Dear uncertainty ,
Strange things can happen when faced with adversity
At this stage , i am looking at you with all urgency,
I wish a superman could have saved that aeroplane,
But thanks to you , it’s forever etched in my memory lane,
The rain god’s took out all their bash
And we took the crash,
And everything happened in such a flash
With 2020 I should have known and expected,
But you my friend , does nothing as I suspected,
And now I have accepted
Us against the universe, and human made disasters,
Covid , Flood , landslides and now a airplane crash ,
Yet i hoped for a tiny bit of Magic,
To change this whole dynamic,
And i as I look around and here I was reconnected,
For Humanity was being resurrected
Yes ,Death and these disasters leave an unbearable pain,
But we fight this together again with no complain
And this my friend is something insane
I know you will come again,
But we will sustain and remain
With lots of love and hugs to you my friend , uncertainty
Thanku for restoring my faith in humanity..
Monthly Archives: March 2023
Death
I write poetry with a clear head, and my blogs are potentially written when I am vulnerable.
Now, I guess I am vulnerable and overthinking, so that definitely calls for a blog.
For me, writing as a memory is associated with my mother, because she taught me how to write, and so writing on this topic makes it even more difficult.
It took me a lot of courage to start this blog, and I am exhausted and scared to put myself out there.
The blog was an escape for me. Not to face the real world, I guess?
This whole year was excruciatingly difficult for me.
Because death came knocking on my door and it was to visit my close ones.
I wish I could romanticise death as they do in movies and books, but I can’t!
How do you deal with the anxiety and grief of such complex emotions?
Every time I thought I could pick myself up from the ashes and patch myself up, it came knocking on my door again.
Loosing people isn’t easy; you feel like it gets better every time, but boy, are you wrong.
There’s no standard equation for dealing with death.
There’s no right way to grieve. You eventually have to find peace, and sometimes the memories keep haunting you.
I had made peace with death.
Until I saw it putting claws on my mother,
That honestly scared and scarred me.
Call it a privilege, but I never thought of losing my parents. I always thought they would be there as a constant with me. Even the thought of losing them never entered my head.
And the last couple of months have been a haywire in themselves.
I can’t describe the feeling of sitting outside hospitals, talking to doctors, and having to be an adult when all I want to be is a kid.
But I knew I had to put the mask on, so I moved cities to be closer to my parents and made sure I was there for every hospital visit.
It was frightening; every test result and every diagnosis was nerve-wracking.
The number of experts we saw was insane.
But I had to pretend I was okay because someone had to be strong.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t have bad days, but I knew it would get better some day.
So I held onto that hope.
Hope has an amazing placebo effect; it makes you feel good.
But it also helps you understand what is important.
And I understood that my parents were my number one priority.
Why am I writing this at 2:30 in the night?
Because today we are back home, and my mother is okay, safe but not perfectly healthy, but I am grateful and not complaining.
I feel a lot of emotions, and the past week has been anything but turmoil.
And on those days, I am grateful for the friends I have.
I was a planner all my life, but this experience put things in perspective for me.
Why am I putting this out there? Because if someone reading this now understands the emotions that you are going through, it is pretty normal.
sadness, confusion, anger, weirdness, anxiety, feeling left out and neglected, guilt, and being overwhelmed.
I have been there, and I understand you.
Do I exactly know what you are going through? No, because every person feels it differently, but you aren’t alone.
On one side, I am eternally grateful; on the other, I am anxious too.
But I guess that’s okay.
But I have also noticed we don’t speak enough about these moments.
We don’t let the world see how vulnerable we are as people.
So let’s be compassionate about people and the times that they go through, because nobody knows what they are going through.
I know it’s a dark topic to talk about, and I will probably wake up tomorrow morning and think why did I go dark again , but I want it to be out there !!
But, I also want to celebrate the lessons that I learned through the friends that stayed with me and cheered me up.
Because I would have been a disaster if not for them.
Am I suggesting that this traumatic experience is something extraordinary?
No, because even now when I think about what I went through last month, especially last week, it was traumatising, but it did make me stronger and a bit more mature.
I also don’t know how to conclude on this because I feel like there’s no certain way to end things on topics like these.
You just have to deal with it and figure it out, and even if you do, some days are just hard..
The thoughts keep coming back and everytime it’s much scarier but I also comfort myself saying , you are strong enough to handle it. You have people to rely on and you will survive it
Just like you my friend , who is reading this
I hope you don’t go through what I went through , but I also know if you did you are strong and I am here for you….
So, here’s something I wrote during that time,
“You are like an albatross soaring the high into
Spreading happiness and wittiness spotlessly with,
The dreams of an untainted, yet childlike innocent kid at heart
The paper heart filled with art,
Full of colours , empathy and thought
A canvas to paint with so many feelings to express,
Yet when i look at you everything else seem so bland
Your light and smile hits people so hard
That you want to reciprocate
When the snowy numbness crawls on us
You are the ray of light that i turn to,
White salty tears make it’s final fall
You become my tumbler
You are the piece of my life that conceals the lifeless life ,
You are more of an anchor than a friend
To forever and always till the end “
So stay strong and lots of love,
See you in the next bloggg;!!!!
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Hate comments
Growing up, I have always been in the spotlight, with competitions and my writing. Envy felt like a part of my life, and I got used to it. Nothing could break me. Perks of growing up in an Indian household with aunties and relatives being on your back the whole time!
But yesterday and today, I received tons of messages as comments, and trust me when I say this: hate isn’t the word I would use for that. I held onto it with a grain of salt and ignored it, more so because in the social media era, it’s common, but there was a feeling inside me that I couldn’t pinpoint, a feeling that it was someone I knew.
That would be devastating even for me.
I went into “gossip girl” mode with my friends, and they kept telling me I was overthinking as usual. Then another series of comments followed, calling me a slut, and a whore, and using all the slurs in the English dictionary, to bringing up my descendants, my parents, and even comments on my dating life, which is non-existent by the way!
Every time I put those comments in spam, I was this close to losing my mind. I wanted to reach out to that person to ask if he or she was okay. Creating a fake email with my username and then commenting on my posts felt more like personal vengeance to me, or he is utterly jobless.
But I didn’t reply or respond because I felt like it wasn’t worth it.
Yes , I know I have another set of amazing readers and friends whose empathetic voices I can hear inside my head screaming at me to ignore that person.
But I can’t, because it does affect you. I am not a brick, I have feelings too; I feel a lot, and this made me question a lot of things: should I have started this blog; was my poetry better hidden from the world; did I hurt someone so much that he was ready to go to this extent?
Am I a good person, or is my poetry sheer luck, as he calls it?
This feels like chaos, but all those thoughts came rushing into my mind when I read that.
Now, I know what most of you guys are thinking: she has unresolved insecurities. I don’t, because I am in a very good space.
But when I read a series of 15–20 essay comments by one person, all those insecurities that I had dealt with and had locked inside some deep chamber of my brain came back.
Am I ranting? Did it affect me? yes
Short and simple.
Because it straight up felt like bullying and pushing me into a corner, knowing exactly what buttons to push to trigger me.
and that makes me wonder. it’s a person who knows me or a sadist internet troll.
maybe that part hurt more, if it was a nameless troll hiding behind a computer screen saying my poetry sucks, I wouldn’t be so affected.
How did he know which buttons to push? So, I was adamant it was someone I knew.
So here I was going through my friends list to figure out who the person was. I went through all the scenarios, and I couldn’t find that person.
Would I like to know who it is? no,
because no matter who the person is—even if it’s a troll—he got me engagement and views.
for that, I am grateful.
and after a lot of unpaid therapy sessions with my friends, I figured it wasn’t someone I know.
because no one I know would go to this extent.
A troll who went through all my poems and writings, seeking inspiration from his life and wrote long paras for me , its romantic !!!
I am intrigued!!! Honestly in some fucked up universe, I would have even admired that person…Just kidding!!
and I had to remind myself that I am worth a lot of things and that my poetry is an expression of my imagination. maybe it’s sheer luck, but I am glad I have that luck and some amazing people who made me the person that I am today.
Why am I ranting like this? because it made me feel a lot of things, anxiety and dread are two of them.
Why am I posting it?
I don’t know, honestly; I can give the textbook answer that I want people to be sympathetic and have better things to do.
and I am sorry that you decided to vent all your anger on my page with some very , brutal wild and vulgar messages.
but thank you for the engagement.
you are my well-wisher!
This topic ends here , because I am not letting a nameless Internet troll who is probably drunk , keeps thinking about me to live in my head rent-free !!! I knew I had to write it out to let it all out !!;
I also found some very important learnings from this encounter , you need good people around you or its very easy to go down the spiral of insecurities and self hate .
And things affect people more in ways that people can’t imagine.It’s important to have criticism, but there’s a very big difference between criticism and hatred.
(yes, please shower me with healthy criticism; I need it.)
and no, I am not playing the self-pity card on getting hate. I knew long ago that on social media I would get hate, and I’m not going to take it personally, but this time it got to me. Next time, I will try to be better.
And I am going to take this opportunity to grow, because I have a lot to unlearn and learn.
So, I am going to focus on the good things, my beloved readers, and my good friends, and I am going to empathize with my haters.
and my “well-wisher” who spammed my comment section thank you for the content and a topic to write a blog on!
Please keep inspiring me to write because I am planning to stick around for a long while …
Lots of love…..
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Nyctophile
With colours so tangy and bright,
Why do i feel there’s no light,
woven in the darkness,
Maybe i am ,
What the society terms me a mess,
The imperfect me by the perfect them,
Like a plant to the stem,
I often wonder,
the game of pretendence,
Isn’t it a blunder,
yet we are in its root,
To criticise and to loot.
The self esteem and love ,
The confidence of being unique,
Yes you r right….
I am a disaster a beautiful disaster
#hope #nyctophile #depression #love #poem #poet #poetry #poetrycommunity
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Weaklings
A camouflage of thoughts so deep,
why do people sleep?
With so many secrets buried deep,
Being it forever theirs to keep,
They say whatever they sow they reap,
Yet everything and nothing makes them weep,
They make themselves strong to take the leap,
Building castles when they count the sheep,
Not letting the darkness to creep,
Yet it claws onto the flesh so deep,
coz humans are weak,
Changing minds every week,
brains too mature yet so meek,
so many things to do but,sleep is all they seek,
Yet ,Isn’t that bleak ??
Those humans who sleep as we speak,
Have a different story on their streak
Searching words for their story to speak,
Them trying hard not to weap,
In the land of stronglings they are a freak,
We call them the weaklings,
Trying to hit their peak,
Engraved in the shadows of mystique,
Having darkness yet letting the lights creep,
Scars of battles fought where everyday was a struggle,
They embraced themselves to be weak,
Not letting anyone define them ,
Yet acceptance is all they seek.
They are definitely not meek and freak,
When do we accept them as not weak,
Maybe someday , definition of weak would be antique ,
Till then all the humans can talk ill and they will turn their cheek,
To face all the critique,
They will shine someday so deep,
And the weeklings wouldn’t be called weak,
Yet that someday is faraway and bleak,
Till then all we can do is sleep.
………………………………,……………………………………………..
For some context, I had set the premise of this poem almost 2 years ago, but I only wrote 4 lines and left it at that. But today, when I went through my draft folder, I came up with this in 15 minutes, a personal record even for me, but I am glad I did it because I love every line of it!
So tell me what you feel about this, and I’m eternally grateful for all your comments and emails. It feels great to be a part of the community.
Adios for now !!!!
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Why did I stop writing?
This week was ideally one of my good weeks. This blog of mine took off really well, and I have you guys to thank for that!
I had started blogging years ago and earned decent money from it too,gained a massive following but then I decided to delete it one fine morning.Yes I was dumb .But something in me broke that day.I hated that piece of me , I just wanted it to be erased and just like that my blog disappeared from the face of the internet and my life.
Everything triggered it, and I couldn’t handle it. People saw me broken and had so many assumptions. Some friends of mine even called me “dark and twisted” because my poetry genre was that. One day, it was just the tip of the iceberg when a friend of mine told me that I have two completely different personalities when it comes to the friend they know and the blog they read. I was so scared of people around me having opinions that I stopped blogging . Initially , i thought I would take a week off and get back to it .But whenever I sat down to write , i could see weird gazes and interpretations of me running in their head , some even vocalising it clouding the words and my emotions and I couldn’t put anything on the paper .I was scared , scared to be not accepted . And that made me claustrophobic, my own poetry made me claustrophobic.And I decided to stop blogging.
Now that I think about it, I knew it was immature of me to do that, but that 19 year-old didn’t know any better! Even people’s compliments felt fake and a conversation starter. They assumed I was too smart, but I wasn’t. I just had some teeny tiny creative juices flowing in my overthinking brain. Sometimes, I hate myself for that because I really want to shut my brain down and give myself a break too.
But now I have regrets. I have regrets about killing my baby when it was at its highest point. Regrets of disappointing lakhs of people , regrets that maybe my old blog would have reached at a height that I could never fathom.But looking back, would I do it again? Yes . A complicated answer for a very simple question .This “yes” has so many layers attached to it. The insecurities in me wasn’t happy with the immense response that it got. Even with this blog, the views, likes, and comments all seem so surreal as I have just started. The fear of being inside that glassbox someday is something that I am constantly working on, trying to not let it tackle me down again this time.I know all this sounds like I m selfish and all I care for is numbers . Honestly, no.I’m not a number person, but I do like to be appreciated and being acknowledged for what I write. Because growing up, I wasnt. Trauma does have a boomerang effect.I guess so !! The warmth of you guys relating to it keeps my juices flowing , sparks my creative wires, keeps me going.
Why am I writing this? Because today I felt the same thing—the fear of being judged for what I write? Would I be considered “dark and twisted” or am I mature enough? The overthinking went on overdrive till I started scribbling in my diary, and I honestly realized I couldn’t change the way people look at me. Some may consider me annoying, others too intellectual, and some crazy, but the real ones know me for me. Like me for who I am—and poetry is a part of me—this chaotic mess of words ,wittiness and emotions.
And I missed blogging. Seriously, I missed writing poetry and putting it out there, and I guess it’s okay. Because this is how I am true to myself, by being the real me. It was so hard to stay away from all this for the past two years, and I also know for a fact my writing isn’t at its peak, but it’s okay because I write for myself;i m happy , in a safe space of my own as the perfect poetry for me is my own.
Why did I crib so much today? Because today I had a conversation with my friend about how he missed my poetry and our open mics. He told me he missed my writing, and that’s when I opened up to him about my fears and the cycle of thoughts that led me to that standstill. He said I was an idiot, which I agree with, but moreso, I was too scared of being overwhelmed by people’s opinions and these rationalizations of the type of person that I was just because of my poetry, as I was used to being on the sidelines. It took me a lot of time to accept the broken, unbroken me, but I’m happy. happy to be back .
It’s so easy to fall into prejudices, and I just want to tell you it’s okay. But what’s more important is to pick yourself up and surround yourself with the louder voices of empathetic people who can shut the voices in your head. Because sometimes we do make dumb decisions, but what matters is how we deal with them afterwards and the choices we make to counter them.
Is it a philosophical class ? No , but I wanted to put it out there , I am not a perfect writer , nobody is . I have made dumb decisions and it’s okay .Just write for yourself , do what makes you happy . People can create illusions but what matters is how you paint them in your head .It took me a long time to figure this out . Letting go of all this wasn’t easy but i am glad I am painting my castle on my own .I am glad to have your back because I promise to be better.
P.s . Yes , this isn’t a typical blog format with a proper structure but Im happy with it nevertheless , the chaos in me is what comes on my blogs and thats what makes it real and me. I promise I wouldn’t leave you guys stranded this time.
Thanku for staying till the end!!!
Questions
It’s like life is teaching me the same lesson.
Different chapters, but always the same question,
Is there something for which to strive for perfection?
Is it okay to be ordinary and not be an exception?
All the questions haunted me, and I stood at an interception.
felt like I was running in circles with no satisfaction.
I was functioning with aggression.
Being suffocated by oppression and depression
I was seeking an explanation.
“Was I the weapon for my own destruction?”
Felt like amidst recession with no option
My subconscious played it as a replay of an obsession.
I didn’t realize it was a cry and a call for introspection.
After lot of thoughts,conversations and suggestions
I figured something that i would like to mention
There’s no steady set direction ,
Everything is just a perception
Everyone has a different progression
At the end what matters is dedication
Because life is no fiction ,
Everything is a demonstration with convention
After every downfall, you are worthy of a resurrection
It’s okay to anticipate, exaggerate even question,
As there’s no such thing as salvation,
And this is my confession and realisation
You are a prized possession , with flavours of complexion
Find your connection, empathise with your question
As you should admire your reflection.
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Shadows
I have always lived in the shadows,
Not on the pedestal not on meadows,
Hiding from the spotlight, wherever the light goes,
Pulling down the shutters on my windows,
I crucified my tomorrow not believing in magical rainbows,
Because I knew , as tomorrow comes , my darkness grows.
Being alone , with so many unknowns ,
Amidst friends and foes,
Looking at Instagram perfect lives,
Emotions and dreams buried under catacombs,
While my nightmare clings on to me like shadows.
I tried coming out of the shadows ,
yet I felt I was stranded on fallows.
I tried to be someone else , as the author plotted,
Only to be feeling destroyed and haunted.
Fairytales kept reminding me of treasures,
Yet all I could see was an imperfect mess,
Trying to fit in with sleeves of confidence and glow in a dress,
Trying to bloom and stand affirm on my toes with my clothes
Nothing as compared to the spectators on first rows.
We were taught to be princesses not to be shadows,
But I defied the rules , as I was a hot mess,
A consistently inconsistent work in progress .
It took me long to accept me as no less
here in shadows to feel solace in anonymity
Living life with no reservations
For my name would be forgotten someday
Yet I was completely okay to be not okay.
To not be tortured with endless explanations
And expectations,
As I will , probably and mostly be lost in the shadows
Yet I would breathe be happy for being me in a shadow
Being a silhouette, beautiful in an unspoken way
As I peak in from shadows as i m here to stay.
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Book review – Ugly love
Ugly Love is a contemporary romance that follows the story of Tate Collins and Miles Archer. Tate has just moved to San Francisco to fulfill her dream of becoming a nurse, while Miles is a pilot haunted by his past. They meet when Tate moves in with her brother, who is also Miles’ neighbor. Despite their initial attraction to each other, Miles refuses to allow himself love again, and they enter into a “friends with benefits” arrangement.
The story is told from the perspectives of both Tate and Miles, alternating between their present-day interactions and flashbacks from Miles’ past. This form gives a deeper understanding of the characters and their motivations, making their struggles easier.
Hoover’s writing is engaging and emotional, drawing the reader into the story and making them care about the characters. She deals with difficult subjects such as loss, grief and trauma with sensitivity and realism, making the experiences of the characters real.
Overall, Ugly Love is a compelling and moving romantic novel that explores the complexities of human relationships and the healing power of love. It is a moving and emotional read that will stay with you long after you finish reading. I recommend it to anyone who likes contemporary romance novels.
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Poem – Doubts
People found me disturbing ,Subhuman and annoying,
Yet I was being my unapologetic self,
Completely sarcastic and enjoying,
I wish it was so
Till my fears and paranoia came crawling
All the voices which told me i was never enough
My shortcomings which I couldn’t see
Was screaming at me reminding me everyday I wasn’t enough,
The pain , past and agony wrapped me up
Making me claustrophobic and my life a bluff.
Doubts were pondering , freezing me over,
A race to cover and answers to discover ,
Made me wonder am I truly sane,
Or walking on an unjust lane.
Am i just playing my role in this drama defined by moral ques,
Strictly adhering and blocking my views.
Everyday i was knocked up with these questions ,
With no demonstrations , suggestions and directions ,
The answers seemed a waiting of an eternity ,
And the underlying monster keptfeeding on my sanity,
It was difficult, staying grateful and happy .
Trying to stay in touch with reality,
To remind myself people loved me in ways i couldn’t describe,
Who knew me inside , my tribe
They kept reminding me that i was divine,
and not let the voices dim the lights inside.
Not to divulge in the hands of a perfect fantasy
To accepting myself with flaws as it is with honesty and sincerity,
As there was none , we were all equally flawed,
That i m enough for my tribe , that I was revered and awed.
Reminders as these in the vicinity,
Helped me to Not doubt the possibilities and my abilities,
To love myself a little more till infinity.
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