The reason why this pain is still Residing in your body like a parasite is because You never opened your heart's doors to let it go.. You kept them close that neither the pain went Out nor the happiness came in and the pain kept On piling up and up which made you hollow ..you made it a permanent Thought that this pain will never pass ..you will Never pass thorough it .. it's you who built This ugly middle situation and forgot to react . Pain never comes without a message but It was you who never tried to understand .
Pain is beautiful like the happiness You always seeks for . But you discriminated, You didn't permit pain to enter ..so that's why it Robbed all your merry. There's nothing scary in pain.. It's stay is much shorter than the happiness ...it's we who make it a permanent stay . The only thing is just Understand it's message and work on it . It shall Pass peacefully and you will be in a state of eunoia. It just enters to make you grow .
Welcome to our society , Where a girl is judged by her clothes, And an individual is judged by his marks . Here you'll see number of minds collapsing But you are not going to find a mind wise enough .
People will peep into you from head to toe , Without first looking into your eyes . Here, they will form an opinion , A very ill and conjusted opinion .
You are going to discover A group of stereotypes , a large group, That even the whole world looks smaller . Here, patriarchy is in power And you'll rarely find a single man Talking about matriarchy.
Here , you can't argue , If you argue then you are mannerless, Your parents didn't teach you anything. You can't act until the society Permits you.
Where your mindset will be shaped By the society , Here, you have to follow some rules, You can't leave the society , You only exist because of society . You have to live in a prison Where all you get as punishment is judgement
JUDGEMENT on the basis of your : Clothes Taste in music Your looks And etc .
And the last and most prime rule , You can't blame the society , beacause your are the S
Enjoy your stay !
_________________________________________________________ Again, tried a long post . Sorry for disappointing .
Lying on my bed I wonder why the nights hold me So tightly..why they don't loose their grip. Why pessimism at night hits so badly . Why they tend to be so rude to me , At the time I actually want to sleep ..they Don't permit me ... I precisely weep In front of it but I receive no mercy .
So yesterday, I finally decided to fulfill my mother's wish which she had rightfully demanded on this Mother's Day to clean my ancient almirah which was the only mass left in my house that was still kept uncleaned. New normal has started becoming 'not so new' but it was left untouched due to the procastination thing.
I took the keys and unlocked it. Though it was just an 'act' by an experienced actor (yes! Me) as the keys never fit in the keyhole to lock or unlock it ever since the almirah was made by our carpenter Ji. It was a complete mismatch. Key chain was my favourite then. It still is. It is a white shell with shades of brown along the curves.
And almirah?! It's small but broad & wooden. Usually made for children studying in primary. So was it in my case. It had three straight shelves to make it as simple as it could be for 'not so naughty' children like me.
I chose the lower shelf to start with. It had all sorts of charts that were made in school. They were rolled and kept safely for the next generation to use- the great ideas used in them, the 'precious and now hard to find' pictures glued on them. Since print outs were not feasible and accessible that time, cutting pictures from old books & magzines was the one and only option. On every festival ivory sheets were to be purchased. We were to show our drawing skills everytime on Diwali, Eid, Independence Day, Holi, Republic Day, etc. with a dream that as the best chart would be decorated on the boards of the side walls in the classroom, we will 'walk and talk' with a pride feeling for that week among our friends group, their extended friends group, whole section & other classes in our corridor as well.
Unlimited drawing boxes filled with stuff like pencil colours, crayons, water colours, sketch pens, paint brushes, half used erasers, broken rulers, small pencils sharpened from both ends, compass and alike geometry box items whose names and uses are still unknown. Twenty minutes or so were consumed by the game on those boxes in which we had this responsibility to help little balls reach their home through a puzzled passage.
Some thick & thin story books were also there. The font size was kept 'very very big' by the makers as if smaller would have resulted into some whole new 'moral of the story' altogether. Ugh! I closed them as rapidly as I had opened them.
There was not much work in this shelf as all the things were meant to open, touch, smell and then keep them with that same feeling of possessiveness. Except for one pouch in which all the collected sharpners of different colours, some with one & others with two pencil holes, were resting. It required slight cloth rubs as pencil graphite particles & shavings were giving them good company alongside.
Now that everything was kept gracefully back to the assigned place, I heard my name being called out by my lovely mum from the kitchen. This meant that the snacks were ready & I had this legal excuse to leave my 'holiday homework' in between with promise to complete it the very next day.
I "locked" my almirah. And ran towards the kitchen for that pleasent smell of snacks had occupied both my nostrils even when I had caught mild dust allergy in my eyes and nose ;)
Isn’t it very sad? That when you’re a poet Most people keep asking you the same question, Where do you live? What do you think of the world and its people? What is your muse?
And I keep telling them the same thing that in this universe is where I am dead So these poems are where I live. Poems that teach me “When everyone leaves you, you meet yourself”. Poems that wipe away my blues and say “Eyes that haven’t felt the beauty of tears are no eyes at all”.
Poems that gift me the courage to walk on bridges that are about to fall. Poems that take me to the streets of Venice to hold hands of my lover who doesn’t walk beside me anymore.
Poems that are willing to get drenched when rain falls from my eyes. Poems that end centuries of longing with a handful of words. Poems that die a metaphoric death for every time I try to rhyme the world and its people.
Isn’t it very sad? That the world is full of good people who are desperately trying to be bad. That home has become a place there most people get lost. That not breaking a promise Is the greatest challenge of life. That most of us are dead souls with a body alive. That we’re just a hug away from comfort but who’s willing to open the arms?
It is very sad that I am a poet and I see the world and its people. I catch sight of women who were once afraid from the prick of a needle, Rip open their veins.
I sense that misogynists are men who cry on their mothers’ lap. I bet atheists wish their prayers to come true. I also know that there are millions who are going to die today and millions who will take birth. Let’s just hope that those about to depart have lived their life to the fullest, And those about to come would be allowed to do so because it is very sad that I am a poet and I see the world and its people.
I could give up on this world right away but scraping my heart against bruised souls has become my poems’ favorite hobby. That’s when the muse sets in, That’s when it shows me the love that sits at my mother’s upper lip and pain that sits at the lower and when she smiles, It’s like hope is stretching itself out to you and hope is all the muse I need.
My muse doesn't care If you have a violin in your hand or pelting stones, It just wants you to create music worth dying for. My muse wants you to yell at yourself Just like you yell at the miscreants.
It's been a while you haven't yourself. You've goddamn broken the law. My muse wants to you to remember the infinite times God died for all your false swearing and asks you to redeem yourself by learning to live a little because that's what the God wants.
My muse wants you to know that you should always read books being naked. Let them see what you see in them, A lifetime of raw vulnerability. And this poem, This poem wants to slowly caress the heads, that are buried under the pillows. This poem wants you to live before you miss life because honestly the greatest stories are written by those Who know the value of a pen.
Somewhere someone casually remarked ... And that remark remained etched on a soul For decades . No amount of scrubbing .. No amount of skin lightening treatments .. No amount of trying to conceal the shade .. Could lighten that someone's scarred soul . What might seem casual to you .. Might not be so for another .
Refer- Colours - used in context of shadeism Shadeism - Shadeism is defined as the discrimination against an individual on the basis of their skin tone .
The roads are mute , sky's in a lip lock with the sun blushing tangerine from tip to toe , the winds slap me in the face as I put my head out the window ; I'm having too much of too less till not only my hair but these veins too tangle in a mess of caged freedom , leaving me behind the bars in vast openness
And I want this , to have too much of too less till it suffocates the skin and the lungs pop like a balloon stealing the last breath , the last of life right out of me yet leaving me breathlessly alive!!