Practicality

Practicality is a cloak for the broken heart,
'Tis strange what all pain can impart!

Ode to Spring

Through a fluttering veil of luscious hues,
Fair Lady coquets with the majestic Sun,
As the wicked Wind caresses her tender cheek,
The harshness of Winter all undone.

Sparrows perched upon the towering trees,
Whistle sweetly at the colorful array.
Fair Lady hums and sways in warm ecstasy,
As the wicked Wind drifts away.

The sinful Sun glows after a wearying day,
And spans its gaze upon the fields of fruit.
Fair Lady drowsy, lies upon the prickly grass;
The darkness envelops as all goes mute.

Of Life and Love

Love like life must come to pass,
The tears must come as the laughs.

Deranged

I know not what I feel, but it is changed,
It is not what it was, am I deranged?
He says he loves me, but I cannot claim it,
I miss being loved, but this shoe doesn't fit.

Changes

Love is in the air for a change,

The pining heart is no longer inane. 

Jealous

As fair Spring flaunts her colorful array,
Pale Winter sheds frosty tears each day!

Stone hearted

I shall go so far you will forget my face one day,

I'm made of stone, thanks for making me this way.

300

The words tire from incessant exploits

Of a restless aching shell.

He dithers, he flickers,

Deceptive as the pearly moon,

And as lovers who pray by its light

Are duped into false promises,

So shall I dither in hope

Of his hopeless return. 

Hurt Heart

Oh pierced heart, you betray me each time!

Oh wicked Cupid, why won’t he be mine?

Scars torn into endless pages bleed blue,

Who else can wrap words into a magical hue?

I lie in the desert, thirsty for his love,

No shade even from the clouds above.

My heart is bruised again from the pain,

The loneliness slowly drives me insane.

Three hundred times, and still no reply

The poetry flows and time passes by.

If only I could rip the heart out of my chest,

And stop the pain so I can finally lie in rest. 

Sin

Beyond the shimmering veil of color,
Blurred vision admires your lips,
Tempting as the original sin,
I must suffer the fiery whips.

Moony Love

In this corpse of a heart lies inane,

Love like dew on a winter morn.

If you reach out and touch the pain

Beware, your fingers shall burn.

Only anguish floods the veins

No blood flows in this lifeless shell.

The hope waxes and wanes

Like the moon, I too shall dwell.

A Wish

A heart for your heart,
A word for your word,
May love be a part,
Of your wishes heard!

Lovers and Slaves

Hurt me once, I am your lover,
Hurt me twice, I am your slave.
Obsession is the price I pay,
It shall take me to my grave.

Love Ends

The stench of rotting love overwhelms,
Love is meant to end in all realms.

A letter long forgotten...

It is sad that you still ask what more you could have done, what mistake you made, and why I am overreacting. It is unfortunate that you have chosen to overlook every little bit that I told you about myself, so that you may learn to forgive me for the way I behave.

But alas, my shame has to be brought forward again, and I have to be dragged through it once again, as much as I tried to avoid it with the person that I loved the most in this world, though that may have a different meaning your dictionary.

So let me tell you about this little girl, who was brought up in a pampered household with servants to take care of her in her younger years as her parents were too busy elsewhere. But when this little girl would play with the servant’s kids as she was a toddler of three, she would learn words that a girl of her stature would find it dishonourable to utter. She would then by mistake utter these words in front of her father and she would be beaten to point where she had wet herself. She would crawl back to her mother, embarrassed, and clean up, only to realize that this was not the last time. Her servant upon seeing her despair would take her to the terrace where his room was and make her lie on top of him and do unto her unspeakable things. Yet how could a naïve girl like her understand what was happening, for he would convince her that it was an innocent game.

Years later, she would still wake up in the mornings sweating in bed having nightmares of this act yet never knowing what it actually was. When she turned of age, she realized what it was and decided to never tell anyone of it. But the nightmares would only get worse. She would find hope in the image of a light, and her grandfather smiling. It was then that she would get into violent fights with her brother and one day her father would come home and beat her black and blue so that she couldn’t walk properly for three days and had to apply ointments to soften the rashes on her thighs from all the sit-ups she was made to do.

Yet she always struggled to please her father. The more he ignored her, the more she tried to gain his love. She decorated the house on his birthdays, she would make cakes for him, she would make cards he could see in the morning before he left for work…praying he would forgive her, praying he would show the love she showed to him.

But then they would all shift to a novel place where her father would get so engrossed in work, he would forget her name. He would call her by his sister’s name, and the little girl, still little, would try harder to get his attention. But then the guys came. They came, they made her wanted, they made her feel accepted and gave her time. She followed them. And soon they would stop. They would hurt her purposely and she would leave them. She would leave them because she had the power in these relationships, unlike the one with her father, in which she was the helpless victim.

She ate more and hated herself. Then her grandparents would snatch butter from her hands before she put it on the bread. Her parents would refuse to give her a second piece of chicken and tell her one chapaati was sufficient. Eventually she would lose weight, and her father would tell every person he met, family, friend or unknown, that he was ashamed of when his daughter was fat because she did not look pretty and it was impossible to get clothes of her size. She would go to her bathroom and puke out whatever she had eaten. This cycle would continue till she met a unique boy. He pursued her fiercely and she resisted, but eventually she gave into him. But before she knew it, she was running after him trying to make him happy. She started consuming alcohol to while away the pain. Again, she was left alone, being ignored, being forgotten. Her father would beat her again for leaving her cassette player at a friend’s house for the teacher’s day concert practice. He would tell her he would get her married and never let her complete her education. She would try to kill herself with sleeping and calcium pills. She would survive. Her father would cry. He would then make her apologize for what she had done. She would go back to puking her food out.

But then just when she had given up all hope, a special boy stepped into her life. When she met him, she felt optimistic. He was not only intelligent but also handsome. He also fell in love with her. She felt committed to someone for the first time. Someone she could happy, someone she could share both happiness and joy with.

But she struggled with him too. The wounds that her father caused had not yet healed. She would struggle to grow up, act mature when the three year old girl inside her was screaming and suffocating. How could she hide her true self? Even after the wound closes, the scar still remains.

So here she is, the pampered child of the family. She doesn’t’ know what to feel about her father. He gave her an outstanding education, the best circumstances to live in, world tours, and all the gifts she wanted. But he never let ride on a bus, or scooter. She loves him still, in the corner of her heart. She makes cakes and birthday cards for him hoping he’ll understand some day. She doesn’t want the expensive gifts he gets her or the posh dinners they go to. She just wants some time with him. He calls once in a couple of months and asks the same questions, “how are studies? How is everything else?” She prays that he’ll notice that she’s become quite intelligent now. But her English is still not good enough for him. And her general knowledge is still very poor.

So Avi, I regret that you never understood that this three year old girl will never grow up and I regret that you never understood that the only way this girl will come close to growing up, is if you give her the little pieces of attention she wants. The things she goes out of her way to do for you and for her father. She bugs you even when you’re busy, she celebrates each anniversary with a small but heartfelt gift, she tells people she doesn’t need to about you, she calls you up even when she’s in the middle of something and other things too. She just wishes someone would show her, so that she could feel wanted, she could feel what no one ever showed. She was expected to understand this from the age of three, that people who love you the most, don’t show it. But she rebels, she’s just a kid. No one let her grow up: when she acted grown up in front of her parents, they despised her. When she acted childish in front her lover: he despised her. She loves you. Understand her. 

And now she has become sadistic. She tries to gain power in any relationship; she tries to take revenge, because she has become bitter from the way her loved ones refuse to giver her unlimited attention like she gives them. The little girl is upset with the world for not showing its love. She is willing to sacrifice anything and everything for her loved ones, just praying that they’ll do the same for her. She prays that they will go out of their way to love her, as she does for them. Unfortunately she has become so pathetic. She holds onto words, words and phrases that were said to her. For these words and phrases hurt her. They stabbed her heart until it bled and then she would decide to make herself bleed for making others suffer. She would make herself bleed for treating others sadistically. She would punish herself because she tried to punish others. The words and phrases she holds on to, just give her an excuse to show that she is right. She wants to be right, because she has been told that she is wrong for not growing up by her lover. She wants to be right because she has been told that she is wrong for acting too maturely by her parents. What can she do? This stupid little girl is struggling not to want attention. But how can she not ask for the one thing she has been denied for her whole life? She thinks she’ll die from the conflict she faces. Help her. 

Out of Control

The sin of your sweet soft lips

Makes me dizzy with pleasure

The warmth of your sturdy hands

Make me tremble and shiver

Moans of insatiation cannot help escape me

Love me, love me deeply deeply

My body longs for more of your essence,

I have no control left in your presence.  

Alone, Again...he is not back yet....

I sit by the forlorn light of the moon,

With no one to call my own but solitude,

No stars shining upon me to guide my path,

Or to wink at me knowingly

The wind strokes my skin

And I can barely feel the touch of another’s skin.

My nostrils flare with the depth of inhalation

But I can smell no scent.

Lost, alone, abandoned

I only wish it were without reason. 

A Walk

I sit here again, begging the words to come, but alas they fail me for once. Like prodding a sore wound to make myself scream I let myself get lost in trance of the moment to revive what I could feel so intensely, that intense feeling that made me who I was. It saddens me to think that I am no longer that person. Who am I then? Know Thyself? I know nothing about myself except that I am an attention seeker. The pain gives me power and the joy gives me opportunity to take it away.

Was I always like this, or did I become this when I realized could not get along with anyone. This inability of mine, to let things stay the way they are. There is a hunger to create the drama to feel that passionate emotion which drives me, which nudges me to distort the perfection of the world so that I can feel overpowered by the fact that everything has gone wrong. Is it a way for me to seek power? Is it the realization that since I do not have the power to make things better I should use my power to make things worse since I can do that? 

I told him I loved walking in the drizzling rain. There was no drizzling that night, but the sky was overcast. He asked me what made me walk for so long and was it because something that was bothering me. I said I wanted to, I enjoyed it. I had always liked walking with my hands in my pocket. Left right. Left right.

His letter had moved me too. It was time for life to slow down a little. He mocked my heavy thinking in a jovial manner. I told him that I didn’t sit idle much. There were plenty of utensils lying around waiting to be washed and there were classes early morning the next day. Then there would be work and then studies and then work again.

He asked me if I was too caught up in the nitty-gritties of my daily life. I wasn’t sure if I was. Few years ago I had quite a lot idle time. Life changed so quickly, and before I realized I was a completely different person from where I started out. Not that being different was bad but I wondered where all the time went.

He explained that being different was surely not bad and everyone changes all the time. It is inevitable, and many people do not understand that people change and fight over it. I told him that sometimes I felt remorseful in a good way about change. He was puzzled.

I told him, it was that feeling, knowing that change is inevitable and that people will come and go, so accepting that fact but then also feeling sad that its all gone and that some thing else has taken its place. It sounded contradictory, for if I had accepted the fact that this was inevitable then why should I still be melancholic?

He said he didn’t get too attached to people, and those whom he did get attached to, he made a point to keep in touch with. I felt envious. I had had so many fights with friends over stupid misunderstandings. He told me that what one says in an argument cannot be erased once it has been said so it is better to stay mum. So then I wondered how you make the person realize that perhaps you wouldn’t want to take back what you had said because then you wouldn’t have had the realization that it was wrong in the first place.

I told him of my failed attempts at apologizing and how they resulted in more anger and resentment than they started out in. He told me that perhaps those people did not like a lot of things about me and were trying to justify their hate towards me by saying that they didn’t want to be friends with me. I laughed and said, “Or maybe they're whiny bitches who needed drama in their lives.”

We laughed together for a while. I headed back home again, back to my loneliness. There was often this overwhelming emotion inside me that wanted to run away from this loneliness. But always bound by the limitations of reality and the normal world, I knew I would have to spend another night drinking the un-fallen tears. Did I lack the courage to face the consequences of my breaking the rules? Or was it that I was not sure whether the ordeal would be worth the exultation from breaking the rules? 

I Love the Devil

His lips were parted,
And hair in a mess,
Golden rays darted,
Upon Wind's caress,
His skin smooth as sand,
His eyes like Devil's red,
Black-Life held my hand,
As the wounded heart bled!

Surreal- he says he wants me back

Three years from the day he said
For the first time he loved me
He said it again
And asked me to come back to him.

So I go on vacation
Till the day he decides
That he no longer loves me
And we should part ways.

But till then,
I have fulfilled my vow
Of never seizing to write
Till the day he returned.

Checkmate

Sometimes I think I cannot breathe,

From the pain of our seperation.

And sometimes I want to leave

So I can never return to you again.

Fluctuating emotions vex the heart

There is no rest from the turmoil.

Restless lovers grow further apart,

The game is over, I must depart.  

A Song for the Broken Hearted

Today, I want to say good bye.
Turn away from your heavenly eyes
Once and for all, before the love dies.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Never look back upon what we had
Spend the rest of this life being sad.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Forever. Good bye.



So don’t look at me with those angry eyes
And pretend you’re the only one who’s wise.
’Cause its time I stopped fooling myself
And put my feelings on the back shelf.

Today, I want to say good bye.
Turn away from your heavenly eyes
Once and for all, before the love dies.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Never look back upon what we had
Spend the rest of this life being sad.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Forever. Good bye.

The anger may die one day, but the love won’t
You know I love you so don’t say I don’t.
But its time I move on and leave with grace
Know that no one can ever take your place.

Maybe you’ll stop me, maybe you won’t
But you know I love you so don’t say I don’t.
But its time I move on and leave with grace
Know that no one can ever take your place.

Today, I want to say good bye.
Turn away from your heavenly eyes
Once and for all, before the love dies.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Never look back upon what we had
Spend the rest of this life being sad.
Today, I want to say good bye.
Forever. Good bye.

Sins

It cuts me, slices me
To think of the frivolity I give up
The very same he engages in
It cuts me, slices me
It is nothing but devilish sin.
Murderous loneliness,
Cuts me, slices me,
Until the suffocation threatens to kill.
The emptiness never goes away
Bruised as I am dragged down the hill
Cutting, slicing,
Everything I sacrifice
While he dances in an orgy of sin
Cuts me, slices me
I see the cliff, let me be free of the unseen,
Let me go now where I have never been.

The tick of time

In the mirror of a thousand lies,
No solace is found for the burning heart.
The clock ticks and hope dies,
As the souls only grow further apart.

What menacing optimism shall I abide by,
If path remains so unclear?
Love for love's sake until the day I die,
Hold on to everything dear?

Deathly

I can smell death in the air.
The stench of the loneliness,
Rises into the nostrils.
The veins dilate in anticipation
Of the blood to spill.
The innards contort,
And breath is scarce,
Save me from myself,
Death is so close.

Puppets

I dangle from the threads of his control,

And dance upon his whim.

I live when he brings me to life,

And when he is away I lie dead.

He would say he does not impose his will,

And I merely am too weak,

And I beg for the strings to make me stand,

Lest I fall limply to the ground.

But I ask why he animates me,

This Puppeteer without a heart?

Puppets have no private lives, alas,

They run away from the looking glass.