Shivi Writes

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  • A new year?

    I woke up this morning
    And looked outside the window
    To the same view
    Constant for months now
    10 months to be exact –
    A quiet yellow house
    jaded by rain and sun
    With a rusted red door
    And a black car
    I think,  a Wagonar
    That disappears at 9
    and reappears at 7,
    Sharp.
    Dutifully parked across the
    asphalt abraded road.
    But I know the house has
    residents
    As they sun dry their clothes
    In their verandah
    On an aluminum stand
    Near a banana tree
    That refuses to grow any taller.

    But they say
    A year has gone by.
    A year, is it?

    True it must be
    As it was this cold,
    A long time back
    When we wore 2 pairs of socks
    And sweaters and pants.

    Also, some people have
    Made their presence scarce.
    But alas, sooner the better.

    Yes, a year must have gone by
    For I don’t remember much from
    That life.
    The one before the virus.

    Yes, the virus
    That succeeded in breaking
    My body but
    Not my spirit
    As I came back
    Even stronger than before;
    Ready to take on
    Whatever comes next
    And so did many others
    For there is no other way to go on
    Than to go on fearlessly.

    Outside, the winter air
    Hangs heavy with silence
    Of those who mourned the past
    10 months
    From the loss of lives and livelihood.
    Their heads
    Scarred yet unbowed.

    But apart from that
    Everything is pretty much
    Constant
    yet they say,
    A year has gone by.
    I don’t believe them.

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    December 31, 2020
    #article, #healing, #HUMANITY, #KINDNESS, #reading, #shivangisharma, #writers, 2021, authors, blog, happynewyear, india, LOVE, newyear, poems, poet, poetry, shortpoems

  • Walls

    The walls were
    pretty high
    when you first started knocking.
    No, I wasn’t behind the walls.
    I was curled up
    Under the bed, behind
    the walls.
    And you walked straight in
    like you
    owned the place.
    You started talking
    And looking around,

    fiddling with my things
    while i was still under the bed
    I kept listening.
    I can’t remember
    at what point
    did I decide to peak a boo-
    Was it when you called me home?
    Or was it when you told me about the time you decided to kill yourself?

    Was it when you told me
    you can’t sleep without me by your side
    I can’t seem to recollect the exact moment
    When i changed my mind
    I wonder if it was when you told me if you hadn’t felt this way in a while
    Or was it when you told me
    that you had never felt this way before.
    You said it
    So many times
    That i believed you
    And slowly i crept out
    From under the bed
    And sat on it
    Right where you were sitting.
    And you put your
    Arms around me
    And told me
    Your deepest darkest secrets

    And i can’t remember when
    But somewhere at some point
    The walls came down
    Oh, I cannot seem to remember
    The exact moment when
    I changed my mind about you.

    but I know it doesn’t matter anymore
    Because just when
    I changed my mind
    You changed yours too.

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    December 17, 2020
    betrayal, englishpoems, heartbreak, life, LOVE, lovelorn, lovepoems, lover, POEM, shortpoems, walls

  • 1 folly less

    I know

    our guise

    changes

    in time

    forming

    depressions, folds

    and lines

    sagging

    underneath the weight of

    Judgment 

    and dust

    collected every minute

    with the air we breathe

    and on we go 

    changing and changing and changing

    and transforming 

    But wouldn’t it be 

    so much better

    I wonder

    And I wonder –

    Would

    you still

    look the way you do

    If

    your face resembled 

    your deeds 

    And 

    your thoughts.

    If not all of them 

    even a few of them

    And if 

    and your guise wasn’t really

    a surmise of your genes. 

    and yet 

    There are

    advocates and advisors

    of law and equality?

    When

    It seems like

    Even the nature did

    Not intend 

    Transparency. 

    If only 

    you resembled

    your deeds

    I’d be

    One

    Folly less.

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    November 27, 2020
    #life #poem, #lost #findingyourself #indianwriters #indianpoets, LOVE

  • That first sip

    That first sip of morning coffee
    The music that trickles down my ears to my soul
    The mirths of laughter
    that make my body come alive from merely existing
    That book on the bookshelf
    The warmth of happiness
    that spreads across my chest
    like sun
    on a winter morning
    when my dog runs in circles
    chasing his tail
    just as I do
    time to time
    A call from a friend
    lost in the race against time
    A poem
    transforming a lonely night into
    a gathering so magical
    that now I don’t want to shut my eyes
    Watch my mother
    adjust her bindi
    in the mirror and
    tuck that loose strand of hair
    behind her ear
    because she knows it’s time
    and dad’s about to come home
    A gesture of kindness
    from the one I thought needed saving
    A gesture of love
    I thought had no feelings

    Make me wanna keep coming back
    From the precipice
    to witness the colours of life
    and to laugh
    with him, with her, with them
    laugh so much that
    now I want to cry
    Because once I believed
    very firmly
    I’d never laugh
    this much.
    again,
    or ever.
    What else could I ask for?
    What else is there to live for?
    …

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    October 27, 2020
    #lost #findingyourself #indianwriters #indianpoets, #love #life #dilemma #relationships #lifestyle #agony #poem #drama, #shortpoem, #wellbeing, #writers, life, LOVE, POEM, poet, poetry

  • Hello? Is anyone out there?

    Hello?
    Hello?
    Oh,
    The signal is
    Weak
    And hell
    I can’t
    See

    You can’t see?

    I
    Mean
    I can
    See
    But
    There’s
    Smog
    Everywhere
    There’s
    Haze
    Or are these
    Clouds
    That wouldn’t lift.
    The point
    Is
    I cannot see anything
    Around me.

    Are you stranded?

    Yes, i am
    In the
    Middle of
    The road.

    Is there
    Anyone
    Else there?

    I wouldn’t know
    I cannot see.
    Anything but my
    Feet. My shoes actually.
    Ya, my feet.

    Where should we send for help?

    It’s hard to say..
    It’s getting dark.
    I don’t see any sign boards
    But do send help.
    I don’t know what else to do.

    Wait, maybe?

    But how
    Long should I wait?

    Can’t say.

    Can’t say?

    Can’t say. We don’t know
    Where you are and the signal is weak.
    And the weather might remain as
    It is
    For weeks.

    But that’s no help!

    It is what it is.

    Might as well take

    a step at a time and see
    Where goes.

    Good luck, bye.

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    October 12, 2020
    #life #poem, #lost #findingyourself #indianwriters #indianpoets, #shortpoem, authors, blog, poet, poetry

  • I feel sorry

    I feel sorry 

    about that 19 year old 

    Who was supposed to be 

    Losing sleep over

    Medicine vs engineering

    Red suit vs the blue one

    Manali vs Kasauli


    But instead

    Her butured body lies 

    Ashened

    for some men had to 

    Show her her place 

    In this world 

    Which was no place at all. 


    I feel sorry

    Because she must have 

    Tried to make a point 

    And so

    Her tongue was ripped off

    To give her a message

    That she had no voice 

    She must stay quiet

    And quietly must she pass on


    I wonder 

    Even then

    If she tried to take a stand 

    Not willing to back off

    And fight for her dignity

    For her spine was broken 

    By men who could not 

    Stand being stood up

    By anyone but

    A woman. 


    And though it was 

    Her tongue 

    That was pulled out

    And her spine 

    Broken to shards 

    But it is the nation

    That has lost its voice

    And the ability 

    To stand up for a cause

    Crystal clear as the daylight


    Because you see

    the people in the office are 

    Saying there was no rape at all! 

    And you must face

    The pawns of the establishment 

    Guarding the mafia lord 

    Or else this time

    your backs will be broken

    By men in khaki

    Who never had a spine at all. 


    I feel sorry 

    Because just right now

    Must we talk about

    Caste discrimination

    Because the goons would have not done 

    What they did

    Had she been a woman 

    of another household 

    Just as millions of women 

    Who walk freely at night. 

    The goons would have treated her

    With high tea and 

    Crostinis


    I feel sorry

    Because she didn’t get the

    Life she deserved 

    But also not the farewell,

    The last rights  

    Because the

    fascists must save 

    Face 

    Must take control

    Must dictate

    Must reshape 

    The past present and future 

    Because some of us

    Made them believe  

    that

    They can get away with anything 


    I am sorry

    That her family will never get

    Closure 

    Because the dark reality

    Will never completely sink in

    And the next ten years will be 

    Spent wondering 

    Did that really happen?

    Did we even have a daughter? 

    Are we even sane? 

    How could a facade this large

    Could altogether be forgotten? 


    I feel sorry

    Because she wasn’t the first 

    and 

    She wouldn’t be the last.

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    October 3, 2020
    #dirtypolitics, #fascism, #hathrascase, #india, #politics, #rape, #womenempowerment, rapeculture

  • Lucid.

    Remember the time
    You said
    You wished the time must
    Freeze and
    Froze it did
    like a painting
    like an ocean
    like a clock stuck on 9
    since ages
    but was it only yesterday
    when we were racing against time.

    but even a stopped clock is
    right
    twice a day,
    they say.
    and as the clocks continued
    to chime
    the dust settled
    under water
    as it usually does
    not withstanding the test of time

    But the seasons have changed
    And the winter is coming
    But their is a warmth in
    My heart
    now that a quiet room
    distracts me a little less
    with the clothes hanging in the closet
    the car sitting in the garage
    the forgotten heels in the shoe rack
    and the world falling apart
    Silent as a grave

    I know I am
    right where I should be.
    because you see,
    the dust settled,
    underneath the water
    and the view
    now is
    lucid.


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    September 16, 2020
    #poems #poemsofinstagram #poetsofig #writerscommunity #writersofig #poet #quotesoftheday #poetry #poetrylovers #englishpoems #peterhujar #creativewriting #quarantine #quarantinemusings #love #life #lo

  • I should have known

    I should have known that the world has become a shallow place,
    a little vain
    But the values from antecessors
    Remain.
    To give us a reminder of
    What we’ve lost
    And what we’ve gained.
    It’s a confusing
    time to be alive
    To be forever torn
    To be a semi-fit
    Rather, an ill-fit
    To have a grounded body
    But a fluttering soul
    Like a bird about
    to take off
    And off I would have gone
    If I could
    But only that
    I cannot be everywhere.

    do everything
    not possibly.
    There’s a limitation
    There’s a price to pay
    For one to be born as
    Nature’s proudest experiment
    To be its finest creation.
    or a cosmic joke
    Equipped and armed for
    any adversity
    But,
    Only on the outside.
    There’s a universe
    Vast on the inside
    That cannot be
    Fathomed
    Can never be fully explored but
    Only survived.

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    August 29, 2020
    blog, DRAMA, life, lost, LOVE, POEM, poetry, SHALLOW, writer

  • The Price of Freedom – A Short Story

    Inspired by real events


    August 19, 2019, 9:20PM

    Aditi

    Tonight is going to be a long night. I look at the clock and I know it’s showtime. My father laying still in front of me. Ah, what a sight! His chest heaving up and down to the rhythm of his torpid breaths. I almost want to paint this tranquility. I want to capture this serenity, this moment. The tables have turned. Today, I am in control. Today, I am spoiled by choice. I could talk to my boyfriend, I could be out till late at night, and I could watch a movie. I could do any goddamn thing under the sun. Today, I am a bird and I will spread my wings. I think I want to dance.

    Overwhelmed by choice, I decide to play some Frank Sinatra. Music calms my nerves. It’s time to examine the subject. I go near my father and slap him just to ensure that the sedatives have kicked in. He doesn’t move. Impulsively, I slap him again. This one’s for taking away my phone. Then another, for throwing away my skirts. I am enjoying this now. One more, for forbidding me to fall in love and for hitting me. One, for being alive instead of my mother. And last one, for taking away my freedom. His cheeks have flushed red at this point but he doesn’t move. I know he won’t move for a while.

    The first time I wished to be away from my father was when I had to go through a whole year without buying a single new piece of cloth because I hadn’t scored all ‘A’s in my third standard. When my grades didn’t improve, the cable connection was cut off next year and this feeling of wanting to be away from him intensified. I felt like a dog on a short lease. I was only rewarded when I performed. Worse, I felt like a circus animal. A performing animal. But I really wanted him to be dead when he almost beat me to death for falling in love. There is this boy with who I want to spend my life, make babies and my father almost kills me for that. I remember laying in a pool of blood. My blood. I felt molested as there was no part of my body, his belt hadn’t touched. The scars were all over my body. My flawless face wasn’t so flawless anymore. My reflection almost irked me. He not only took away my beauty, but also a part of my life. Today, it’s my turn.


    August 20, 2019, 5:59 AM

    Dad

    The rain is relentless. I hear it thrumming on the metal roof and running down the broken pipe into the mud, and I moisten my cracked lips with my tongue. I wonder if they’ll bring me food and water. I wonder if they’re coming at all.​ The last thing I remember was going to bed and the next thing I know I am here, waking up from a hazy cloud of numbness. I am wearing the same clothes that I had worn to bed last night, my white ​kurta pajama which are now mildly soiled as if I have been dragged through my bedroom to the living room to the porch and further down my garden until here. I feel paralysed with my limbs tied and my mouth taped shut. My mouth feels as parched as it gets on the morning after a continuum of inebriation. My head weighs like a hundred kilos. I realize I may have been drugged.

    I could hear the thunder ripping the sky outside. It seems even the Gods are furious. It hasn’t rained like this in New Delhi during the past six years.

    I am almost certain that this must be a case of robbery as I do not have any enemies that I know of. I suddenly remembered my daughter and wondered where she was. A current jolts through me and I become fully alert. I realized that she was not here so she must be inside the house. Has she also been left to die somewhere like me? But goons don’t just tie up little girls. She could be raped. She could have been gang raped and then killed. No. No. No. No. No. ​Dear God, may they not touch her. Dear God, may Aditi be safe.I​ tried to call out her name but I cannot. There were just stifled cries.

    Almost 10 feet away from me, is our backup LPG cylinder that we keep here, as it is safer to keep it outside the house. Next to it stands an antique wooden cupboard that contains a whole arsenal of weapons: a tool box with a hammer, pliers, handsaw, screwdrivers, and knives amongst other things that would have helped me untie myself right now, if only I could reach them. I know this because I assembled this kit myself over a span of 14 years that I have lived in this house and today, I have been held captive in my own garage. I have been tied to a hinge that I planted myself almost ten years back. I helplessly looked around. I observe that there are two sets of muddy shoe prints all over the floor. One must be around size 10 and another it’s half. Probably a male and female.

    I must have been dreaming because I see the door storm open and Aditi walks in. She glides in like an angel in her spotless white school uniform. I almost jumped with happiness to see that she’s alright and unharmed. Hot tears once again streaming down my cheeks. ​It’s over.


    August 20, 2019, 3:00 AM

    Aditi

    You know you are soul mates when even your thoughts are in sync. I remember seeing Praveen almost three weeks after the incident. My whole body melted when we embraced. With my best friend’s help, we managed to meet after school at her place. I wept that day in his arms. His strong protective arms almost felt like a warm blanket. He stroked my hair and softly kissed my scars. He told me everything will be alright. “Nothing will be alright till that man is alive…” I said somewhere between my cries. “Then let’s get him out of our way,” he said. I looked at his face to fully understand what he was saying or to search for any traces of humour but there were none. I knew he was suffering too. Praveen and I are not just any high school sweethearts but we have actually battled hardships together. We are endgame. He was the only person by my side when my mother succumbed to her illness and father drowned himself in alcohol without a care in the world. I knew Praveen truly cared for me. We hadn’t been with anyone but each other in past three years. In my heart, I knew I couldn’t live without him. No one else matters. In life, I know you are either a hunter or the hunted. I choose not to be hunted. I choose life.

    I have to admit that this was the day when the seed was planted. This was almost two months back. But when last week, he found out my secret phone inside the pillowcase, he not only smashed it against the wall, but also declared that I will be sent off to an all-girls boarding school, almost 5000 miles from Delhi. That was the exact moment when I decided to kill my father and I am not sorry about it. Only I have the decision to choose my own life. No one else can choose for me. Not even “my father”. With Praveen by side, I knew I could do this. Nothing is invincible.

    I thought about this decision for days. My decision only became stronger when I realized how much there was to gain from it. After all, one cannot put a price on freedom. I may not have been a class topper, to my father’s plight but this time, I had done my homework. I had watched at least a hundred documentaries and read at least a dozen books on the subject. I am almost excited for my future for the first time in years. I know I will get away with this. I had called Praveen from a friend’s phone and asked him to be here tonight. He should be here any moment now. Outside, the rain hasn’t stopped pouring for hours. It looks like God’s on our side. Amen.


    August 20, 2019, 6:15 AM

    Dad

    I see that Aditi has carefully locked the door behind her. Her angelic face looks eerily calm and composed. I felt a pang of guilt for treating her the way I had been for the past few years but children tend to be lost and they need to be guided. Her grandfather wasn’t the one to spare a stick and that made me what I am today. I am thankful to my father and I know in my heart, one day she will thank me too.

    “So you are up, huh? Sooner than we expected.” she says as she looks at me without blinking. “The pills were supposed to knock you out for at least 15 hours.” She continues speaking as if it’s business as usual. She crinkles her nose as she comes closer. “Did you piss your pants, Dad? Ewww!”

    I realize the questions were rhetoric. My mind’s running haywire now. Why hasn’t she untied me yet?

    “Praveen will be here soon. He’s probably late because of the rain.” She announces. For the first time, it begins to dawn on me that perhaps it is not a case of robbery and maybe, I have been held captive by my own 15 year old daughter. “This must be a joke.” I thought.

    “What now? Why do you look so shocked? Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming.” she says as if reading my thoughts. Her voice laced with childlike rebellion. “Did you really think that you could get away with trying to sabotage my freedom? Not-going to-happen. ​Dad.​ ”

    There have been a lot of times in the past 41 years when life hasn’t made any sense to me such as when the only woman I ever loved died a slow, painful death right in front of my eyes and there was nothing under the sun I could do to save her but this moment definitely takes away the prize. I hadn’t felt more futile in my whole life. After each chemotherapy, I could see my wife withering away until there was nothing left of her. I knew that life would never be the same. And now, it seemed like my own daughter, the only thing left from my wife, had trapped me in my own house and is on some kind of childish mission to teach-me-a-lesson.

    It wasn’t long before I heard another knock on the door. Aditi unlatches the door and strides in the boy whose face is etched in my memory. He too is in his school uniform which is drenched from the pouring rain outside. He’s the boy who took away my little girl. The animal in me awakens, I want to tear him apart. He’s the boy who’s fucking my daughter. Period. There’s no other way to put that.

    I still remember the night I first saw this scumbag. I had come back home after a hard day at the shop around 10:30PM. As I parked my car outside, I could hear the music coming from my house. This was unusual. Aditi usually slept around this time and almost never had any friends over. As I walked inside my home, the music got louder. I realized that it was coming from Aditi’s room. I opened the gate at once and there he was, merrymaking with my daughter. The room was filled with cigarette and Aditi was smoking one herself. The room was lit by fairy lights. She was draped in only a bed sheet. It seemed like a scene from a movie. I did what any father would. I grabbed the little bastard by his neck and kicked that piece of shit out of my house, naked in the middle of the night. No warnings were left to be spoken. The message was clear. I wondered for how long all this had been going on, under my own nose. In my own house. I wondered if the maids and the neighbors knew before me.

    My daughter, as beautiful as she is, like her mother, walks up to me and rips off the tape from my mouth. That hurt but I didn’t make a sound. I realized I was choked.
    “What’s with the tears now, Dad? Do you really expect me to buy all this drama especially when you never gave a shit about my feelings? Huh?”

    “Are you going to kill me now?” I asked, sarcastically. She wouldn’t, I knew. We were blood after all. But I felt like I had to ask.


    August 20, 2019, 6:47 AM​

    Aditi

    Praveen was finally here and he had brought everything that we would need today. I looked at my father who was looking at me intently. His face was almost unreadable. I didn’t like that. I wanted him to be scared. Like I had been of him all these years.

    “What’s in there?” Dad asks looking at the container.
    “Just petrol.”
    “What the hell are you thinking? Release me right now, you dumb goat!!” He yells, just as he always does. Yelling is his first reaction to everyone and everything.
    “How does it feel to be tied up, father? To feel that your life is in someone else’s hands.” I asked playfully. I could finally afford to be playful after all.
    “You have gone mad. Release me right now!” He commanded again.
    “Why did you had to be so strict, Dad? Why couldn’t you just let me be? Let us be?” I wanted to know. “He is just using you, you dumb girl. Boys use girls like you and then they leave when they find another one. You think I don’t know anything? I had lived in a boy’s hostel for 8 years. I know how young fuckers think. Your naivety almost terrifies me.”
    “You terrify me!” I yelled back but realized now is not the time to lose my cool. “It’s too bad, these will be your last words.” I told him.
    “Open the fucking knot…” He almost pleaded. His voice almost begging. I looked at him and for a moment, it all seemed too unreal. He didn’t seem like a man who could hit anyone, let alone his own daughter. He looked so sweet. So vulnerable. I wondered if I was doing the right thing. But it’s not like I had a choice. If he lives, I suffer. I become the hunted.

    “Don’t look at me like that, Dad. This story is real. Maybe, a bit too real. No one is going to come in to rescue you. It will be short and simple. You will die and I will get my life back. It’s really that simple.” I told him calmly. I did not want to be angry at him in his last moments.
    “Wouldn’t you wish me Happy Independence Day, Dad?” I asked, as I lit a cigarette.


    August 20, 2019, 14:59 IST. Times News Network.

    Delhi: Businessman killed after fire breaks out at residence in West Delhi

    A 41 year old businessman was killed after a fire broke out in his garage at his West Delhi residence on Tuesday morning. The victim lived with his daughter in the house. As reported by his daughter, the victim had gone to fix the garage door early morning when the fire broke out due to a faulty cylinder, supposedly after he lit a cigarette.

    “The fire department received information at around 7:30am regarding the fire. We rushed to the spot with two fire tenders. The fire was doused before it could spread to the rest of the house,” said a senior Delhi Fire Services officer. The victim was a widower and is survived by his 15 year old daughter.


    29/9/19.

    PC: Unspalsh. elijah-hiett-ISUqlGMU7o0-unsplash. ❤

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    July 21, 2020
    #freedom, CRIMEFICTION, DRAMA, life, LOVE, LOVESSTORY, MURDER, shortstory

  • Why Me?

    I don’t go to a temple often

    Neither do I go to a

    A mosque or

    A church

    or anywhere else

    Get the drift, right?

    But yesterday I went

    To a temple

    Not too far

    But the one in my home;

    It was awkward

    I have to say

    The face off

    With Him

    Like meeting an

    Old lover.

    So I cut straight to the chase

    And asked –

    Why me?

    I stood still and

    Waited for an answer

    Minutes passed

    But nothing happened

    No one spoke

    None of the statues moved

    But a tear did trickle down

    My cheek

    And I collapsed

    On my knees.

    Ok. I am on my knees.

    Now, tell me.

    Answer me.

    Why me?

    First, I howled

    Then I pleaded

    In a mumble

    That barely escaped my throat

    I submitted in a barely audible Why me?

    I waited for a sign.

    The hibiscus or the marigold

    To fall on my feet

    Or a cosmic intervention. Anything.

    For I am stranded

    in a vast

    pitch-dark-room.

    But, nothing happens.

    So, I wanted to unhinge the temple,

    slam it on the floor.

    Watch Their smiling faces shatter

    Into tiny little pieces

    Perhaps then they will talk.

    But they were quiet

    As a stone could be.

    And I collapsed further

    My warm cheek pressed

    against the cold floor

    I need an answer.

    See. You got me.

    You got me on my all fours

    for never bowing

    before You the

    Omnipotent

    Omnipresent.

    Now

    Tell me-

    Why me?

    I did everything by the book.

    I followed protocol.

    I need an answer.

    A reason to go on.

    I laid there for a while

    Made myself

    Comfortable.

    Maybe His holy Highness

    Is busy

    I laid there for

    I don’t know how long

    Like a wounded animal

    Only wanting to be relieved of

    her misery.

    Wondering why people

    Are so scared of death after all.

    As I studied the scratches on my floor

    I realised

    Perhaps

    The silence is the answer.

    The quietude

    The still flowers

    The motionless figurines

    Because you see

    I had never raised

    this question earlier

    Never had I wondered Why me?

    When self absorbed

    I had strutted around

    Like an

    Entitled

    Little

    Snob.

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    June 16, 2020
    #depression, #grief, #healing, #selfhelp, #wellbeing, DRAMA, life, LOVE, POEM, poet

  • Ashes

    I walk through ashes
    Left behind
    From the fire 
    that consumed my dreams.
    The ones I concocted 
    As a little girl
    Sprawled on the grass
    Under a tree
    beneath the sky
    Of chocolate houses 
    And unicorns 
    Swaying with the swings
    thinking-
    monsters are four legged
    And fairies have wings.
    The dreams 
    Uninhibited Vast 
    Lark, Open. 
     
    Quite a fire it was 
    Ignited by a spark
    Of doubt. 
     
    I walk through ashes
    That fly
    From the fire that
    emblazoned my reveries 
    The ones I concocted 
    Sitting in the classrooms 
    Bedrooms, parks and places 
    Comprehending the
    quagmires of the system
    And their measures 
    of artistry
    Knowledge 
    Decorum and
    Duties  
    Via books and lengthy monologues 
    Telling me about the foundations 
    And a way of life.
     
    Quite a furnace 
    it was 
    Ignited by incongruity
    Of the preacher that practiced
    Hypocrisy and atrocities. 
    
    I walk through ashes
    Left behind
    From the fire 
    Which consumed my dreams
    From when I was younger 
    And walked with a 
    Cloak of invincibility
    That years 
    Will bring clarity
    Less, if not much 
    Half, if not full 
    And a Change
    shall commence 
    Sooner or later
    For 
    They must 
    see their oversight,
    their error.  
    The dreams 
    of walking alone
    For those who seek love 
    are weak and imbecile
    And friendships don’t fray
    Just as flowers don’t wither,
    That honesty must win 
    hard work must pay.
     
    Radiant it was 
    The pyre of 
    My visions and dreams
    Or lies force fed to me 
    In legacy. 
     
    And then the world tells me
    They think I have changed
    In ways they don’t recognize 
    Of course!
    Of course,
    They do not recognize 
    The immolation, the devouring 
    Of my dreams, in the fire
    That raged within me 
    An inferno in my core 
    That singed my soul 
    Time after time
    They tell me
    I am not the same
    But they do see a
    Flicker of
    light in my eyes
    And 
    a fleck of ember
    When i speak
    at times. 
    Caught off guard
    I don’t know what to say. 
    I lean forward
    Closer to their ear 
    Unsure how else to cover  
    I clear my throat 
    And I tell them-
    Likewise. 
     
    
    

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    April 17, 2020
    #art, #HUMANITY, blog, DELIMMA, dreams, life, literature, LOVE, POEM, poet, poetry, selflove, selfrealization, writer

  • A Note from Posterity


    Tell me father-
    Were you a child?
    To have thought you knew it all
    To have thought you knew the best
    To have thought that 
    you
    Understood religion
    Understood universe
    Understood humans
    To have thought 
    So highly of oneself 
    And yet leaned on God
    In the name of guiding light 
    To unravel the great mystery of life
    Of love and hate
    Of love and loss
    Wrong and right

    Tell me father
    Didn’t you know
    You, your forefathers
    And their grandfathers
    Who knew not
    the reason
    Of blue skies
    Of mountains high
    That plants do live
    the cycle of life
    Your forefathers and their grandfathers
    Knew not
    Difference between 
    a fact and a lie
    Knew not
    Physics
    Maths chemistry history biology
    Knew not fire 
    Knew not rain
    Yes them
    Your those forefathers
    And their fathers
    created god.
    Father, you created god.
    It wasn’t waiting
    When Adam and Eve arrived.

    And in name of God
    There were people whose
    houses were burned
    sons were lynched
    Daughters were touched
    Daughters were beaten
    Daughters were dragged
    And you sat in the comfort
    Of your Home
    Of your office
    Of your car
    And talked
    And instigated
    And polarized
    While the capital burned down.
    Their homes burned down.
    Their homes.
    Burned.
    Down.
    While you listened to music
    Hummed in the shower
    Attended fancy parties
    Holding a glass of champagne 
    Overlooking 
    A lovely bed of flowers
    reading
    forwarded texts
    With propaganda
    Made you a rad
    But I know
    Your scars were borrowed
    So was your pain
    Your wars were
    Uncalled for
    Based on hatred and hunger
    And revenge
    Because today
    None of it matters
    And it was all an idea
    Just as you were one. 

    But i know
    I know
    You weren’t alone
    You were united by divisions
    With those you thought to be your own
    Divided by boundaries
    United by boundaries
    Divided by color
    United by color
    Divided by theocracy
    United by theocracy
    And it went on and on
    But sooner or later
    one after another 
    The veils were lifted 


    And today when we know
    There are other realities
    We know
    It was all a facade
    A crutch
    A conspiracy for commerce
    For power
    Just as slavery
    Just as holocaust
    Just as racism
    And
    I wish I could bring you
    Back
    Dig up your grave 
    Sit you up
    To show you
    What a royal circus it was
    And you 
    a joker
    a spectator
    A puppet
    But also
    A co-conspirator 
    Watching and clapping 
    As you liked
    living vicariously 
    In a pseudo reality 
    Of an idea
    That played out too long 
    I wish i could dig you up
    To show you 
    Your whole existence 
    Was a lie. 
     

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    March 5, 2020
    #politics, #RELIGION, caa, communalism, hindu, india, lynching, Muslim, nonviolence, nrc, violence

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