Tag Archives: poetsofindia

Rear view

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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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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