Tag Archives: poems

Poems

Beware

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Beware
Of the sun, we must beware
When we are gliding through the air.
Though truly happy,we must beware
For happiness can also scar
Maybe the trick is to be taken by surprise
And lady be wise, 
The way to make you do that final sacrifice
The dream is real for those who dare,
Before we even know it’s there,
There are shadows all around me, telling me to beware
Agitating, craving words
betraying me to the dark
Prisoner of my own fear
Representatives and foul play getting the rear
Sorrow ,grief and despair
They’re choking my air
Yet raise the sights, the city lights are calling
We’re ready tonight, the time is right, There’s nitro in the air
In the street is where we’ll meet,
we’re warming On the beat,
we won’t retreat, beware!!!

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Poems

Rear view

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Rear view :
Months passed , the loss persists,
Writing helped , but the pain still exists,
Deeply sceptical about love and wrath,
But I’d promised to never lose faith.

Moving in is mutual , I wish moving on was too,
Sleep is easy after a pill or two,
Waking up with that fake smile is constant,
None of which would have happened,if you weren’t so distant.

The sweeping fierceness which my soul betrayed,
The skill with which wielded the keen blade;
The bright world dim, and everything beside
Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade.
Which no thought of living spirit could abide.

I breathe but it’s not air ,
Something else in the wind,
Calm and empty, a rush of silence,
Yet plenty and whole, a vacuum of stillness,
I seem to have been paused
somewhere along the way.

Now it’s time to resume,
Heading towards the start of the play,
No drum rolls, no intros,
Just a smooth shift of state
In, then, out of time,
A second, maybe less ,
Growth, taking up an instant,
Change, stealing away each moment,
Set to sail on the turbulent waves,
Whose effects are none to
the eyes that witness,
To the ears that listen and
to the hands that touch…

Wishing that maybe
Maybe my soul was carried away,
out into the openness,
Beyond the horizon,
Across the marvels of the universe ,
Perhaps even closer to home,
Maybe there’s a world bigger than the world,
A world that never talks,
A world that never betrays.

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Blogs

Has reading lost its charm ?

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Being in the 21st century, where everything is fast-paced, I feel like reading has been forgotten. Especially introspecting my life, I felt reading has lost its path, and what exists now is valorized reading.

Something like reading for the sake of reading

As we jump from one sensation to another, from one controversy to another, with an Instagram filter on our minds, this makes me realize that somewhere along the line I forgot to read and that a lot of other people did too.

We can blame it on our short attention span, but at the end of the day, we all reach out for something easy, short, and instrumental, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it because we live in perpetual amnesia that is triggered by the world being fast and urgent. 

The constant feeling that I will miss out is something that triggers me to take my phone almost every hour, and it’s also something that has triggered a lot of anxiety in these last couple of months.

As I wrote down my thoughts, I figured I had given up on reading and writing somewhere along the line.

And this is an attempt to get back to reading.

If you, my friend, also gave up on reading, you can start again. I’m here to accompany you.

For me, the earliest memories of reading were when I was three and on train journeys. How dad used to get me a magic pot so that I wouldn’t be an annoyance

I am still an annoyance, but my love for books is something that hasn’t left.

Being brought up in a humble household, one of the things that my parents never said no to was books. I used to demand books as presents for every exam I passed. 

I still remember borrowing books from friends and libraries and finishing them in two to three days because I loved the rush.

It came to a point where I was reading Jeffery Archer’s When the Crow Flies instead of my history books before my 10th board exams.

Do I regret it? Noooooo

The rush of having that imagination, the rush of going into a parallel universe where I portray the main character, seeing myself in situations, deciding what I would have done and what I wouldn’t, and complex storylines with spicy images keep playing in my head as a slow-motion movie. Enough that someday I could lend my brain cells to Elon Musk to make an extraordinarily brilliant movie.

All these emotions and memories are something that is beyond description.

Books have led me to a web of my past, present, and future, like an island universe that’s interlinked but not yet linked.

For me, a book does affect me; I feel pangs of grief, motivation, empathy, and all the emotions in between as the character develops. It is a small, intimate space of mine that nobody else has access to—sort of a mysterious realm.

Nothing is linear in life, and as life progresses, one of the things that I gave up was books.

Is there a specific reason? No 

But I kind of discovered recently that one of the reasons why I had given up on reading was the anxiety in choosing a book.

The fear that I would miss out on this year’s nominations, what if it isn’t good, and this eventually felt like a job, not the one I liked, Going through reviews and feeding on people’s opinions got so tedious that for me reading lost its wonder in this process.

I missed picking out random books from shelves, going with my gut, and thinking it might be a hit. Even if it wasn’t, I would at least be able to take something away.

Now, this screams of slobbishness and elitism, but it is what it is: I was consumed by valorized reading, and I started mimicking other people’s choices instead of giving in to what my heart wanted.

Now, why am I writing this? Humans as a whole are very creative animals, and creativity being the buzzword in this digital era, I wanted to start reading again , be soaked in creative juices .

And I have started again, and the feeling is amazing—not bound by social pressures but doing something from a thick desire.

I don’t want to be a person who is limited to WhatsApp archives; I want to go beyond the perfect sentences and let imagination take its toll. And for this reason, books are my comfort space.

Feel sheer joy and delight, feel uncomfortable, have butterflies in your stomach, cry, and feel all the emotions as I turn every page.

I would say you also just need to give a short

I’m not going to preach a lot, but in the end, there’s so much knowledge to consume. Take anything—a newsletter, audiobooks, nonfiction classics—to feed your soul.

To bring calmness into this fast-paced life 

To hold back and embrace emotions and to know yourself better, a book is all you need.

My current read is The ISIS Hostage by Puk Damsgard.

I’m ending this blog with a short poem I wrote on books.

“Now, it’s all being done in the past,

It’s all been written in the book,

and makes you think nothing ever lasts.

Maybe it’s something worth another look.

A string of words floats with fear.

And it encompasses all the emotions in this book.

Nothing is ever black or white.

Nothing comes easy off the hook.

I see people holding on to their past as a book.

Hating themselves more as they look”

If you have read till now, you have discovered my writing is as haphazard as it can get.

And that’s me, all over the place.

So do reach out to me and connect with me so we can share our books and recommendations and get chatty about it.

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Poems

Journey

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Don’t take it serious; life’s so mysterious.
With aid indifferent and imperious,
Leading to a stroke of mad poetic thoughts to make it confute and curious,
We keep it to ourselves, with nobody else around to make us delirious,
From being confused ,or just being vicious.
Reality an antonym of being luxurious.

Years of learning, still never got it right from the start,
Incurious to the criteria which set that apart
All the little efforts were never too serious
Was termed delirium and oblivious.
On the mic of life, leave that to the experienced they say
Yet dreams reality and illusions just being a gateway
Scars and broken wings were never a full stop,
In the book of life to stand at the top.
The remedy always being the experience
That being the dangerous liaison
For ages a bane or a boon lays upon.

Let the Summer in eyes not turn to winter
Partake as it all transforms to stone.
And let the wounds be a bygone .
As mortal as dreams of our own.

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Blogs

Dear girl in pyjamas

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“A smile on the lips so wide,

yet there is no twinkle in her eyes.

with darkness on her side

and no one to abide. “

I know this was the line in your 4th grade notebook where you wrote “no one.” You used to hide in libraries and indulge in fiction, creating characters and storylines that were sometimes a bit out of the ordinary for a kid. That was the time when your English teacher told you you had a way with words; it boosted your confidence, yet you felt you weren’t like the other kids. You failed to fit in, and that made you terrified. Why am I telling this to you today? To see from my pov to see how far you have come and I am so proud of you. Every time you won, you topped yourself, or someone appreciated you, you couldn’t see what others saw in you. You always strived to be the best when you were already doing well. You only wanted to be the best, but sometimes better is okay and fine. So this monologue is to remind you of the tiny things you fail to notice with respect to all your flaws, which you are obsessed with in terms of improving. I am not saying that it’s wrong, but you need to accept yourself as a total package and not certain versions of you.
 
I know the world sees you with all your imperfections and flaws and is kind of judgmental, but I love the way you are—maybe more than you can imagine. I know that to reach here was difficult and realizing that you are actually worth something has been a long route, but you have made it finally. And I’m so proud of you, bruh. The girl who loves pyjamas and is happy to be stuffed in bed with some thriller novel and a glass of black coffee can be called mundane to the world, but you are happy, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?
The way you care and are ready to bring the world down for the people whom you love is something that is small yet huge. The smile on your face and how your face lights up even with the tiniest compliments is something that catches my eye. The way you play with a street dog or a toddler, or the way you tease your friends, the way you laugh as if you have had an asthma attack, and all those facial expressions when you see the cringeworthy moments, I would say those are tiny bits of you that normal people miss. Maybe your best friend is right: you would never get a boyfriend because you hate cringy stuff, cheesy dialogues, and unnecessary gifts. But it’s okay. I know you believe in understanding, loyalty, and being with them rather than monetary items. You are hardworking and determined. Your ideologies and morals are the foundation on which so many relationships exist. The world sees you as an introvert, but only a few know the real you, and I am proud of you. You are perfect in all your imperfections.
You fail to see what your friends see in you. You are so critical of yourself that you hold yourself to the highest level of accountability, and sometimes you need to let go! Maybe sometimes you don’t need to give your 100%; your 80% is more than enough for the world. Let yourself breathe, and do not confine yourself to the dictionary of life. Don’t go by the book to live your life. The words “success” and “failure” are relative. Give yourself a break too.
You weave words in such a fashion as to form reality, portraying yourself as a wandering soul.
searching in implications, to construct a paradise of your imagination. But amidst all this, you forget that you are human too! I can write about your shortcomings, but I don’t want to, not today. Because today is about celebrating the real you, the one with imperfections and flaws, and accepting you for who you are.
So, my pyjama girl with a grumpy face, you are the best in my eyes and in the eyes of all the people who love you. Certainly you have had bitter experiences, downfalls, and days when you used to binge watch, have a book marathon, or eat like you haven’t eaten in days. But it’s okay; you have come this far, and I am sure you will survive the Rubik’s cube of life.
Your’s lovingly,
The girl who knows you in and out

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Poems

Dear uncertainty

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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..

Blogs

Death

42 Comments


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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Poems

Nyctophile

5 Comments

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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Blogs

Why did I stop writing?

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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!!!

Poems

Questions

20 Comments

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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Poems

Shadows

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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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Reviews

Book review – Ugly love

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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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Poems

Poem – Doubts

8 Comments

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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