Yours Is What Was Mine

Most of us write poems to vent our feelings in some manner, but they sometimes don’t give us the needed refuge from despair. These pieces of ourselves, however, often take the role of a shoulder on which others weep out their burden. 

The artist wields her pen, no doubt,
In a bid to make herself better –
But literary sculptures seek out
Similar suffering souls to shelter.

These clouds that seem to drift away
In truth, only leave her high and dry.
Embodied feelings thus go astray;
They rain down elsewhere, where others cry.

 

Post Exams Trauma!

Elders of ancient tribes have often been heard saying that all kinds of distractions (especially those videos of sleeping kangaroos on that incredibly infamous time-killer, YouTube) come knocking at your door, whilst the days are approaching your end-semester exams. I do not want to argue that statement one bit. When exams approach, I know I am always at my procrastination best (if only they had contests for it, I could have been of some worth). Continue reading

Penning Down (Quintets)

As metal glides over pulpy fibres,
Blue hue flows, seeps and rests.
Words from letters,
And letters from
Level lines, troughs and crests.

Feelings buried within thoughts,
Omnipresent signatures over bills,
Mile long equations,
Quick, quiet reminders –
All my needs, my darling fulfils.

She stays cuddled, close to my heart;
In my pocket’s corners, as she lingers;
Ready to scribble
Meaningless nothings
When I hug her close, with my fingers.

P.S.  In spite of the lovely service my pen provides, I still subject it to all kinds of terrains – cloth, tissue papers, human skin, and walls to name a few. This poem talks about the joy I draw from writing, and how much just holding a pen soothes my mind.