Re-blogging: 3 years later

“Sukoon Milta Hai Do Lafz Kaagaz Par Utaar Kar,
Cheenkh Bhi Leta Hoon, Aur Awaaz Bhi Nahi Hoti.”
-Piyush Mishra

It’s been four years since I ended my previous blog: ‘Splashes of Verve: Painting Life With a Tinge of Absurd‘. This, today, is a humble attempt (on a lot of persuasion) to begin writing yet again, with an amateurish mature touch. (Oh, my mother will be elated!)

What follows is random extracts of prose and poetry that I pen down usually in the dark hours after midnight.

Let the posts speak for themselves.

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Featured post

My self-made guide to happiness

Ft some happy faces I love! ❤️

Watch on 😉

#BeHappy
There’s a little twinkle In the dark

That disappears When you cloud your eyes with tears.
It’s your happiness playing Hide and seek,

If you seek, You shall find it.
It’s trapped in The crevices

Of your mind That you’ve not dusted for a while.
It’s engraved In your heart’s strong walls,

If you bring down the Gloomy posters you’ve hung.
I’ll tell you a little secret,

It’s looking for you too.
It’s just trapped in your web

Of self demeaning thoughts!
Come sweep away, The by-gone sorrows

And splash the sparkles of shimmering light.
Let’s clean the laden shelves

Piled with guilt, doubt and plight.

Red

Red was my favorite colour.

Today it traps reasons for my anguish,

How I use it as a weapon to win battles against myself.
I loved it till I bled, till I was not impure.

I loved it till the red stains told me I was to hide and seclude myself in pain.

Anguish.
I loved it in medical school, witnessing operations healing men on beds.

I loved it till I cried on my brother’s red-laden body, till my parents knew how to hold themselves.

Anguish.
I loved it till my grandmother adorned red Bangles.

I loved it till her husband’s death turned her black and white.

Anguish.
I loved it till I wore my red dress I looked beautifully curvy in.

I loved it till trust turned into betrayal and I had it forcefully stripped off me.

Anguish.
I loved it till I wore it that night on my lips so confidently, painted your lips with mine.

I loved it till the next morning you told me you choose to not be mine.

Anguish

I changed a bit after you left

I wash my bowl clean after my morning cornflakes right away,

So the crusts don’t form, that get harder to wash away the next morning.
I don’t wear the same loose tee five times a week because it gets dirty and torn faster,

And I can’t throw it away since I get too comfortable in it.
I change the batteries of my TV remote every three months,

I can’t stand having to watch the old ones leak and not work anymore.
I cut my hair shorter than it’s able to grow

Because I want every bit of me to speak for the new person I’m becoming.
I drink a lot of water, avoid any make-up, and let my hair down.

I’ve been trying to keep it real so no one again walks away saying that I changed.

Who are you?

Who are you when you’re alone?
When judgement lets you be?
When no one knows and can see you?
When you’re only yours to be?

Do you dim the lights or let them on?
Do you dress how you do, or it’s different?
Are you still adjusting those straps?
Or do you even dress at all?

Are you the same girl that’s shy and smiles?
Or do you prefer taking it for yourself?
Do you permit yourself to hog, smell, shout, abuse and whistle?
Or you sit silently and contemplate?

Do you dance to your mind’s beats?
What music does it play?
And is it the dance you show the world, swaying side to side?
Or do your toes point perfectly unknowingly, and your hair go wild?

Do you sit as poised as you do for those thousand eyes,
Or do you let go, spread your legs and jiggle those thighs?
Does body odour bother you, does your Kohl spread around?
Are you reading a book or feeling your skin and scars?

Shredded to guilt for not being your aesthetic version,Or you’re them both?
But longing to stay unbathed, free for as long?

Cigarettes after sex

Click and lit,

You reason yourself

And lie about how it isn’t bad.

Puff after puff,

You say it won’t kill

At least not as much as love did.

And I watch you inhale the toxin,

Relax.

Exhale life out of yourself.

Silent in the sheets,

I’m breathing it in too-

Your cigarettes after sex.

The monthly errand

A take on a basic, first world girl’s monthly errand.

Wet-wet between my legs,

It’s 4am.

Splash-splash and I’m bathed,

At this hour, in silent pain.

Snap-snap goes the day,

Gloomy, sad, irritable and bleh.

Munch-munch, to add to the bloat,

Nothing fits, I’m staying indoors.

Ouch-aah, curled into a ball,

Sa-re-ga-ma got some music on.

Chocolate bars and analgesics in reach,

Messy and cautious, I fall asleep.

One two three and four,

Tick-tock, the days pass by.

Mood swings, screams, tantrums, tears,

And I know this month I’ve been fertile.

#Menstruation #Menstruala #Fertility #Poetry #Thepretentiouspoetess #Periods #Chums #Taboo

Brown: I am.

(To every girl who wished she was fair, and to every woman and man who told her that she should be so.)

Black or white, Fair or lovely-
This is what I’m not.
Wheatish, dusky, sulky-bulky,
This is what I’m called.

I’m brown.

I’m those shades between,
Your creamy iced latte and hot dark expresso.
I’m a blend of it that goes into making-
White sweet milk and black bitter coffee.

I’m not the white sugar,
That I’d lose myself and dissolve.
But I’m that chocolate-
the flavour of the cocoa beans, that lingers on.

I’m not bashful, just brown.

I’m not the dreams you sell,
catering to my insecurities.
I’m not the shameful lotions and creams,
that line my bathroom shelf.

I’m the excess melanin
that I produce,
I’m the courage it takes,
to be a mix of two.

I’m the brave brown.

I’m not you telling me,
I’ll never have a lover.
I’m the caramel gazing at the mirror,
The witty walnut who isn’t seeking approval.

I’m more than just a random
interplay of 378 genes.
I’m what lies underneath my layers,
I’m my voice, my knowledge, my culture.

But, I’ll always be me-
Be #brown.

Eclipse: Love of the Sun and Moon

The star has its moon,

Lending endlessly it’s light.

And their unspoken pact,

Is witnessed by the night !

There are times they quarrel,

And we get a night so lonely. 

But in a fortnight the sun makes up,

And we get the moon back in all its glory!

Rarely, there’s no sun,

By the moon Oh, it’s eclipsed!

Jealous lovers they are indeed,

But again get soon over it.

Just like the waxes and wanes of life,

It’s a perfect balance around.

Teaching us true love is about being there,

Not just being around!

C’est La Vie

Gratitude and regrets,

Prayers and despondence,

Leaps of faith and losing trust,

Tears, of joy and sadness,

Pulling and pushing,

Ups and downs,

Black and White,

This and that,

You and me.

Such is life,

C’est La Vie!

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