Seasons

Scintillating Summer: 

Nurturing warmth strolling with breeze,

blooming the meadows with lilies and sunflowers

tantalizing heat fading the coldness away,

urging the marigolds to smile brighter,

Radiant mountains high, shine

Ebulliently welcoming the scintillating summer.

Alluring Autumn: 

Naive golden and red ready to depart

About to lose themselves to the ground,

The end that leaves behind a new beginning.

Ubiquitous smell of the fall 

Reverberating in the trees and valleys

Ecstatic winds taking with them the resulting souvenirs.

Wondrous Winter:

Nebulous mornings flavored with fog bringing, 

Angelic comfort, cooling the anxious hearts.

The cherry blossoms dance with 

utmost glee in the chilly winds.

Rollicking snow flakes kiss the ground

effulgent white sun-kissed grounds greet the footprints.

Spry Spring:

Numb unadorned grounds stir

and stir to life in the patter of downpour.

Tulips, daffodils and bluebells laugh,

Unabashed in the meadows and valleys,

Reviving lost hope in the oceans,

Eager to fall with the magical raindrops. 

The Poet in Me

I'm not a poet of love songs or heartbreaks,

my pen does not sing of cigarette smoke,

and red wine stains.

The poet in me was born under the summer blooms

of a Gulmohar tree.

She is fluent only in the language of 

green earth and brown seeds.

She always trips and falls over 

popular 'lingo';

The language of the masses has never been her friend.

The poet in me will tell you about 

the beautiful intricacy of the Rubaiyats.

She will invite you over with poems about 

Meghmalhar, Khamaj and Kalyani.

She spends her time writing odes to

Madhubani and Warli,

to Indian summers, Bengal tigers,

temples, minarets and stained glass cathedrals.

The poet in me will write about cash crops and greed.

She will sing songs that bleed Indigo blood;

Songs of the coloniser's fields.

The poet in me prefers faded gramophone melodies

to colorful pulsating tunes.

She'd rather write haikus about the moments

that disappear like butterflies,

than write epics about bustling cities that

cry of performances.

I'm not a poet of love songs and heartbreak.

I'm not a poet of the masses.

The poet in me is more old, browning book

than a glossy bestseller.

She is more subtlety than flamboyance.

September

And just like that, September slipped away, like one happy song we sometimes wish would never end. It came and went almost unnoticed. It's soft footsteps never made the floor creak even on languid afternoons when the days were drowsy and couldn't stifle a yawn.

How I wish I told him weeks back to stay for good, but I was too engrossed listening to the variety of nostalgic Christmas songs being played on repeat since the day he first knocked on my door with surprise gifts that made the kid in me ecstatic for days. I forgot he isn't staying for long or maybe I know but I was just in denial that I thought its going to make the days longer than they should.

Some days I wish the hours would stretch till eternity, so I could sit beside him as long as I want while we enjoy hot cocoa with bits of marshmallows by the window on drizzly mornings. And like the best of friends, we would giggle to no end as we will tell each other random stories and plans for Christmas while we watch the rain trickle lazily on windowpanes, then we will write our names with tiny hearts on the foggy glass. 

This morning I was a bit under the weather knowing that September packed his suitcase last night and today is his last day with me. I wanted to make us a hearty breakfast, with his favourite bacon and eggs but we ended up having the longest, most quiet breakfast over oatmeal and brewed coffee. We ate in silence, my breathing shallow. I could feel the lump in my throat, stuck for a moment. I couldn't hush and stop the stubborn tear that fell on my cheek like a naughty kid.

I wanted to hug him Oh! so tight and tell him to stay longer but I know It's time for him to go. Somehow the thought that he's coming back again made the parting a little less bittersweet, it made my separation anxiety take a backseat as I heaved a sigh.

I guess it is not going to stick around that long for October to see.

Poignancy

 

Funny how I pretend
I'm not breaking when

piece by piece of my

happiness leaves

a trail of chilled sadness 

in places, I don't want 

anyone to know about. 

Funny how I pretend 

I'm not longing for someone 

When I sleep on the side  

of the bed where I won't 

see the shadows of the past

And I leave the lights open 

to exorcise the ghosts of those

who left without saying 

a lukewarm goodbye.

Funny how I pretend 

I'm not weeping at random nights

I'm alone in the company 

of bottled memories 

and a suitcase of regrets.

Funny how I pretend

that I'm not grieving over dead feelings

and wilted flowers 

I've pressed ever so gently

in between the lonely pages 

of my vintage diary

that once upon a time held

bed of roses to vows 

of endless affection 

whispered by sweet lips

glazed with ample deceit.

Funny how I pretend 

I'm not faking my smiles

and I'm not hurting anymore.

You're Beautiful

You seek scents of mellow whiskeys
And shades of blueberry muffins
In the eyes of lovers you still haven't met.

You admire the sunflowers
Turning their heads down at dusk
And embracing it again at sunrise
Hazel brown is the color of his eyes though.

You love walking barefoot on moist meadows
You're an explorer of valleys and souls
once and all at the same time.

You quench thirst by pouring out
onto lands of deserted sorrows
Turning them into wilderness
exactly of which your soul is composed of.

You're the sunshine in the arctics
Seldom embracing the igloos
But whenever you do
Your warmth melts the coldest.

You're an Aurora to me, to one
Serene and alluring
And hurricanes to the other
Stormy and frightening.

You're beautiful,
You're whole,
You're enough.
In every sentence,
in every metaphor.

Summer Love

Summer love smells like vanilla ice-cream

With vodka in the air.

It tastes like a mixture of both.

An incandescent love brightest

Before autumn hits.

Memories of messy hair

Entangled in my fingers

A time capsule if you may say.

I carried giggles under every word

As you kiss your way down on me

And I lost all those words midway.

Morning coffee with a smile

That still tasted like last night’s wine

Would still intoxicate me

And a sleepy kiss

Would lead to another

Summer love you drive me crazy.

I will remember you with every

Rise and fall of my chest;

Like the waves that once engulfed me.

In breathless night

And timeless love.

Your lips sailed across me

And sunk deep inside my heart.

Know that if we do meet again,

You will always be

My summer love.

Caffeine

I have been taking caffeine more often than I used to.         
 Because I don't want to close my eyes and see these
nightmares. But did you know, that nightmares which you see once you sleep, can come alive when you don't see them anymore?
You don't visit them for days, and they come visit you. That's what my nightmare did.
Sipping coffee didn't help, because I got trapped between a point where it's almost impossible to differentiate between delusions and reality.
They say walls have ears.If that's true, then these four walls have heard my rants more than anyone. And these inanimate objects have seen my tears more than anyone.They have seen the pathetic me.
Nights and diaries know the part of me which I have kept hidden.

Overthinking is like a drug, a habit.And I got addicted to it the minute I saw you with her. And I know promises break. Forever breaks. Happily ever afters break.
I didn't believe in any of it, you made me believe in them. I never asked you for promises, because heartbreaks are sometimes inevitable. Mostly inevitable.

All I asked from you is to tell me when you are falling out of love.

 You came home, and yet you never saw my swollen eyes. But today, when you came back home, I felt you came with this melancholic taste of numbness. I could feel it in the aura that surrounded you. You looked deep into my eyes and you made a confession.
It is hard to forgive someone, you, because I have spent nights, surrounded by my own nightmares, thinking what's wrong with me. Because every night I slept, all I saw was you and her, happy, smiling.
But today when you came back, I feel like I found someone I lost a long time back. After all the crying you found your way back to me. After all those nights, you realized.

Confessions.They say confessing is the hardest thing a person can do. And it's right.
But after the confession, does it make things easier? Does it make mistakes forgivable?
After all, confession is a mix of regrets, realization and remorse.

For me, it did. It shouldn't have but it did make sense, make things easier. It gave me this unexplainable clarity.
Because I know you are trying to make things right when it is at the peak of falling apart completely. And I have always heard my mum say that life is all about second chances. A second chance at this love won't hurt, would it?

So, I lay beside you, and for the first time, tears don,t flow anymore.And rants have stopped.
Because even though what you did was bad, worse even, in fact. But the regret in your eyes, somewhere made it easier for me to forgive you.
And yes, the fear of you breaking my trust again does exist. But each night when I see you beside me, they rest themselves.
I might be a fool. But I know second chances have the possibility of working. After all, if you break my heart twice, I'll get clarity.Though it will hurt ,but I know I will not regret leaving you, thinking that maybe I could have given it a second chance. Because if you do it the second time you've lost that chance.
Till that case, I'll let my fears rest peacefully somewhere.

Summer Lovin'~

Dear darling,        

My window pane reflects the blinding sunlight,

Eagerly arriving to meet my smile as I stay still.

Pondering on the words and verses you left with me

My one smile is all the sun solicits but I have to say

Your name echoing in my mind stole that right ages ago.

Sunflowers singing melodies on the spring field

Yearn for adoration but my heart is dripping honey

To the rhythm of your song playing back in a loop.

Darling those daffodils are jealous of the glow

your smile dolls me with and don't you laugh again.

Summer shine is resplendent yet without you,

It's one shade paler yellow, one shade darker blue

Bees and butterflies pry my ecstatic wildflowers

"Wherefore art thou?" oh blushing blossom!

Lend me another spring to cherish mi amor.

Can we go back tho the days of orange sunrises?

The taste of citrus kisses still lingers on my lips,

Delighted by the warmth of glowing embers

You passionately painted on my dainty petals,

My blooming love withstanding every season.

Can we go back to the nights of firefly lights?

Where every curve rivaled the crescent moon

Your fingers mastered every note in the music sheet

Cherry flowers showering on our frames reminding

Grape fields of another life we lived ever after.

Can we go back to the enchanted days of romance?

Where mornings were embellished with your kisses

Dancing together through the ticking time and

Evenings enriched by balladry with your signature

Those dreamy blankets of wishes are still embracing me.

Darling can we go back to the summer we met?

The season of our dreams has my soul captured

My mood triumphs on the lazy rays of the blazing sun

Reciting a summer song, I water those marigolds

For when you come again, they receive you in full bloom.

Another day passed in delightful solitude

Another night crawled in savoring tranquility

Another week breezed in cherishing seclusion

Another year rushed in celebrating melancholy

My heart stubbornly holds on to your sunshine love.

9827 Steps

9827 steps is what it takes me to be on the brink of peace, to be on the outside of this town, of my mind.
Everything changes. The wind begins here, the town now alien already. Here I stand, one tiny human, in a trail of snow and pine, of undecaying neglect and balance. Time flows differently here, untainted. There are o hurried footsteps, no urgent chatter, no deadlines to meet. Everything just...is; time slows.
With every step, I become less me and more forest, my sense of oneness fading with the distant rustle. A brook gurgles rumors of the forest beyond the valley; I listen silently, humbled by the weight of unspoken history, the passing of millenia held in the bodies of these trees. I find myself on my knees, tears running down my face, my mind free of doubt. Nothing is spoken here, but everything is answered.
I get up and walk on. I keep waiting for a pat on my back, saying it's time to go home, but none comes. I understand then, why I will always want to be alone, to be away even from the people I love. They will not understand the kind of silence I yearn for. this un-explainable quiet, this sanctity of solitude; to let go of my sense of self and become so much more. And I will never explain, I can't. I will see the image of me on my knees and it will look like a prayer.
Every step here feels sacred; I am consumed by an energy that I know isn't just mine. I feel like...like a vein through the earth, flowing through me, I walk through the snow and through the sun.
                                                                                                                        I walk for hours.

Narcisse

I have often stared at her as she strolls past the corridor, chuckling, giggling and I know she is a few heartbreaks young.She escapes to her corners and melts into poetry. She gets drunk on rum, art and anonymous solitude, puking nostalgia and undigested pasta.

I ask her, "Why are you so cold?"
She answers, "December kisses me just fine."

She too stares at me as I stroll past the corridor. I, however, do not retire to the corner. I perch myself in the heart of the room, talking, sipping caffeine by a fireplace and an untimely summer sins on my skin making me a speck of yellow against a conscience of black.

She asks, "Why are you so vibrant?"

I say, "Rainbows grave on skin."

A moon creeps into our room, our souls and together we watch the sky's children snoring, fading and aging. Our secrets vacate our bodies, merging, mingling and emerging as one.

She whispers, "I want to touch you."

She reaches out for my hand and I hesitate.

The morning comes folded in a newspaper. She learns about the world and to learn about herself, she looks into a regular mirror. 

She sees me. I see her.

I know she is a few heartbreaks young.

She knows I am a few heartbreaks old.