Horticulture.

“I am. I am. I am.”//
Commemorating International Women’s Day ’17.

For too long now
I have nurtured others’ saplings
In the shade of my boughs,
Watered their roots with my blood,
Quenched their thirst
With dew drops that embellish my bosom.
I have ripped apart the fruit of my flesh
To satisfy their selfish hunger
And buried my thoughts
As manure to expedite their growth.
I have given, given
Without worrying about return.
Before I run out, today,
I am choosing to use
My light, my water, my quarry
To grow my own flowers.

Exiled.

Inspired by a post on The Artidote, for the children of Syria.

Where do you go when home doesn’t love you anymore;
When the corner you took refuge in
Is no longer an intersection of two protective walls
But simply powdered debris that falls
Over and around you,
The only way you can possibly take home with you
As you stand in the wake of destruction
Where home used to be?
Where do you go
When the love, is being wrenched out of home
And the people who were both home and love
Are gone,
Having stepped on oblivion, or into it;
When home doesn’t feel like home
But threatens to engulf you
Into the mirific memories
Of the laughter, tears, smiles and tales
That made home what it was;
When you look out the window
To find two eyes smiling back at you
Luring you into the night,
And away from home.
Tell me, where do you go
When home is the windstorm,
Making the windows and doors clatter,
Shouting into your ears a cacophony of
“Go”, “Leave” and “Run Away”
But not the faintest whisper of “Stay”?

Knee-deep.

I’ve been asked constantly why I can’t find it in myself to love someone. “Surely, you could love someone if you tried hard enough? You’re in control of your heart and your emotions, after all.”
So here’s to those who ask why I haven’t found love-
Have you ever been by the seaside? Walked ahead until the sea came close enough to wet the undersides of your feet, and further ahead? Have you felt the waves rush onto the shore and submerge your feet, filling your entire universe to the brim? Have you stayed long enough for the waves to leave for the sea again, taking the sand beneath your feet with them? Have you experienced the slightly unsettling sensation of having the very ground beneath your feet seized away, like someone cut off your air supply for a moment, only to settle into the layer of sand that remains for a few moments yet to come? Have you savored the sound of the sea reverberating right up to your eardrums and in your mind, loud enough to mask all the voices in your head, all your insecurities and the reminders of your inability? Have you gone for a run by the sea, to find shells left by the waves strewn across the sand, embedded there like a trousseau of memories- some of them amazing you by their sheer beauty, while some when absentmindedly stepped on, making you bleed? Have you just taken a slight look at the sea and felt overwhelmed by the wholeness of it- all the life that it holds in its bosom like secrets one can only unearth by sinking deep inside it?
You see, my love, if I ever chance upon it, will be like the sea- slightly unsettling but reassuring, all at the same time, with a voice loud enough to echo over all the things I tell myself that hold me back, with a presence that leaves me with a storehouse of memories- both pleasant and hurtful and a being so whole, it overwhelms me with secrets one can only discover if they choose to delve deep enough.
Yes, my love will be like the sea, and when has the sea ever been controlled by anyone?

Of Misnomers.

NaPoWriMo 2016- Day 4

“Cricket is a religion in India”, they say
Compressing everything the sport stands for
Into the airtight jar of a word they use
To explain everything
That’s right (read: wrong) with the world;
Using it as an excuse
To nurse unfounded grudges,
To try in vain to quench their thirst for blood,
To reduce millions of people
To a mere category they had no role in choosing-
One they mightn’t even subscribe to.
But cricket does not kill or cause one to
It does not put an end to heartbeats,
But only makes hearts beat faster in anticipation
It does not condemn you for a choice
That was not yours to make
It does not divide based on
What god you pray to, whose god is not yours
And what your prayers are
For the only gods are on the ground,
The enmity is but ephemeral
And the only prayer is the sound
Of the hearts of a nation beating as one.
No, cricket cannot be an involuntary religion;
What it is is a chosen faith.

Fixation.

NaPoWrimMo 2016- Day3

All my life I have been running around
To the next big thing,
Waiting for this moment to get over
So I could experience what the next one brings, 
Never enjoying the one I’m in,
But always looking forward to the coming one.
And I thought thought that’s what most people do;
That’s what life is about-
Waiting for the next moment to arrive,
Until I found you
And now, the only time I am living in the moment
Without wanting for it to get over
so I could quickly move on to the next one
Is when I’m sitting on the other side of the screen
Looking at a boy
Who makes living in the moment worthwhile.

This is a fan letter to Connor Franta, my favorite YouTuber and the love of my life. 🙂

Borderline Sanity.

NaPoWriMo2016- Day 2

“Scrambled eggs, scrambling feet
If  miss this one, I’ll never make it there.
Where’s the comb? Knew I was forgetting something.
Who even wears these bangles anymore? They’re digging into my spine.
Why’d it have to leave a second before i got here?
If I do not get my coffee, I will cry.
Can’t she see I’m standing right here?
Ugh, can my phone stop buzzing?
Don’t you call, I’m on my way!
I forgot to check in again, there goes today’s salary.
My stomach sounds like I haven’t eaten in aeons.
Must not eat the doughnut. Must not eat. Must not. Must.
Is it time yet? Do not get there before me!
What did I have to think about?
Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Managed to get home alive, is it my birthday?”
If not for the rush we claim drives us insane,
Would we still be able to call ourselves sane?

Magic Has A Twin.

NaPoWriMo2016- Day 1

The stories we love best do live in us forever
Embedded in our hearts, ingrained in our minds
And inculcated into the way we conduct ourselves;
Maybe that’s how I’ve learnt to resort to humor
When it’s least expected of me, to use it as my shield
As my coping mechanism in times of adversity
Never taking offence, but enjoying offending sensibilities,
And being so complete in my own self
That if and when I lose the person who best compliments me
I can still be seen as my own complete entity,
And several other lessons, happy and terribly sad
That I’ve learnt from a pair of iconic redheads
And I can only hope they continue to live in me
As their legacy I’m trying to take forward
By giving the world hell from them.