Tag Archives: reality

You Deserve A Love.

I read this on the internet today, isn’t it just perfect?

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I’ll Be A Good Girl….

Ah! This is such a wonderful sight

Away from all heinous plight.

Amidst the bed of roses

Smelling the smell of happy doses.

 

The two girls playing

Dancing and swaying,

Happy, serene

Jovial and green.

 

I love to see them

I also want to be them,

Playing with my brothers and sister

Oh, won’t I have a brother or a sister?

 

Or, do I have someone

Already waiting for me?

A daughter or a son

Already your honeybee?

 

I will be a good girl

To you, to everyone,

Like an obedient schoolgirl

With a sweet tongue.

 

I will play and eat

Will be your only heartbeat,

I will dance and learn

And shine like a Christmas fern.

 

I want to see you

See my father,

I want to be you

Given away at age, by my father.

 

I want to live life

I want to have friends

I want to thrive

I want to go through life’s all bends.

 

But I understand

All in good time,

For now I need to be in this dreamland

Your womb being my partner in crime.

 

But it is getting dark

And I am feeling cold,

I’ll complain to grandma

Please return to our home.

 

You understand me so well

I just thought and you already did,

Walking gracefully like a belle

You succumbed to your beautiful kid.

 

But wait are you sure this is the way, mamma?

And why are you burning like a sauna?

But again who am I to judge?

3 months old, who knows not much?

 

But where is this mamma?

This is not our home.

I don’t see your comfy pajama

This is not where you roam.

 

Why are you lying in this small, rigid bed?

You need to be comfortable instead.

Who are these people in white?

Why are they shining the light so bright?

 

See, this is already hurting

You and me too.

You are twisting and squirting

They are letting the pain brew.

 

What is this?

What is happening?

What are they doing?

Why are you crying?

 

It is paining me too

Piercing me through and through,

I want to live and you are so cruel

You killed me, and my dreams accrual.

 

God!

Forbid!

Stop!

Have pity on me!

 

They are cutting me

My tiny legs and hands,

I want to flee

But the pain is killing me.

 

You killed me, mamma

How could you do this?

I am speechless

I am breathless.

 

You killed me for I was a girl

Is it so big a sin?

Then why was I called a pearl

If I was merely a skim?

 

If this world is such

Where you kill your own blood?

Then I am happy to have lived an innocent life

Without a sinful crime.

 

I have a question before I go

How does it feel to make your own kid a foe?

I know this may not be only your wish

For I have heard the constant surrounding whish.

 

But all the same I die

Without an answer for ‘why’,

I bid you adieu

And may girls never come to this life,

If everyone is like you.

****

This will be the last post for #NaPoWriMo. Somehow I ended up writing this last poem imitating the very first thing I ever wrote, like the very first time I put pen to paper, and though novice it’s always been close to my heart. I am attaching the link to the post, for I am certain I shared it in my blog at some point of time.

Were you not a girl, Mamma?

Also, my heartiest thanks for all you readers for sticking through the entire month of April, for your amazing and honest reviews, and for constantly just showering love on me and my immature poems. THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH!

 

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A Raving Reminiscence.

The lane is empty

Except for the kacchi kairi

Kacchi kairi strewn across on both sides.

“What is kacchi kairi?” he asks.

I turn to him, and give him an imploring look-

See for yourself.

“All I see is beaten, tattered, useless raw mangoes.”

I give him that look again.

I smile.

I keep walking, walking

On that lane which is delusory,

Empty, except for kacchi kairi.

The trees tower over us

The greenery overpowering us, shadowing us

From the clouds.

The faint drizzle seething into our veins

The pungent raw smell

Overwhelming my memories from which I have abstained.

The lane desolate, leaves scattered about,

Kacchi kairi’s standing orthodoxly, waiting

For my retrieval into the fond memories

Buried deep, somewhere inside.

And in a trance I was transported eons back

Playing- carefree-

Callous- teasing-

Happy!

The sweet sour memory of eating that kacchi kairi,

The soft tiniest bite

Sour juices flowing

Eyes barely opening

And yet I would take bite after

Bite.

That sweet-sour memory of kacchi kairi.

“So what’s new in that? You still eat kacchi kairi.”

“I know”, I sigh!

Its different I want to cry.

But I give him that smile.

It’s just not the same kacchi kairi!

“So what, now you want that same raw mangoes that you ate

As a child? Don’t you think that’s rather impractical?”

The rage that gnaws at me is minutely conquered

By the insanity that he thinks I live in.

I don’t answer.

I just give him that look,

And he gives me that look

When he thinks that I want to make him understand

Without the words,

And he thinks I don’t know that he does understand,

He just enjoys his taunts more

But I know

And he knows.

And we draw each other together,

Closer.

And we walk that deserted lane,

Where there is nothing

The lane is empty,

Except for the kacchi kairi.

Kacchi kairi strewn across on both sides.

 

Her Mysterious Meshuga.

There is a whirlwind of chaos inside her

An entropy, a madness, a little emptiness

That ceases her sanity from within.

The mania, the frenzy, the wilderness

All a part of her nugatory existence.

 

The deadening disarray enchaining her minds

Building a claustrophobia

Which you may never succeed to define.

The restlessness, the anxiety, the neurosis

All a part of her woebegone reality.

 

She is imprisoned betwixt the chain and its steely embrace,

She resides inside the merciless bolt and clasp,

And yet she has the zeal to envisage dreams,

To live in a reverie, a trance, a ravishing fantasy,

Her weening tenacity terrorizing her pandemonium to feebly vamoose.

 

 

Book Nerds Will Relate #3

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Of course, I am not insane, right!! How can I be any kind of addict except a book addict 😉

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I promise, just one more 😀

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Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves!

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Well, truly so!

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True! True! True….

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I chose to remain mum 😉

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I sure do! (Sigh)

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Hahaha, this is absolutely me and I am still not satisfied 😀

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Honest to God, I need this kind of support!!!

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And may be, coffee?

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Probably the only reason, why I don’t do good in relationships 😀

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Seriously, clear your mind people!!!

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Haha, this is true too!

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Totally true! Period..

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Well, this is true too.

*

Hope you had a good laugh, if not, well I am sorry! It’s books we are talking about, so it is important to me and me alone.

Books are and will be a big part of my life.

They have been with me when no one else was.

They have been through me, and been through a lot with me.

When nothing works, a book, empty or otherwise, always comes to my rescue.

So here’s to all the readers and writers, who have a very intelligent and safe addiction of fantasy, having an escape form reality!

Hope you had a fun time with my book shenanigans.

Have a great day!

*

Some more nerdy stuff here: Book Nerds Will relate! and Book Nerds Will Relate #2

 

 

I wish I hadn’t read that one book!

I wish I hadn’t read that one book,

For it was only a single dream that it took.

It was a simple childish fantasy,

But the novice me assumed it for some adult reality.

I wish I hadn’t read those 50 pages,

For I was living in the make belief cages.

Made for me, it was a nurturing cocoon,

But sadly, this was my childhoods only boon.

I wish I hadn’t believed in something, which was so tragic,

For I always thought that it was the truth named ‘Magic’,

Read to me it was, every single night,

And just so, I would wait every morning for my mighty knight.

I wish I hadn’t read about that Liz,

With stepmothers and dwarfs, and that magical kiss,

That romantic comedy, with elements of tragedy,

Which had nothing similar in consideration to my reality.

The Author’s World!

“What if we are all just characters in a novel…. And when we forget what we want to say. It’s the author backspacing?”

 

I read this today and now all I am wondering is, really? What if? I mean what if we are all just fictional? What if everything that’s happening to us is a dream or an illusion?

 

Come to think of it we are merely those characters, handled by an unseen source, whose stories are edited and rewritten without anything being done on our part.