Tag Archives: poetry

An Expression Of Depression

The sun and you aren’t friends anymore,

You don’t want to wake up while it shines in all his glory.

You want to paint a colourless picture,

Because there’s no better way to narrate a tragic story.

The food you eat is all good to look at,

But everything tastes the same.

Just like your life- bland and incomplete,

Who else could you possibly blame?

There will always be someone taller, thinner, fairer;

You can never meet the worldly beauty pre-requisites.

They will have wit and humor, sharper brains;

Creativity beyond comparison combined with impeccable etiquettes.

Someone will always be better,

And wouldn’t skip a chance to make you feel worse.

To amplify the effect, you are a self-critique,

Oh what a curse!

You are still lingering somewhere,

Not even half way through.

The rest are close to the finish line,

How? You don’t even have a clue!

There are games people play for leisure,

But you take them to heart.

Eventually you give up and loose miserably,

As you get tired of trying too hard.

You either settle for a zero or a hundred,

There is nothing that’s in-between.

And you are envious of the fact,

That the grass on the other side is always more green.

You know you need help,

But don’t know where to go.

If you act too needy,

The world asks you to grow.

None of your words kind enough,

No pouts are pretty.

Your voice lacks melody,

And none of the statements witty.

When a yellow outfit isn’t bright enough

To brighten your mundane day.

The red lipstick and thick kohl,

Fails to make the smile stay.

When you turn to your own people,

Hoping they might help.

But they make you realise a few more flaws,

Which you in the past; could never tell.

At night then you sit with an endless list of things

That need to change pretty soon.

Tearing through the night, you finally give-in

And end up sleeping way past noon.

Because..

The sun and you aren’t friends anymore,

You don’t want to wake up while it shines in all his glory.

You want to paint a colorless picture,

Because there’s no better way to narrate a tragic story.

 

 

 

 

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Want to make a movie out of my life

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When I sit back and analyze the past years, I desperately feel like making a movie out of my life,

About the little girl I was, to the tomboyish teenager, to a passionate girlfriend and a wonderful future wife.

The movie would categorically fit all existing genres and entertain audiences of all possible sorts,

Spectators would see me transition to sarees, ballroom dresses and a lady from a stone cold girl who ones loved her shorts.

From my life as a sports lover who played basketball without caring about bruises and sun tans,

To a black belt holder who broke wooden planks and bricks and made the juniors become die-hard fans.

A girl who could sit dumb on the first bench in the class without knowing a thing,

To someone who would bunk the class with an official reason to practice a melody that the school wants her to sing.

At one moment I could surprise someone with the lamest joke in the world,

And the other moment I could ask the trickiest question out of my head and leave your brain nerves curled.

The movie will show a childhood that is cute, bubbly and humorous,

And then I will grow into a teenager who is abusive, raw and furious.

During my later teenage I will be a girl who is shy, meek and an explorer,

Early adulthood would see me rise to become a pro and a high scorer.

The story would be a tale of a weird childhood and a noisy neighbourhood,

Only to grow into a saga of pride and passion blazing with all the essence of the quintessential adulthood.

The teenager would be a girl, who would love to act, pretend and live my life like a typical tomboy,

Later a lady who is a yummy concoction of youth, mystery, romance, sorrow and is at times coy.

The story, where you will initially see me resisting love, then falling in love and eventually falling out of it,

Only to realize that love is a vicious circle and if one has been there once, will again have to fall in the pit.

At times she is even better than a chocolate covered candy heart,

And at other times spicier than the spiciest of chillies in a mart.

She isn’t boastful and proud of her possessions,

And not even over obsessed with her most obsessive obsessions.

The one who puts her soul into everything she does,

Even a pesky little imperfection makes her wanna fuss.

The one who is not a jack but a master of all traits, she is Miss Jill,

Who can come back down without hurting her head after fetching a pail of water from the hill.

It would clearly showcase me sailing through the tides of time singing my own melody,

At times dancing as a ruthless hip hopper or happily waltzing around to even shedding tears in melancholy.