she ignited this war.

Taking Back

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If someday, ever, we collide.

Cross each other’s path on a road wide.

I’ll look at you and smile,

Maybe you would too.

Even if out of sheer courtesy.

Maybe, we’ll try to break the ice,

We never could.

You’ll ask me out for coffee, or maybe not.

But, I’d rather believe that you would.

For old times,

For our time’s sake.

We’d walk in silence.

Just like the last leg of our relationship.

Finally reaching somewhere, anywhere,

We’d sit and talk.

About work, pets, life.

Which you and I already know.

4 years is a long time, dear.

The conversation would drag,

The onlookers would smile

At the two friends who are carelessly laughing.

Not a care in the world.

No matter how many hours we sit there,

Trying to escape the tension,

Hiding with smiles.

You’ll ask,

” Do you miss it?”

” If you want a day back from our time, what will it be.”

“Do you love someone now.”

And an array of questions,

Which, if I answered, would hurt you.

But, I will answer one of the questions, if you asked that.

” If you want a day back from our time, what will it be.”

I’d say, without a doubt,

Or a frown,

“I’d want the one, the day you left me,

And decided I wasn’t enough to make you stay.

I’d want to relive that day, just as it was.

No, I won’t stop you.

And just when you’re about to leave,

When you are about to bang that door,

Whose bang still wakes me up in the middle of the night.

I would tell you, everything that I’ve been wanting to say.

All these months, all these minutes.

I’d tell you, our four years, were beautiful.

And you made me cry, you made me yell, you made me smile.

And I’d bid you goodbye.

One that I never had.

With a chaste kiss,

But no promises to drop by.”

Filling Up

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The mind has piled up an endless array,

Of thoughts, beliefs, contemplations.

The heart refuses the notions,

Reversing the role, often in motion.

 

The mind, as wild.

Wanders in lands of fears and fights.

Opens the gates of grounds forgotten.

Jumps through the darkness, throttles.

 

The heart admonishes, screams perpetually,

Dreads the forthcoming penalties.

The battle grows beyond sunset,

Killing heartbeats and peace with every concept.

Hands now riddled with a red maze,

Solved only with battle’s decline.

 

But who’s giving up?

Ask the heart and the brain,

Realization daunted,

Filling up the carcass,

Mistaken for the living.