Everyone fantasises about you
They don’t know how each cut
was so deep
You embraced hell
to be whole.
Everyone adores you,
They don’t know
That beautiful things are always broken.
They say you shine bright and radiant
They cannot decipher
The emptiness within.
Shadows of your past
Loom over your present
Blocking the rays of sunshine with storm clouds.
But you shine on,
Shoving away insecurities.
Laughing till your eyes shimmer.
Dancing in the sunlight,
Rushing towards your purpose.
Be unapologetic to be yourself.
Because diamonds were made to shed blood.
As the gentle murmur of the train
Soothes your senses
Have you forgotten how to live
The slow life
Levitate like lapses in your soul
Smothering yourself with self doubt
You wander aimlessly
Reaching for a reality that never existed
Forgetting to dream
For they make you waver
From your sycophantic straight line.
I remember, riding my rusty Ladybird bicycle, rushing to Senthil library in my locality to borrow Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban on a humid Sunday afternoon. That was my first bout of reading that got me hooked to the best book series ever. Till date.
Tonight, as I contemplate whether to re-watch Modern Family or just snooze off after a tiring day at work, I can only dream of staying awake to read a 500+ pages novel. With the onset of Kindle and social media, we derive our ‘stories’ from feeds than a dog-eared book passed on for ages.
Between writing fan fiction in the very last pages of our school notebooks to listening to podcasts of our authors, we grew up. I always dreamt of having a cosy library corner to myself when I grew up. Now that adulthood is staring at my face, I cannot push myself to budge and turn the pages of a book. Enveloping myself with my laptop and the imaginary interface suffices almost everyday. Where did we lose that urge to pull all-nighters to finish a book? Where did we bury that craving to read more and talk about what the author could have meant? Vivid in my memory are the dissections of contemporary poems with Jyotsna Ma’am in class eleven. Poetry another forte, also faltered. I can hardly put two words together to talk to sapiens. Forget writing interconnected sentences.
Can technology really be blamed for our shortcomings? Can we take a conscious effort to read again and get back to the wonderful world of words dancing promiscuously? Can we find our fingers, instead of flirting with the keyboard, ensconced between the pages of yore? I somehow connect the happenings around us to the lack of reading in daily life. When we read fiction, we traverse boundaries and become one. There is only one journey the author takes us to. And in that moment, we are all one.
If only, we opened our eyes to literature.
Pure like honey,
Her love trickles over me
Serene like the mountains
Her silence embraces me
Words like poetry,
Flow over me
In my world
You are my lyrics, mother.
You made me,
You gave me a reason to live
Your undying love will be with me always
Enveloping me in goodness and warmth.
So is this how it was hyped to be?
Adulthood they call it,
Busy we call ourselves, yet so bored,
Passionate about goals, but lethargy creeps in
Doesn’t matter what you’ve fared,
Sweetness is the dress code.
Ambitions locked away in a prized cell,
But burning through the soul like living hell
On the exterior, all’s swell,
In the core, it is a labyrinth of paradoxes.
Muddled days get more frequent,
When your all grown up
Childhood seems like a heavenly place
That we sailed through
Yearning for the past,
Doesn’t put us in any good place
Negativity, is just a tear away
Let’s buck up
And find happiness in every broken toothed smile,
Sunshine in an episode of a sitcom
Beauty from the wrinkle on your mothers face
Let’s not give away our right to be happy,
Let’s rewind, but look ahead
Let’s dance in the rain
Let’s melt away in glazing sun
Let’s spread cheer when we don’t have any
Oh let’s buck up already!
After a juncture in your life, you stop living your life for others.
Oh what will she tell, doesn’t influence your goals.
Your patience for stupid people reduces drastically.
You don’t want to be that good person that oversteps their own boundaries to make others comfortable.
You realize self love is more important, Self Love is not being selfish.
It is just nurturing yourself and believing in less bullshit that comes your way.
You become your own best friend.
Self actualization they call it.
It intrigues me
How friendships end
People move on and fail to see
Power to mend
Do they know that
This is the last word in their chapter
Their story will never make the happily ever afters?
Do they know
The axis they dwell in for ages
Will cease to exist in history pages
Do they know
The hurt, the tears and words will cut deep and sharp
That all they go through will be wasted in a time warp
Do they know
The traces of tears
The countless fears
The exhaustion and pain
The thought bubbles in vain..
Do they know..do they know?