Ethereal Evening Spent With The Unknown

Get playful with the stars and trap the moon in a fishnet,

Let’s prolong the night and talk about all that makes you fret.

Ask me questions that haunt you, we’ll find answers to them all,

Tell me what gives you a high and what is it that makes you fall.

Let’s make believe you are real,

Or a fictional character who can feel.

Unveil secrets that have been locked into you for so long,

I swear they’ll stay safe with me, guarded all along.

Share with me what makes you smile,

I will transform it in a song and sing for a while.

Also, let me know what gets on to your nerves,

Is it, not getting something one rightfully deserves?

We’ll crib about the things that could’ve worked better,

And tell each other about the contents of an unsent letter.

I want to know the color that you love the most, the fragrance that you wear;

Show me the doodles in your diary and share your most sincere prayer.

I want to know the meanings of the fancy words you say,

That leave me spell-bound and let you have your way.

Where’d you learn to perfectly modulate your voice?

You scold, it never hurts. How did you practice so much poise?

Tell me how’d you like your morning tea, the herbs you want me to infuse;

Will make a note of your breakfast preference so that you can’t refuse.

Let me know your travel plans and ask for my company,

Sing to me as I fall asleep, save me from the deafening worldly cacophony.

Unlock, dust off and rekindle the silent emotions,

Defy the norms they’ve set and live beyond the mundane notions.

Help me visualize the dreams you see,

Let our souls be wild and free.

Tomorrow morning let’s complain about how the time went by so soon?

And sleep with me through the afternoon.

Let’s make a wish, close your eyes;

Ask for fragrant flowers and butterflies.

For mornings that are full of peace,

For fictional poetry transforming into real nights like these.

Incomplete Emotions

Judgemental jury,
Preconceived notions,
Unfulfilled desires,
Incomplete emotions…

The certainty of uncertainties.
The assumption of facts,
The stubbornness of solitude,
And broken contacts…

The wrinkled clothes,
The unkempt hair,
The chapped lips,
Lonely eyes blankly stare…

The lips parting slightly,
Attempting to speak,
Mumbling and fumbling,
But words too weak…

The shattered heart,
The tattered curtain,
An empty ink-pot,
Anxiety certain…

The heart panting,
A tear drop rolling,
The next second – a forced smile,
Mysterious life; unfolding…

The bliss in confusion,
A puzzled mind,
The comfortable chaos,
Hard to find…

Mundane muse,
Water overflowing,
Uninspired moves,
Heartbeat slowing…

The present shy and meek,
Past; bold and brazen,
Unfinished poetry,
Lacking presentation…

Trembling hands,
Body sore,
Thirsty soul
Asking for more…

Sitting contemplating,
Looking for hope,
A ladder to climb,
Or being pulled up by a rope…

Fighting the fuzzy vision,
I let out a sigh,
As the devil called time,
Slowly passes by…

Repercussions of Being an Optimist


I love dream catchers and read fancy fables,

I am constantly willing to turn tables.

I dream of sunsets and serenades,

When nostalgia kicks in and the present fades.

My haunted heart appreciates smiles even from mannequins,

And I see helplessness in the eyes of the ones committing sins.


When I see shades of dull black and greys,

For mercy my innocent heart prays.

I gain pleasure from the fictional world,

As I sit with my book, up-curled.

I see beauty in pain and discover music in noise,

My inside is a volcano, outside – pensive and poised.


I want to know everything way too soon,

Who said inquisitiveness is a boon?

Weaving the real life into a fictional story,

I bask in the surreal glory.

In my head I take the road less taken,

All this isn’t in my sleep, you’re mistaken.


I day dream and create situations unreal,

As I give my heart the time to heal.

I know right now there is no music and dance,

But in a better time, I’d give love a chance.

Gathering gold, I am a self-proclaimed alchemist,

Dealing with the repercussions of being an optimist.

Get Me a Paperweight

Get me a paperweight…

I want to write down those memories that weigh down upon me,

Buy hand-made paper, use the most expensive pen.

I am going to write them down in the finest handwriting possible,

And if tears roll down, I am going to count till ten.


Get me a paperweight…

There is too much to carry and feelings heavy,

They will transform into a literary masterpiece.

Ornamental words, alliterations and metaphors,

All sown together in the perfect rhyme scheme.


Get me a paperweight…

I want my surrounding spick and span,

Ask the maid to boil some herbal tea and wipe my table.

Light a few incense sticks, play soothing music,

Before I sit down and transform our life to a fable.


Get me a paperweight…

I need to write not just for myself,

But the world needs to know, they’ve been waiting.

The condiments perfect, the dish is done, garnish ready,

Now I just need to take care of the plating.


Get me a paperweight…

I am going to write until, my fingers ache,

And the ink of my pen bleeds the paper.

My heavy heart is cold and blunt,

But my memory is sharp and my pen is tapered.


Get me a paperweight…

Because I don’t want my work to disappear,

I simply can’t get rid.

I don’t want to it to fly away in thin air,

Just like my feelings did.


Get me a paperweight…

And let it sit on my words,

Like the mother hen while she waits for her eggs to hatch.

Maybe they can retrieve the past,

For now, I’ve got my breath to catch.

Perspire and Inspire

Releasing the fine aroma of Darjeeling, tea simmers in a pot.

As it boils away, you sit down and ponder of what you’ve got.

You’ve been living on hope while the world survives on air and water,

You’ve been constantly wearing that smile and braving laughter.

The world earns possessions and you’ve accumulated experience,

And there hasn’t been enough said about your brilliance.

Just trying to do the right things, you’ve always been proved wrong;

More often you stop to think; to this world, do you belong?

You’ve had the lyrics written but don’t know the tune to your song,

Patient enough inventing music, you’re trying to be strong.

You chose your path, every single time,

After all, choosing your life, isn’t much of a crime.

Manoeuvring through this game called life,

You can’t always be politically right.

You can’t always get the best of both worlds,

Because you are just another girl with pretty hair curled.

Whether you were lost in pain or drenched in rain,

You came out alive through situations insane.

So just put on your best shoes, wear your poise,

Pucker up your lips and make a choice.

Patience, they say will reap the best fruit.

You’ve got your superwoman suit, a lot to pursuit.

So go out there and let them wonder,

Perspire, inspire, roar and let them hear the thunder.

Beauty is Skin Deep

God what happened to natural beauty?
Cosmetics and chemicals, such a civic duty!

Whatever happened to the crinkle around the eyes during a smile,
When women didn’t worry about bleeding mascaras while crying down the aisle.

There was a time when crooked teeth were cute,
Now expensive dentistry stands astute.

Wasn’t is great to see women with hair flying free?
Now they are straightened, crimped, permed and heated to several degrees.

There is a CC, a BB and even an EE cream apart from the foundation.
In one life imagine, so many incarnations.

The nail paint, the lipstick, the gloss and liner,
Oh! don’t forget before the powder, the primer.

How wonderful would it be to see a woman smile shy,
Maybe after the heavy blush volunteers to die.

Fake lashes, fake nails, botox and lasers,
Peplum, tummy tuckers and tailored blazers.

High heels to make you look svelte,
And for further enhancements, a broad belt.

How can I forget the obsession with the skin tone white,
Bleach, skin peel, chemicals-all seem right.

Don’t know who came up with the thought of beauty on surface,
Isn’t it supposed to be skin deep?

Doesn’t it depend upon a hearty laughter, a caring heart
And the things that make one weep?

The beauty business is oh-so-mean,
Caught up in the circle, even I can’t come out clean.

Smeared with powder and pigment,
Looking good is a silent commitment.

How I love the days of boxer shorts, sans the liner;
When I get time to appreciate God, the magnificent designer.

A Poet in Making

It is surprising how unexpressed feelings just turn into a verse,

Sometimes they are words of wisdom, sometimes love and sometimes a curse.

When words of love fall on deaf ears,

And there is no one who can silent your daemons and curb your fears.

You start to think, you don’t need a voice,

After all you can’t even scream, you have to maintain “the poise”.

Don’t tell them what makes you cry, what makes you laugh, what makes you sad,

You know you are supposed to be good, you’ve been tamed, you can’t be mad.

“Emotionally stable”, that’s the fancy name they give to this condition,

They only understand the notes and the pitch, simply ignoring the pain in your musical rendition.

You aren’t a charmer; you haven’t learnt how to keep someone hooked,

Because if you were, you wouldn’t have been in this state but already booked.

You aren’t one of those women dented and painted,

Their scent alone has made some men die and some have fainted.

They are the ones, who would sheepishly enter you lives,

And make men forget that they have their own girlfriends and wives.

Over the years you have just learnt to be yourself,

And soon you will be forgotten like a rose squished inside a book on a dusty shelf.

Sick of being ignored by these lifeless mortals, you started to write,

When words inside you couldn’t bear the bottleneck, you gave up the fight.

One fine day you chose to type about all that makes you upset,

And as you wrote, tears rolled down your cheeks like a leaking faucet.

Someone who read it said, “You write whatever; just to make it rhyme,

How much would these poems make, a cent or maybe a little more than a dime?”

What they didn’t understand was, these poems weren’t composed to make money,

They were just an outlet for the anguish, so that I could be “emotionally stable”, just another dummy.

It is sad to know that most people would never feel the way I feel,

They wouldn’t see the angry bloody red sky; they would only see it as a blue and teal.

And since I can see it, I know, I am just like the sky;

Every time it is mundane and grey, people ask, “WHY?”

Same is the case with me,

They see my smile and overlook the melancholy.

Sometimes when I write, they say it is just too long; reading it will take some time,

Surprisingly by the time they finish reading, I am back to being the mannequin, I am just fine.