Shoe Box 

Saturday afternoon is here,

And I, planned to dust my room;

With fairy lights hanging across the walls,

And memories hidden in cupboards.

And I did come across one,

This, hidden in a shoebox;

With trinkets and trivials of all kind,

And photographs hidden in the depth.

Faded and wet though they were,

From the dampness spreading in my cupboard;

Changing the smiling faces,

Into unrecognizable smudges.

And then amidst them I found,

Etchings of happier times;

Of smiles that mattered and smiles I missed.

Sighing, the shoe box was put away.

Dampness ate them, they said,

And tears were hot and damp.


The first time I spotted her,

When summer had started to stir,

Was beneath azure skies 

And amidst everything nice.

 She had a friendly air,

And some buragandy hair;

Never ravishing but simply plain,

And hands drained in henna stain.

But her eyes were deep like an abysmal hole;

And within those eyes as dark as coal,

I spotted pain and stark denial,

Fear of touch and revival.

PS : The poem is inspired from the novel Nampally Road by Meena Alexander and the occurances of The Emergency.

Picture Credits: Pinterest 

Dear Struggling Actress

Dear struggling actress,

This one is for you.

I know you’ve tried so much,

And its ended up in vain.

Your ethereal reverie is been replaced,

With feelings of suspect and doubt.

You have lost kith and kin for they say,

Acting is not part of a cultured clan.

You are on the verge of giving up,

But don’t, because I know your power.

Dreams don’t yeild so easily,

But I want you to keep trying

And to push your limits so much.

Then have a bit of faith as such;

Mixed with some wishful thinking.

For you are one of a kind, darling,

And you have this in your blood!

Pic Credits:

Fall apart

Then I knew it,

The pain that spread through my bones;

Had originated in my heart.

It posed a threat as such,

To kill my soul and all its compassion,

To make me stone as if in art;

To cause my depths to crush and fall apart.

And then I chose the latter,

To fall apart amidst others;

So that the fallen pieces, reformed

Would give me more love, more compassion.

For love of this type

Is for my kind,

It is for the valiant.

Pic Credits:


And her eyes told tales,

Of unfathomable power and bliss.

Tales of agony wrapped in honey,

Of dreams clipped off for the domestic;

Of love that lusted, and nothing more,

Of marital heavens, fallen;

Of thrashing and beating and gore,

Of the 20 bones broken to give life;

Of ignored complaints and demands,

And of the pride she holds, still;

For what she is

And always shall be!

Pic Credits: Pinterest