Come, sit with me

I know we belonged to the past

and I know for sure that

I was never your future.

I just wish that the present

was longer so that I

could dig deep into you

and see you.

know you and try and strip away that facade you have on

I want to see you and your dark secrets

the desires that you’re scared of wanting

dreams that keep you up at night.

what’s the story behind that bright scarlet belt which reflects your inner personality?

come, sit with me

and tell me

everything.

the things that make you smile and the things that make tears stream down your cheeks

your first best friend

your first fight with your sibling (do you even have any?)

your first love

and your first heartbreak.

tell me everything.

I wrote this in class becasue I was feeling too sleepy. It was a really chilly weather, the warm-sweater-and-hot-tea-at-the-window-staring-at-the-rain types. Oh well.

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#14. White Noise

#14. White Noise

You’re talking.

I can see your lips move,

your hands making arcs in the air

your eyebrows scrunched up in worry.

But I don’t hear you.

All I hear is the repeated words,

as if on an infinite loop,

you failed you failed you failed.

Parvathi and I are attempting Rebirth in April in July. Her responsive poem to this prompt is amazing. Go, click the link here!

#13. Games in which we relearn everything

#13. Games in which we relearn everything

“Twenty Questions.”

That’s the first thing you say when we met after 6 years.

We were best friends then.

In my mind, we always were.

When you asked the first question,

I knew, that we

will always be best friends,

but new people to each other.

This is how I feel when I meet my school friends after months.

Parvathi and I are attempting Rebirth in April in July, prompts created by JR Rogue and Kat Savage.

 

#12. Relearning happiness

#12. Relearning happiness

It is 4:32 AM.

I am not asleep.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be.

All the events since the last month have eaten bits and pieces

of me, slowly.

I get up to make myself some tea.

I pad around my apartment,

seeing but not noticing.

Hearing all the early morning noises

but not really listening.

I turn the radio on for company,

but all the chanting and the mantras makes me feel sick.

All

Over

Again.

I have no clue what this this about, but I had other things in mind. But I am typing this at 6:50 AM, so yay me!

#10. Counting backwards from 10

#10. Counting backwards from 10

Deep breaths.

Inhale. Mouth closed.

Exhale. Mouth open. 

I count the number of random strangers around me

who were having a peaceful time without knowing me

or my anger management issues.

A hand, firm and strong, comes up on my shoulder.

I try smiling at him,

my father, supporter of everything I do,

there’s no reason for me to be angry at him.

But I know the smile comes off as grim,

as I see myself in him,

In his eyes, as reflection.

In the smiles we share.

In the hard, determined set of jaw

and the same pink ears.

His hand is all I need

Instead of a bucket of ice cold water.

I’m attempting the set of prompts, Rebirth in April, together with Parvathi. Check out her poems!

#9. The force of forgetting you

#9. The force of forgetting you

What if you’d replied to that last email?

What if you’d texted me, “I don’t understand what you’re saying…”

What if you’d told me, “Sorry, no,”

Or, “Let’s talk soon.”

What if you’d not made me feel like a total idiot?

Would I still be pining that you didn’t even think we had a chance?

Or would I be a different person?

Would I have forgotten you already?

Just like I am trying so hard to push away

the thoughts of you that just seem to

creep in at odd hours of the day.

Well, old memories here to screw us up.

Parvathi over at Queen Talks and I are attempting this set of prompts together, called Rebirth in April, created by JR Rogue and Kat Savage.

#8. Flowers in your hair

#8. Flowers in your hair

“Papa, why did Maa wear flowers in her hair?”

My hands stilled for the briefest of times.

My smile wavered, but I kept it on.

My eyes stung with unshed tears,

tears that I blink away and glance at the photograph of us

on my bedside table.

“Because, she wanted to smell good all the time.”

As I finished braiding my daughter’s hair,

securing it with elastic bands with fake flowers,

she said, “Is that why you don’t let me wear flowers?”

I winced at her words.

How do I tell my second love of my life that

she is the splitting image of my first love?

That the only difference between them

are the flowers?

I told her, the standard “dad” reply,

“You’ll know when you get older.”

Well, it could’ve been better, but oh.

Lookie! I got myself a header! That I created all by myself!

I’m attempting Rebirth in April with Parvathi. Go check out her poems. They’re beautiful!