Forgetting is silly
When you keep echoing
What’s-it-called what’s-his-name what-was-I-saying
In every conversation once twice thrice
But it’s all nice
Nobody minds it, really
You might forget who you met
(Maybe it was someone not that great)
Or the name of the person you’re talking to
And cover it up with a smile or two;
Forgetting is nonchalance
A disrespectful indifference, a lack of sense
When you fail to do what they asked of you
Simply because you didn’t remember to
An irresponsible fool
Who agrees to
Run errands, and evades doing them
It’s natural that you’re to blame;
Forgetting is confusion
A blurring of your youthful vision
When you can’t remember
The goals that centre
Your lousy little life-
What to live for, what to live by?
Jumbled up to-do lists and half-done work
Failing to pick up where you left off.
Forgetting is absolutely wretched
It may fill you with a blunt dread
When you can’t remember
What the hell is supposed to make you feel
Something. Nothing? Anything!-
To make you dance, to make you sing
There’ll be something that you can almost feel
But you might just forget what it is.
Forgetting, I say, is worse than loss.
Forget me not, forget me not.
“Who will be my home?” Everyone looks outside the window and asks. But I can’t remember what a home is, Is it my mind, my body, my family, my city, my country? I’ve been a stranger everywhere, Often enough to ask like a little child What is a home? Home is the person you love, they say, The person you return to after a day of rain and hailstorms, The arms you hide inside when the world comes out to swallow you whole. It’s not that I don’t know what a home is I can’t feel it. All I can understand with my massive joke of a brain Are stories. You and I, we’re stories, we’ve always been Some are more than that, they are dreams. Therefore I’ve stopped searching for a home (After years of walking along aimless alleys and lanes which lead nowhere) I’ll start stringing words and actions into tales Only hoping they’ll connect me to a story that I can call mine So the next time I put on sad, soothing music And look out of the window I’ll ask “Who will be my story?”
I don’t know what it is to be a daughter They say that blood runs thicker than water But why is it that I feel no ties? I look at my mother and I see it in her eyes The pure, unconditional love she bears I know ‘motherhood’ has been glorified for years Their sacrifices becoming not a choice but a consequence. Yet unmistakably I’ve seen love in her, hence Her love must make me a daughter? There have been days when I have thought her Love for me was misplaced, a mistake Because despite my desire to reciprocate I’ve let my heart be an impassive stone Despite her love, I have felt alone. My father does listen to what I have to say But smiles at my concerns, at the end of the day I’m not the older son whose advice holds sway And not until my brother had to move away Did I become my father’s right hand Despite a daughter, (almost) a dependable young ‘man’. I was twelve when one day I served him tea Without being asked to, and he Smiled sweetly and said “It’s great You’re finally learning how a daughter should behave.” What it is to be a daughter I don’t know yet I’m putting together pieces from the society’s set Of rules and do’s and don’ts I can find So that one day I can have my peace of mind.
There’s nothing new under the sun There’s nothing new about my pain, longing, love Nor in my desire to be unique. There’s nothing new in my poem, When I say I’ve been blue to have missed you Red to have kissed you Black to have forgotten you and myself I’m only rewording what I’ve said Maybe a hundred years ago, Even a thousand, who knows? The gnawing hunger in my mind To compose the poem to end all poems To create it all and consume it all- Is a spectacular piece of comic nonsense I laugh, louder and louder till my lungs bitterly burst And I’m finally empty again- A quill with no ink A blank word file A waste of time.
I’m well aware of the stupidity of ‘falling in love’
Text, talk, date and mutual disappointments-
We’ve all been there, done that.
This time, let’s go all the long way to forever
I’m tired of having to stitch my heart again on my sleeves, love,
I’m too tired to mope around and weep,
Look at my eyes while I ask with a smile,
Will you be mine to keep?
If you wish so
I’ll take a break from my prosaic presence.
Let me whisper into your ears-
Oh my dear, you’re a sacred dream
The only God at my altar, my only King,
The strength of your ardent soul’s embrace
Exhilarates me in unspeakable ways.
Your smouldering eyes beckon me to stare
We look deep in our hearts, and our souls are laid bare.
Roses bloom as our fingers intertwine,
I become yours and you become mine-
Or, wait, are you too smart for my art?
Or too broken perhaps.
Sweet words sound soothing,
But I know too well, don't I?
How swiftly they lose their sweetness
And turn into twisted jokes,
Reverberating in the empty chambers of the heart at 3 a.m.
When I end up inevitably alone
When the darkness is quiet, and everyone’s long gone
Only the moon shining down on me through the window
Softly caressing me and my pain.
So, I ask again,
Before I tie up my heart and lock it to sleep,
Will you love me whole,
Will you be mine to keep?
Nobody told me how to look up From the road filled with grey, Stretching and stretching into eternity And look into the world Into People. Sheer crowds of them Moving in a steady fast pace
I lock my eyes with a man and my heart leaps Not in joy, There are no butterflies in my stomach No love in my heart My heart leaps like I’d like to leap into an abyss. The glance of the man Lasts only for a fraction of a second He looks away And I start looking at myself What did he see? That fraction of a second costs me a lifetime Of mapping my body, my gestures, my posture Measuring what I am and what I should be Measuring to fit in But sticking out like a sore thumb.
Nobody told me how to look straight Into the mirror And not want to be someone else. I resist the urge to shatter it into pieces The glass is spotless and devoid of cracks I am not No one is.
I lock my eyes with myself I travel back in time to all the promises I had made Pointing fingers at the mirror Pep-talk for the self. The mirror stays at the same place Neither have I gone any further Only the years have gone by. The one standing on the other side calls me a liar and a cheat I admit defeat And put out the lights.
Nobody told me how to look down Into the screen And not compare myself to every standard set. Scrolling up and down Sighs of despair and unfulfillment Oh the disparity.
I lock my eyes with the girl on the screen With eyes as blue as the times when I’m feeling down Figure as enchanting as non-existence is to me Skin as smooth as the paper I accidentally cut my fingertip with Smile as bright as sun on a scorching summer day. Even while I fight the Euro-centric bias Perpetuated in our minds I wonder why some get to be so perfect And more importantly, Why some get to decide what’s perfect.
Nobody told me how to look inside Get out of my head And get over myself.
“How was your day?” . . In the mornings When my mother starts her day in the kitchen And my father looks for the newspaper All I want is an excuse.
An excuse to pause the day, even before it has begun.
“Halt!” I say to Mr.Time. Mr.Time wears a suit and a tie With glasses as thick as icecubes Perched on his rigid nose. He slaps me hard and shouts like a war general “Yes,Sir!” I come back to my senses.
The day goes on and on and on Like a thriller movie in slow motion, Devoid of background music. Deja vu Every moment a facsimile of some other one.
There’s a cadence to monotony If you have the ear for it. Sometimes I do, don’t you too?
Before long, I get lost In other worlds freshly manufactured Where facts don’t matter, Mr.Time is banned, And I am free.
But I’m no God, no Creator Almighty My thinly framed bubbles of thoughts Fade away like half-remembered memories Oh so quickly Poof! And I’m back again. Nothing makes sense yet, but at least I’m back to my senses.
Ringing voices vibrate in my ears Boys grinning with their mouths wide open Girls leaning onto each other Tearing up into giggles. The dusky sky and the dazzling streetlights Coexist with different ideals of beauty I keep my eyes open For every sight.
We call it a day. I make my peace with Mr.Time He smiles at me like a benevolent captor I smile back. . . “My day was great, how was yours?”
I’m burning
The red fire inside the core of my body
Rises with its million tongues
The veil of smoke makes my silhouette a blur
I am burning
And I don’t know how to stop.
Put out the fire!
It’s an unholy disaster
I am an unholy disaster
I can’t stop the fire, Baba,
I tried bathing in the Ganges
Almost drowned in my own tears-
My rotten flesh still charrs.
Why am I burning, Ma?
Was I not a good girl?
Appropriate is my nickname
At least in society, I am
Miss Prim and Proper.
I know I show my teeth to you, Ma
I don’t know who else I can turn to.
I really am sorry.
Is that why I burn?
I have the need to please them all
Be cool
Don’t be that all-hating girl
Finding problems with the world
Especially when you can do nothing about it.
Especially when you believed you could.
Ignorance is bliss
Don’t set your expectations so high
That they almost touch the danger sign of ‘Ideal’.
Ideal isn’t real
The red flags aren’t either, convince yourself.
Bury your head in your rabbit hole
Maybe you’ll extinguish those deadly flames.
Who does those flames want to touch?
Why are they so angry?
There are fresh eyes opening inside my soul
They see too much
I don’t know how to shut them
The rabbit hole is too far away now.
Cynic turned misanthrope?
I refuse to be that one.
There is good, I have seen it.
I have, I must remember that.
I yell and scream at my own burning self
Until the fire calms down.
I’m numb now, the blaze is over.
Looking aimlessly at the city’s skeleton
I distance myself as far as I can.
Survival needs escape.
I don’t know who’s there with me,
But I can still feel
The flicker that lives on
In my eyes.
All that the flicker needs
Is a trigger
And I’ll be ablaze again.
I don’t know how to stop.
mimimusing 