The Comeback...

Perplexed and lost, a poetess like me
Didn't write for four months and days seventeen
Who was once crowned as the melancholy queen
Now couldn’t rhyme a word to the syllable "e".

So much had happened in such little time
Her chaotic life making it difficult to beguile
She envied the ''Wordsworth'' she once adored the most
For his poetry admired from coast to coast.

Was the nature playing fools? Oh not he!
His enchanting beauty gleamed across the sea
Or the profound grey cloud's graffiti
Or a young couple's love defying gravity.

She almost gave up, didn't want to write
When a fragile little girl walked by her side
Begging for a penny, a nickel or a dime
Persistently bothering the woman who tried hard to rhyme.

The woman fumbled in her purse as the coins cluttered through
Grabbing a thin coin whose value she not knew
In a lame attempt to get rid of the pain
She gave the girl a rare ten rupees coin.

The little girl's eyes gleamed with a twinkle
The adrenaline rushing made her voice crinkle
She held it close, like the treasure of a lost isle
She cared not for the poetry she had just beguile

Lost in those naïve eyes, the woman watched the girl
Whose innocence spoke more than any poet’s words
Clueless of how to write the girl’s chastity
Stood perplexed and lost a poetess like me

The autumn leaf

Blown away by the autumn wind
Abandoned by his home
Depraved of love, an autumn leaf
Blew along, on his home.

The one that one crowned the tree
Sheltered under its foot.
Swamped up by death and grime
Amid nothingness he stood.

They sang an ode to the west wind
They sang an ode to the tree
They sang an ode to the goldfinch that passed
Sadly forgotten was he.

He mattered when he was alive
He'll matter during rebirth
He mattered to none when he was blown away
Being walked over by dirt.

He had his days on top of the world
He had lived above them all.
All it took was an icy blow
To bring him down the fall

Change

When I was five:
A painting class at school
I drew a crow that was green and blue.
My furious teacher tore it apart.
“A crow is black, you stupid girl!”
Change- was what she told.

When I was seven:
I finally told mom I don’t like pink.
And frocks don’t fascinate me anymore.
“You’re still a kid. You don’t understand.”
Change- was what she told.

When I was ten:
My first argument with dad
His flesh and blood with a paradoxical thought
“How dare you back answer ME?”
Change- was what he told.

When I was thirteen:
I chose my God.
I chose what to pray.
I chose my scriptures; needless to say
Huddled by an intimidating society.
Change- was what they all told.

When I was sixteen:
My first best friend, whom I worshipped.
Beyond whom I saw no life.
The one whom I adored and respected the most.
In whose word, my life and breath stood.
Debauching the sunshine of my life,
His boneless tongue said
“Everybody changes. So have I
Change...”

When I was seventeen:
My sweetheart turns up to me one day,
Annoyed and burdened with all my love.
Trying to justify it all;
Change- was what he told.

What do I change about myself? Can anybody please tell?
My creativity?
My individuality?
My faith?
My trust?
My love?
Myself?
What do I change? What do I??

A Symbolised Life

In spite of living in a world which speaks about woman empowerment, gender equallity, equal opportunity etc, there still remains a little corner of the world which reflects the dark, unnoticed fate of women, whose lives are inevitably influenced by those around them. Here is a small reflection into such a woman’s world, drawing parallel with literary punctuations and symbols.

A Symbolised life


Comma (,) – Was what that was put on her when they realised that she too was a girl.

Brackets ( [ ] )- Were always used to enclose her within mind numbing rituals.

Asterisk (*) – Was on her mind (only) when she abused those bastards, before shedding those indiscernible tears.

Positivity (+) – A state of mind she perpetually faked.

Dollars ($) – A distant dream which never became hers.

Question mark (?) – An intimidating gift from the society.

Exclamation mark (!) – When she felt his sweat down her neck for the first time.

Semi colon (;) – A mature woman she gave birth to, from within.

Oblique (/) – When she got to make her first (obvious) choice- life/pretending to live.

Full stop (.) – Was all that she could choose after sixty years of a symbolised life.

Mr.Imperfect

He’s not perfect. No he isn’t.
His clothes never match
Lil’ rugged beard under his chin.
Umpteen phones sagging down his pants.
Busy-ness personified.
A d.j draped in simple clothes
Ironic to the pennies
chuckling in his piggy.
He never calls when he says he will
and when he does, he lulls to sleep.
Makes me wait for hours at the coffee shop.
Makes me text “:-(” and “X-(“ more than “<3”...
His forgetfulness will infuriate you
His laziness drowns you to depression.
He is not in the word of any laureate’s pen...

But beyond this, he’s special to me
For that word to update his wardrobe.
That “clean shaved” look he promises for tomorrow.
For switching off his phone when I demand
and singing my fav. slow track when am sick.
For being a spend thrift on those surprise gifts;
his endeavour to smile even amidst pain
just because I love his dimples.
For treating me like an infant;
securing me in his arms, tightly, so that I don’t trip.
For those “sholly baby. I love you” texts
For sipping a cappuccino he dislikes
just for me.
For those genuine tears when am in pain.
Those hands to hold throughout my way.
Those stern glances when am wrong.
Those silly pranks to make me smile.
Feeding me food when am not hungry
just like my mother...
(teary eyed)
He’s not perfect. No he isn’t.
His love is beyond a laureate’s pen...