Maybe Not, After All

“I believed. I believed I was lost, beyond the horizon and all”

One fine day, on a sunny afternoon, I sat down to ponder,

ponder over the time spent, over the times lost and lived.

“Who am I?”, the question that all of us at times wonder.

“Name?, Home?, Family? or Friends”, what am I advised?

I’ve held my sight to look deep down my past, to find where I was,

I was there, alright, writing down what I would like me to be.

That certainly isn’t what I am now, after I messed up the clause,

I’ve added a few things, some unconsciously, some I clearly agree.

In all the choices that I’ve made, I can say I’ve fallen just as hard as I rise,

I believed I was lost, beyond the horizon and all, but maybe not, after all.

 

 

The Quote Quarrel

“To Be or Not To Be?” 

How often do we stand alone on crossroads?

waiting to make a decision with past shadows.

Whom would you consult?, who would you run to?,

I ran to the good old Quotes, I’ve gathered few.

Holding my ground, despite hanging with my predicament,

I set out to discover how truly most quotes implement.

“Two is company, three is crowd”, they said,

How about, “The more, the merrier”, instead?

“Save for a rainy day”, came an advice yesterday,

“Tomorrow will take care of itself”, as a child’s play.

“Curiosity killed the cat”, they blamed,

“Seek and ye shall find”, not ashamed.

“Time waits for no man”, said the leaving tide,

But, “haste makes waste”, why don’t you abide?

I could go on to point out how Quotes also Quarrel,

but opinion is not fact, please claim your own moral.

 

11 more minutes.

“The 11-minute walk at 11 in the mid-night by one lonely girl.”

It was 11’O Clock in the night, very late in the night.
I walked into darker streets, away from the city lights.

11 more minutes and I would reach my house,
by then I was already judged by the choice of my blouse.

I shudder as I hear footsteps gathering behind me,
9 more minutes until I would unlock my door key.

The voices in my head pleaded me to run, run far away and detour.
as frozen as ice I stood, before 7 shadows waiting to devour.

Pushed onto the ground, and forced to suppress my shout,
5 more minutes until I’m to be left as a lifeless doubt.

Agony or Apathy? What do I carry to my grave?
3 more minutes as I struggle to be brave.

11:11, I’m safe on my bed, and out of a bad dream,
as I go back to my sleep, being thankful to be born as a man.

 

In a sky full of darkness and stars.

“ When I have exhausted my all, I need to know that the stars lie only behind the darkness.”

I take a stand, I take a decision to hold my ground,

I shudder as I’m found stranded on some foreign grounds.

The land I was in search of, the land I deemed my home,

why did it have to leave me alone?, carrying none from home.

Along the way, I fall down and I hesitate to pick my dear self up,

Blink, blink and there it goes, disappearing into another sleeve and up.

I dream of bright light, glass castles and reflecting hearts of our own,

but my subconscious has other plans, of dark and sleepless nights I own.

Take me back to the days I would crawl up into my dear mother’s arms,

But also push me forward to attain my space in a shelf I could extend my arm.

In this sky full of darkness and stars, lead me, guide me, and assure me to not stop.

 

Dear Dad,

“Not every Queen was a princess that has been.”

Dear Dad,

Other girls say, “I would prefer a man like my father”,
I sit here and wonder, whether I’d want the same.

Other girls say, “My father is my strength and my support”,
I sit mum, while I retrospect the times I needed you the most.

Other girls say, “My father says I’m his princess, forever and always”,
didn’t I deserve to be a princess daddy?, didn’t I deserve your love?

“Not every queen was a princess that has been”, says the boy I loved,
I could not be more pleased to tell you that he is nothing like you.

He said, “I’ll hold your hand, I’ll stand by you in sickness and health”,
I would like to believe him, but alas!, I recollect you promising the same.

As I sit here, holding my pen, writing everything I could never tell you,
left my life, you certainly did, but please erase your memories I interleave.

Remorse.

– A daughter that once was.

Wondering & Vanishing

“Wondering Memories, Vanishing Memories. Where do they summer?”

“Ma, I want to stay home today”, She had said,

Her mother was both surprised and rejoiced.

“Why would you rather stay home?”, questioned her conscience,

The daughter, was never so hesitant in her silence.

“My dear daughter, reply at once, who let my princess down?”

Dripping tears filled her eyes, as she adjusted her crown.

Her mother never raised her to be a coward,

She regained her smile, as her mother hovered.

“I promised I would take my mother for dinner”,

“Oh, did you. Why?, I don’t seem to remember”.

“Happy Birthday mother”, the daughter had finally wished,

Just as Alzheimer’s wondered, where her memory vanished.

Dear Men,

“An excerpt from a never ending letter to Men, from Women”

Dear Men,

No, not you, and yes, you right there,
Here I refer to the ones who do care.

Not to the Father who believed I deserved no explanation,
But to the Grandfather who believed in my education.

Not to the Uncle who has subscribed me in matrimonial,
But to the Professor who has believed in my ordeal.

Not to the Brother who would rather I stay at home,
But to the Best friend who published my poem.

Not to the guy who claimed I was worth nailing,
But to the boy who thought I was worth saving.

Not all of you are worth appreciating,
But to some of you who are, there is no debating.

Grow in numbers, we need you, now more than ever,
All we are asking for is support for our endeavor.

Thankyou

Yours Equally,
Women.

The Anchor

“For how long do we wander? Until we’ve found home? Do we know what leads us home?”

 

As I sit under a lonely roof, on a usually empty couch,

I wander on my musings and my distorted ability to vouch.

Conquered a world of dreams, yet not me, within,

travelled half the globe, when the reality weighed in.

 I was left to fly, left to soar my wings very high,

until I turned around to find, none to say goodbye.

Massive ships drifting o’er the seas, yet secured at harbor,

petty me, dwelling to no purpose, but none found to anchor.

Just like hope needs a deserving soul for shelter,

all I ask for is a person who stops me for better.

 

 

 

 

Serendipity?

“Serendipity simply stands for a happy accident. Serendipity is the need of the hour. Serendipity is what the human race needs.”

Consumed in a world, detached from substantiality,

I owe it to my devoted generosity towards the fantasy.

Such was my maneuver when I went about prevailing,

almost succeeding was my plot, only until the next stop.

The shut of the door, the wave of her saree, alas, a baby,

pink little shoes, tiny little bow, and a nudge from her mum.

That was all it took for her to slide her way across to me,

instinctive riddance of weapons of the 21st Century, I did.

Took myself by surprise, I am still certainly very much alive.

Begins the story, where she asks me for a story, How could I not?

 A tilt of her head to the left, a momentary dimple, much misprized.

Harry Potter meets Snow White, Rapunzel wins the Hunger Games,

such were my stories, all very misconstrued, yet adored, I believe.

Right when Cinderella gets to wear her leather jacket, I hear her mum say,

“She loved her sister very much”, but, unnoticed were the glistening tears.

As little Aditi waved goodbye to my dismal, I was left to wonder the tense,

the tense, the tone and the relief in her statement, as well a wave of wonder.

Consumed in a world detached from substantiality I still closely bore,

but now I owe it to my devoted generosity towards fantasy and more.

The Sorrow of the Sheep’s Sorrel

” The ignorance in my garden”

Plucked from the garden, tagged as unwanted,

spewn on the ground and caused to be daunted.

“What did it do wrong?”, growing if designated a crime,

as a wolf amidst a herd of sheep, anything but sublime.

Out of place, out of shape, out of its clear space,

so the weed weeps for its regard as a disgrace.

The gardener, however unaware of his plight,

expels the Sheep’s Sorrel from his clear sight.

“What a delight!”, a garden filled with roses and kind,

but flawed of a plant which is safe for his heart’s bind.

The Sorrel would find his home elsewhere,

buckled up in a bottle of health and welfare.