I fought for a we.
You fought to turn the first half around.
It had taken two to make
What one trashed into the ground.
‘We’ means a lot, you know
You should wean off the ‘me’.
Two make a love story but,
One writes a tragedy.
-flightless bird.
I was the dress that looked good on the rack of the store
and fit you just right in the trial room.
And then, out in public, you wore me again, but you didn’t like it
and so you left me in a corner on your shelf and forgot me.
One day,
you found me,
still waiting,
and you picked me up and wondered
why you’d picked me up at all.
You threw me away that day
and I realised then that I waited in the corner but
you don’t want to wear me again.
-flightless bird.
Stamp your name on my heart, and then
stamp all over my heart.
The shards of feelings, if you put them on paper,
wonderstruck people would call it art.
-flightless bird.
He wrote magic,
she spoke magic,
and they loved the words of the other.
But what was magic for some
was tragic for the one
that they had meant to love forever.
-flightless bird.
I’m feeling a little inspired today. Maybe it’s because I read Gone Girl.
you search for bright love
but you’re looking into dark eyes
you want to unleash your wings
but these are unforgiving skies
you think you know
but it’s all just a web of lies.
The skin’s your canvas,
The blood’s your ink;
Eat the souls for meals and
Have their dreams as your drink.
Just a morbid Saturday thought.
Not a red rose or a satin heart.
I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.I am trying to be truthful.
Not a cute card or a kissogram.
I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.
Ten days to one year. So I thought I should take time out from my extremely mad schedule and use my break to put forward one of my favourite Carol Ann Duffy poems. I have my final Individual Oral Commentary tomorrow and I am scared out of my mind and this is one of the poems that I might get. And this, I associate with you, for being there for me, and you know who you are. Thank you for standing by me, always and forever.
With bricks of understanding,
Cemented with love,
With happiness within and
A roof of strength protecting from above.Where tranquility reigns and
Neither time nor people can rip apart the seams
Of family bonds. That place
Is the home of my dreams.
Prompted by today’s Daily Prompt
I actually don’t really have an ideal image of my dream home. Home, to me, is the concept of turning a building into a place where you can return after the day’s toil is finally done with. Any building can be a house. But it takes warmth, love, strength and understanding to make a home. There could be better homes in the slums in Mumbai than in the outrageously extravagant Antilia owned by Mukesh Ambani. There could be better homes in the humble dwellings of villagers as opposed to the palace of a queen. My dream home needs a happy family, a soothing ambience. Happiness doesn’t increase with square footage, with expensive furniture or with 7BHK flats.
I stand before your judgemental eyes
What else is left for me to say?
Your words are all that matter, right?
Go on then, have it your way.
I will keep up my pretense and lies
And let you think you know me, day after day.
I’ll never let you know that despite being here,
In my head, I am so far away.
I cower before your authority,
Myself I’ve begun to despise
Thanks to your ability
To make me feel like I’m never right.
I will be strong and just hold on
And keep searching for a better place to stay.
I am here, right before you, yet,
I am so far away.
I cry at your hurtful words
And finally fall to the floor asunder.
Ripped, torn, broken, wounded,
While upon my dull existence I ponder.
I will not bring a knife once more
To my wrist. No, this time, I will pray
For someone else to take me away from here
To take me somewhere far away.
Prompted by today’s Daily Prompt
It’s quite coincidental that this title is close to one of my favourite Avenged Sevenfold songs So Far Away. It is true though. The furthest I have been from home with parents would be Switzerland; without parents, to boarding school. But to be far away, you don’t always need to be separated by physical space. Sometimes the mental distance is enough to push you apart, apart, apart…
My life in pages,
My life in words,
All my thoughts and feelings
That went unheard;
My life in words,
My life in pages,
My transition through
All the stages;
Who could write it?
Sister? Best friend?
Is it important when I haven’t even
Reached ‘The End’?
Who would read it?
Friends? Foe?
Why would people want to read things about me
That only I know?
Inspired by yesterday’s Daily Prompt.
I don’t particularly see any reason why my biography would be required by people but if it were written, only three people would be able to write it – my sister and my two best friends, Saurabh and Geeta. I like my life better narrated in my mind as I go or maybe, just maybe, by Morgan Freeman.
Script Under Construction 