Of life. Of experiences.Of travels. Of explorations.
Of smiles. Of laughter.
Of pains. Of stains.
Of thorns. Of roses.
Of snows. Of rains.
Of snapchats. Of poses.
Of life. Of experiences.
Of love. Of hate.
Of dates. Of soulmates
Of singles. Of couples.
Of complex emotions.
Of life. Of experiences.
Of ambitions. Of failures.
Of success. Of egos.
Of cheats. Of ethos.
Of loud clatters.
Of silent banters.
Of sex. Of ex.
Of fuck offs. Fuck off.
No. Actually don’t. Just stop. And listen. And rebel. And break the rules. And yell.
Let silence of the temple bells signify faith.
Let having fish for a meal signify poverty.
Let good morning texts signify being enemies.
Let absence define love.
Let being selfish be called emotional.
Let being in love be called ambitious.
Let having sex be a proud declaration.
Let travels be complex and incomprehensible.
Simplicity is overrated.
Let weirdness be awarded with oscar.
Don’t name your dog Oscar. Go find a better name.
Let sadness be a thing of celebration.
Let pain be glorified that you seek pain.
Let ambitions be stupid.
Let everyone be hit with the arrow of cupid.
Let just anything be.
Let it be.
It’s been ages since I wrote here or anywhere as a matter of fact. I remember times when I used to post 3-4 poems a day, desperate need to express what I had to say. Then as I began to read more, I started writing less because I always felt that I won’t be able to either structure my idea or convey the emotion or would be adept with the use of words and language and sometimes I would think my writing blogs or poems doesn’t really matter to anyone. Why I started writing a blog? I don’t know if this is the only factor or there are others too but as a child I was always shy and too afraid to express myself but I remember writing diary as a kid. I used to pen down moments of celebrations and days when I used to get scolded. I started writing poetry and blogs when I came to college and began to discover myself and explore the real world on my own. There was identity crisis, who is Neha? A question that scared me and made me think. Now, I have graduated and I am doing my masters, I have an idea of myself and I feel secure. At the same time, I want to evolve as a person. I have only one goal, ie to be someone who is happy herself and who spreads happiness. I remember my professor quoting in our farewell that “Always evaluate your life on two grounds. First, how happy you are with yourself and second, how many people did you make happy.” And I believe that I am learning to live. And since books serve as my oxygen, I have discovered authors and poets who write so beautifully with so much of finesse that I think about ten times before writing a poem nowadays. But at the same time I feel so rich knowing about them and so poor that there’s still so much more to learn. I don’t know why I am posting all of this here because nowadays I write diary only for myself. I don’t feel the need to share my opinions out there because I feel like being a spectator or being in my shell working on myself numbing the pain of problems around because my parents told me that you my dear have all the solutions to your problems and the only thing is to realise the need to let go.
And since it’s my post in 2017, happy new year. May this year be of learning to let go. 🙂
Coffee is something that is necessary for adult life. It’s a beautiful and necessary addiction. My mother often scolds me for having too much coffee but the thing is you can never have too much coffee like you can never have too many books. It’s a drink for work, for deadline completion, for exams, for leisure, for bonding with new people you meet. It’s a drink that serves purpose. It is a drink that helps us pretend that we have a purpose in life. And it’s tasty.
So when my mother tells me not to have coffee because it interferes with my reproductive organs, I do listen to her occasionally. I did change mindless addiction of 6 cups a day to 2 cups or maximum 3 cups a day but the thing is I cannot abandon this lovely drink. The thing is I don’t want to abandon this lovely drink. I haven’t had my first kiss because I am always busy kissing coffee mugs with my favourite book with me. Dear coffee, you’re the only true love in my life. Thank you for your existence.
BRA: This piece of cloth that covers my boobs and supports them is nothing but a cage. A prison that refuses me the right to breathe.
Why should I look womanly when I can look like a walking natural beauty without these torturing my tender boobs?
For whom should I conform to this norm of wearing a bra and not let it’s strap peep through?
Why should I spend a fortune on these pieces of clothes whose glimpse causes people to judge me?
Why should I give you the right to judge?
I won’t listen.
I won’t wear it.
I will walk free.
I will let my boobs be.
I will let be.
Why should I do things that I do? Why should I listen to you?
Why should I solve economic applications of matrices when I want to caress my beloved’s tresses?
Why should I pursue masters in economics when my heart belongs to Ghalib?
Why did I take this up, if I want to give up?
Why am I here when my heart tells me to go elsewhere?
I am here because I have desires. I have desires to be rich on my own and enjoy luxuries with obligations to none. I am here because norms don’t let me switch from economics to literature, such is a future lecturer’s eligibility structure.
My head and heart are always in conflict, I love economics but technicalities get my heart hit. It doesn’t like getting hit you know.
I am Arjun from Mahabharata on the battle field. Indecisive, Insecure who doesn’t know.
I seek my Krishna in vain. In the end ,I only have to end my own pain.
There are threads of you floating around like the aroma of cakes that you bake,
the chocolates you sent the other day were a treat to watch because of your calligraphy on them.
You wrote Rumi’s love poems on those cream cakes with strawberry icing and heart made of cherries.
You sure know how to kill me with your love.
Just like the food you bake for me which I can only admire and not eat because of it’s beauty, you’re those threads I can never catch hold of.
I can see you from far, admire you while you fill sweet jars, but I can’t have you.
You sure know how to kill me with your love.
Love, you say is better if longed for.
What kind of love it is that comes easy,
This poem is getting cheesy.
I long for you my chocolate pie baker,
you’re my life maker.
The first puff couldn’t calm me because though I held that bewitched cigarette in between my fingers, my lungs couldn’t inhale appropriately n my mouth fagged n it was a disappointment n a feeling of incompleteness at that time
Just like love, my smoke was incomplete as well.
My first smoke was very much like my first love. It didn’t happen. It left me yearning for it
But then, I am capable of hiding the pain of unfulfilled desires.
Neha: Ship sails with masts upright
Wind wasn’t in favour, maybe it wasn’t right
He looked at her with love
But her eyes were sinking
Karan: Like always, assumptions made them fight.
She assumed that he didn’t love her anymore.
Little did she know she was insecure.
Neha: Tears bottled up in those dry eyes
She couldn’t say a word and left the sight
All he could see was water while standing on the deck
His heart was like a shipwreck.
Karan: Broken in bits and pieces
His heart went on another voyage
He followed his heart,
Went behind her
With memories all blur.
Neha: Winds get stormy
With sunset on the horizon
He stopped midway
Moments passed away and so does she.
Heart attack it was.
His honeymoon ended.
Karan: Still they made love,
Though in his dreams.
He became her,
She became him.
Yet again, love overpowered lust.
He died a silent death.
Suicide it was.