a little romance with life

Poet's Block It’s stuck in my throat It refuses to go in, it fails to come out All it does all day is ruin the taste of what I eat, All it does is flavor the words that I say; I don’t know what it wants This poem that needs to leave But wants to stay.

There are two kinds of happy places in my head Scene one is in summers Scene two in the depths of winters Here I am lying on the sand, near a beach There I sit, in the fog next to a bonfire Here, no clothes, just my skin and the wind There, wrapped around in the arms of someone I love Here, the sound of waves filling up my senses There, the calming music of your breath Here, the scent of water There, the perfume of your skin Here, the quiet bursting dance of being independent There, the joy of never feeling alone again.

How to really break up with someone You don’t have to say it again and again Sometimes it doesn't work; You can try not talking to him for a while But it’s difficult to forget a face so beautiful; Try hating him for no reason But you’ll end up hating yourself; Try, if you can, to fall in love with someone else But we all know the Ross/ Russ story*; Ask me how to really break up with someone And I’ll tell you Tell him the truth He’ll run away. *refer to Friends, Season 2 Episode 10

A Poem by a Woman I poop. I have hair everywhere. Above my lips and below them. I have hair in places you always thought had none. I have hair in places you want to visit, check out. I have eyebrows that are shaped every three weeks to look like a curve, a road, a neat path so that you don’t feel lost when you see me. I also pee. Sometimes I fart. I sneeze, more than a quiet sound, and then things come out of my nose. I love laughing out loud even if I sound like a witch. My eyes are not always full of kohl. Sometimes my lips have more than a coat of gloss, They have anger, and bitter words. Sometimes, I cry. I’m not always happy and smiling. There are nights when under the sheets my hands slip into my underwear, I masturbate. Some days my shoulders hunch, I don’t always walk straight And I like to sit with my legs wide open. Once every month, I menstruate for four days There’s blood, it’s thick and red and dark And it hurts, and it flow...

I stare at all those stars hurdled together, so natural, almost like dandruff in someone's hair and think to myself how happy they look together but also how far they are from each other, but there are so many, so many stars in the sky; I ask them if they look after each other take care of each other, or just live on their own; I often think to myself that there are so many people in the world, so many people, then why should anyone ever have to feel alone?

Covered in mud from head to toe I don’t like the way I look anymore So messed up, so dirty, so gross No, I don’t like this feeling anymore It’s a dream, I know It’s out of control, I know It isn’t real, I guess But I just don’t like this mess Insects are crawling Mosquitoes all around It itches so bad And yet somehow I can’t get myself to wake up Then all of a sudden In this crazy dream Someone arrives and walks up to me It’s the mud doctor, I believe To fix me, to get rid of the mud Takes me hand, and starts to dig it out Digs in deep, does the best he could Digs too deep, more than he should I look at my hand It’s horrifying I look again It’s terrifying There is no skin, no blood I have no body I am the mud.

Keep stalking him till the liberating day When you realize that you’re okay with not knowing About his statuses and who they were written for, When he last came online and who he spoke to. Keep following his steps Between the pillars of Facebook and Whatsapp To see if he has left even the slightest footprint of his thoughts On the vast sand of social media. And when you find those footprints Dig deep till you find shells, and bones, and bottle caps Keep looking for that one item of yours That once belonged to you The one that you gifted to him The item that no longer knows Who it belongs to.

I wonder if it would help if I knew how you kiss And your favorite place to kiss, I want to know how you’d hold a girl when you realize  you love her; And how your body burns in her presence; I've tried to imagine your smile when you see her, And how your breathing slows down when you hug her tight; I imagine your eyes when you look at her And all the things that must be going on in your mind. I wonder if it would help if I knew, Because I just can’t stop thinking about you.

Fall in love with a person who is quiet Someone you’ve never spoken to And from the corner of your eyes you can make him Anyone you want him to be. The steps are simple I will walk you through them- Find a face you like, a height of your choice But never ever have a word with him Though it’s okay if you think about his voice, And when you chance upon a conversation centered around him, quietly walk away; Imagine him listening to your favorite songs Dancing alone as he cleans his room; Close your eyes and see him lying down on the grass Staring at the stars the way you do; You can choose whether he’ll be gentle or rough- Any way you’d like him to be; You can feed him with all the right words, All the beautiful acts of love, All the strengths and weaknesses you can bear to adore; Think of his family the kind you would like And place him in a hometown you’ve always wanted to go. Fall in love with someone you’ve never spoken to And every man...

On the pages of the accidental poetry notebook Is a poem about a room, the one that makes the poet incredibly happy For every day she finds pieces of herself in it And revels in the chaos that the room shows her to be But now that she has gone away The room feels like something else to her For every time she returns to it, it seems bigger and older Reminds her of days that seem way back in the past And all her favorite things belong somewhere else now The stories she left behind are now covered in dust And that always makes her sneeze Sleep comes with great difficulty at night. She can’t decide who is to be blamed For the way she has changed, Or for how the room has hardly changed at all It still looks at her as the person she used to be And every time she leaves, she whispers this room no longer belongs to me.

For a while now I've wanted For a writer to fall in love with me For I've always thought of myself as the perfect subject for poetry, so that I could search for my fingerprints In the words that he writes. I've also wanted since a while For a painter to see the beauty in me I know I don’t have the perfect body But I've wished to see a lover put down on a canvas How love makes his lover look like the most beautiful person in the world. I've wanted a singer to sing for me All the songs that melt my heart; But all I have is you You, the person who repeats the same things in his letters again and again You, even the hearts you make look disfigured You, you know no words to the songs, let alone the tunes But on days when I feel uprooted, lost, and alone You, all you do is make me feel like home.

This is my response to a beautiful poem by Kamala Das titled The Looking Glass. You can read the original here- http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/kamala-das/the-looking-glass-11/ The Looking Glass: A Response Getting a man to love you is easy But ask yourself first if you are willing to love him back. Don’t stand nude before the glass with him don’t let him see himself the stronger one when you know that in your softness and youth you can break him when you leave. Question your infatuation. Notice the imperfection Of his ways, his body weakening as he looks at you, the shy walk across the room, Dropping hints, and the timid way in which he shows you his penis. All the gross details that might make you fall out of love with him. Offer him your worst, offer him what makes you who you are, the stink of your longings, the burden of anger between the breasts, The monthly stab of menstrual blood, and all your Endless sorrows. Oh yes, getting A man to love is easy, ...

The room is lit with yellow light The smell of food is dry and cold just a hint lingers in the air, The table sits in a corner with four chairs, all scattered about The plates dressed in an incomplete meal The spoons and forks begging to be cleaned And half empty glasses strewn about The three year old daughter and her parents have just finished a meal, A family that dines together. Weeks later, the table sits lonely The forks, spoons, glasses yearn to be with each other The yellow light hides in the ends of wires, in the dusty insides of the bulb; The family hasn't had dinner together in a while for he has started to cook his own meals.

There is one world that I know of The one that I see through the lens of my rose-tinted glasses Where I see puppies playing in the rain Jumping on the grass Wagging their tail Beautiful big eyes of a puppy making a puppy face; A world full of orange-black butterflies Dancing over the grass Fluttering their wings Inspiring many a poet to write. There is one world that I know of That I see through my rose-tinted lens And then there is another world Where I see a puppy eating a butterfly.

You give me the sweetest scent as I hide my face in the pillows The warmest warmth as I wrap my body around the rajai And in your calm quiet, my music finds new meaning. You give me warm food to dig my cold hands into You bring me hot kawah at night to heat my insides You give me Diwali days and bundles of ferry lights. You become my reason to ask for longer tighter hugs You give me excuses to hold hands And every year when you come to make the world cold You remind me to stay warm at heart. In return, I pretend to hug you when the wind passes me by And I close my eyes to listen if you’re trying to say ‘hi’ At night, I send you kisses through the sky. Welcome back to your fleeting affair Welcome home, winters.

This is a response to one of my favorite poems titled 'Warning' by Jenny Joseph. You can see it here --> http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/warning/ Because I am young now I shall wear red With blue hair that goes blonde, and too many piercings And I shall spend my pocket money on beautiful diaries that I may never fill And bags, and say I've no money to eat out with friends. I shall ask each guy I like out for coffee And I shall hold hands and laugh out loud even if we're in a public place And run my soul along all beautiful things And make up for the sobriety that will be expected of me in a couple of years. I shall go out without my slippers in the rain And continue to try to catch butterflies And learn to snort. You can take a break from studies to explore new things And pretend to know everything even when you don't Or you could wipe your mind to learn anew And hoard poems and quotes and words in boxes. But later I will ha...

I have loved chaos and tried to stay away from symmetry The pictures on my wall are never in a straight line And my handwriting changes every day; Sometimes I like to say things that make people fumble And my lips speak what my heart feels I run towards extremes. And so, from where I look, the moon is always complete From where I walk, time moves fast and slows down with me From the angle I take, the picture looks gorgeous in it's asymmetry.

Say to me that sex is all about lust, and I will tell you How rare it is to find someone who makes you want to be naked When each and every day, all you’re told to do is hide under clothes So wear a bra, and panties, but that is not enough Add a layer of jeans and a t shirt, because that is the right way to be So don’t cry when you feel sad, and don’t laugh out too loud And anger is best expressed in suppression. There is a reason to rejoice when you find someone With whom you want to be naked Because you want to hold them tight and so close despite all the hair Because they’ll kiss you when you laugh and they'll kiss your tears So rejoice it when you find a person who loves it when you moan so loud And rejoice it harder when they moan with you For it is rare to find someone who’s worthy of knowing How beautiful you are without any clothes.

And ma’am, what shall I serve you today? Get me the hottest soup you have, my heart is as cold as my skin tonight I want to feel warm again, I want this mist to leave My bones can’t bear to be so numb, my hope needn’t shiver so Get me a meal that’ll remove this fog, Get me a meal to feel warm at heart. And tomorrow when it starts to melt again Get me the sweetest meal you can cook So that when I open my mouth, only the brightest words escape my lips So let there be light in my soul, and let there be space for more Get me the sweetest meal to fill this space Get me a meal that puts a shine on my face. And because with your love you’ll heal me so I’ll cook you meals to cure you too From your anger, your pain, your hurt I’ll serve you warm meals and sweet desserts We’ll dine together with these meals that heal To cure ourselves of the things we feel.

In the reflection in the window of the bus I see him standing next to her He doesn't talk too much, he hardly even looks But you can see his smile and the color on his cheeks And you know his eyes want to look in her direction The way a flower turns to the sun.   Such innocence Of having someone who makes you smile And wanting nothing from that person Except to see them smile back at you.

I was once less scared of who I used to be Maybe that is why I truly loved my teeth story It was a great conversation starter, and people enjoyed it When I told them about swings and messy childhood pictures. Also, it made me laugh when my dentist warned me That without braces I'll have problems with matrimony; Like that even made sense. But one day after a few years Those words began to echo in my ears And I stopped smiling for a while. I was once more scared of the person I used to be So I wanted to hide behind covers And smile without showing my teeth I wanted to be locked in my room And not have any people to meet.  Now I'm back to enjoying my stick out teeth On most days they show the world That I'm as happy as can be I smile so hard that my teeth don't fit Its like when I smile The world knows that I mean I it. 

ये पीली सी खामोशियाँ इन मे मैने कुछ लफ़्ज़ों को उड़ते हुए देखा है, दिल की बातों को जिन्हे ना वो कह सके ना हम इन्हे खामोशियों के गुब्बारो  मे उड़ाने का सिलसिला ना जाने कब तक चलेगा | ये पीली सी खामोशियाँ जो तुम्हारे मेरे फ़ासले के बीच कुछ यून ही मासूम से बच्चे सी बैठी रहती है मेरे ख्वाबों की तस्वीरों में जो तुम्हारी साँसों से रंग भरती है | ये पीली सी खामोशियाँ जो दरबदार  तुम्हारी परच्छाई में शब्दों के निशान तलाशती है की शायद तुम्हारे होंठ मुस्कुरा कर वो कह जाए जिसका आँखों को कबसे इंतज़ार है | इन खामोशियों में शोर ढूंड रही हूँ  मैं मगर आज नही आज तुम यूँ ही मगरूर बैठे रहो अभी इन पीली सी खामोशियों के आसमान में मुझे कुछ चॅन तारे नज़र आने लगे है |

I opened your diary rather mistakenly (not) the other day But I had promised not to read the words, the sentences, and their combined meanings So I searched for you in the curves of your Fs and the hats of your T's; In the pages I saw your words fall on the bed of the lines Some days to the left, some days to the right, Some days just striving to stand straight; You changed everyday. But I found you in the circles you draw on the top of your Is The ones you draw the same way no matter which side your words fall, I saw your twisted smile in the Cs and your crazy laugh in the Ds They were all the same everyday, Maybe you don't change as much as you think you do. On the last page I found your attempt to write with your other hand The one that doesn't have years of practice And I laughed at how you thought it was fun To break 20 year old habits. I opened your diary yesterday, mistakenly, or so I'd like you to think And as promised, I didn't read your sentences But I wa...

All children deserve lessons from the swing, Each child deserves to be on the swing, To learn that if they try hard enough, they can hug the wind, And that they probably can't catch the stars but they can reach close enough, To get used to the ups and downs and the occasional hurtful falls, To learn when to stop before the tummy starts hurting and the head begins to spin. Each person deserves to be on the swing, So that when they go down from the topmost peak they learn that it is possible to fall without letting yourself get hurt, without hitting the ground.

Half-baked meals only result in empty stomachs Because flour and sugar and baking soda don't taste even half as good as a chocolate cake. Half-baked poems out of my head Always leave my mind hungry for a better cooked meal.

When you say 'hello' to your diary after months, between the fluttering pages you will find a sheet of paper that will jump out to fall on your lap and if you want, then for a few seconds this page can be anything you would like it to be. It could be a torn sheet from the diary you burnt because it constantly reminded you of a heartbreak, but you saved that one entry anyway, you weren't ready to forget. It could be a song you wrote when you were in love or just inspirational quotes, a drawing of you made by your 4-year old cousin or just words, because you like collecting words. That page could be a love-letter, an angry ramble, a sketch, or notes from counselling psychology. For the 30 seconds before you decide to open it you have the power to fill that folded sheet of paper with all the words in the world.

The wind is heavy outside as the storm makes its presence felt The rain knocks on the window and the thunder makes a request to come in The electricity is on a break, it’s dark and cold Yet they smile in the middle of a storm For now they realize, there is nothing quite as safe and warm As home.

Someday, one day, today Look at your naked body Do not search for marks and imperfections, Look at it like your parents saw it The day you were born, Look at it like magic.

Houses I have always dreamt at least since a very long time of a cute little house just for myself, To paint the walls with stories written in the form of pictures, Of furniture that fits my tiny size, With windows where I can sit alone, Listening to music or reading a book; A house to myself, in which perhaps one day I can roam around naked. But today, You all have gone for some work This house, right now, is mine Yet I sit here fully clothed Not near a window, but tied to my room Because I have no one to tell my stories to And I can’t inform anyone of the sudden realization I had- I hate empty houses.

On days like today a nd moments like right now I know that something inside me is shrinking, withdrawing, dwarfing I know because something feels empty And the emptiness hurts. I know it’s my heart, t hat scared little creature One day larger than the universe And today, so small that it could fit into my pocket Requesting me to hide her in the almira, a t the far end of a drawer Covered in books, clothed by dust, lost in the darkness Where nobody can see it, nobody can touch it Oh, this scared little creature, h ow it begs to feel safe again But how do I explain this to my heart That what forces her to shrink down Is the same thing that will one day make her grow.

If I could I’d marry poetry And winters And rain And laughter and jokes And then make babies with all of them. Yes, if I could I would.

I don’t know what to make of it When he never turns back once he leaves Sometimes, I think, he notices too much of the obvious I wonder if he can ever see the subtleties Like the saved pictures of poems on my phone And how sometimes they break my heart I wonder if he notices That I like odd numbers more than even numbers And somehow prime numbers are my favorite Does he notice that I fall in love more with movie trailers Than the movie itself Does he see a pattern in all this? Does he wonder what it means? Because sometimes I wonder Whether I want to be loved as a whole Or for beautiful little subtleties.

If one day you come up to me and say that my room is an exact reflection of who I am, I won’t be surprised even one bit Though I’d be a little surprised you noticed. You see, I’ve never seen my mind, I’ve only felt its presence And if I had to draw a map, it would look so much like my room Because its walls are plain and simple, except one that is colorful and messy And on the walls are pictures of people I love, so you know you’re always on my mind; Though I guess I’ve explained this a million times, but there’s a jungle theme to it So much beauty in the raw, the untouched; I like to feel close to nature; My room has symbols of birds in every corner- a shadow, a picture, a nest It even has Diwali lights to light me up when I feel low; Some days it’really messy, full of things I can’t let go On other days, I’ll throw it all out, clean it up My room has closets and drawers behind which lie thoughts I hardly visit; fears I know are there But I try to lea...

They sneak behind closed doors They enter through broken windows They move in like rain from between the cracks They linger on like the smell of agarbatti Like the taste of food stuck in your teeth Like words that echo in your heart beat They come, they come like smoke To give little baskets of prayer and hope To those who should have given up long ago.

What is the simplest hardest thing I know? Erasing the entire playlist of my phone But sometimes, it’s just best to let go.

There is a fine line Between hurt and abuse Between dislike and hate Between fear and terror Between wounds and scars Every day, every single day we stand on one side of the line every day, you choose to cross it every day, I choose to stay.

How does the crescent moon feel on a dark day Trying to light up the world, trying to float above the vastness Does she sometimes wait to feel full again, to feel like herself again Not knowing that she has been complete all along? Does she know that even on her weakest day, she means so much to the world? How does the moon feel on the strange day When the Scientist comes and tells her that she is 384,400 kms away from the earth And that all the people she loves, can’t probably even come to meet her Does she feel alone in the sky? Not knowing that Lovers look up to her every night, And that Poets have loved her beyond distance, have craved for just her sight. And how will you feel when you realize That you’ve been cheating yourself all this time Telling yourself that you are weak, that it isn’t yet the time to shine But maybe like the moon you are beautiful and bright and that behind the happenings that change you every week is a person like the mo...

It was a different test I was giving, the kind that would tell me the kind of person I am But it didn’t ask me the questions I expected, instead it asked me What my pulse was like So I placed my hand on my neck, and closed my eyes to feel its sound And I remembered how long it had been since I realized that my heart was beating Every day, every hour, every minute Even when it was broken, even when it felt too full, even if it was so tired that it could have just given up Months have passed since I saw my shadow following me, giving me company when I couldn’t bear to be alone My footsteps, oh they’ve given me sounds, like music in the background, so beautiful but tuned out And after months I notice how my hands dance as I write this, how my finger jump, how my arms move And I never saw the expressions change on my face from delight to wonder to seriousness. Some days, I feel too lonely, too tired, too alone, too broken, too sleepy But I like to think of it as...