Out of Touch

You tell me so casually
To sit it out, to deal with it,
So that nobody sees the cracks
In the temple you built
Even if it tears me apart.

Afternoon Poets

For sleep comes when worry leaves;
It is too timid to confront the phantoms of the past.
Not us, though- we have laid there quietly,
Wrestling the noisy demons in our head
Till our limbs grew weary at the crack of dawn.

‘Tis the Szn: Navigating Anxiety and Depressing Feelings during the Holidays

If it seems like everybody came out of 2024 wearing tiaras and sashes while the only thing which keeps you from being empty handed is a string of disappointments, you are still heard and seen. If it feels as if the best part of the year is its coming to an end, your feelings are still valid.

Officially 18

It is daunting to be eighteen,
To be an “adult” on legal papers
When you have the meandering mind
Of a teenager;
To carry the unrelenting boulder
Of people’s expectations on your
Bruised and bent shoulders,
When you can just shrug at best
On being asked about future plans.

Breathe

And when I feel stuck in the doldrums of life,
When nothing seems to move anymore,
When I slip down the dark abyss of nothingness,
And my eyes simply don’t wish to search for the light anymore,
I take a breath.
I breathe in the air
That is moist with the tears of poets,
Ringing with the pain of musicians,
Whispering in my ears, the beautiful stories of many unpublished writers,

Wildflower🌼

The valley abounds in roses and tulips,
But I’m partial to those
That peek out of rugged rocks,
Showering in torrential rainfall,
You clap with the rumbles of thunder,
The montane breeze murmurs in your ears,
And you’re all but tickled by heatwaves.

Loving You

This and that are things,
And you are not.
You are the reason, the protagonist, the very center of this saga.
It’s for the Moon to wax and wane,
For the tides to rise and fall,
For you to love yourself
Even when it gets hard,
Even when it is blue.

Stoic Beauty /Blogmas ’21

There is beauty in the stitches that bind the split ends of supple skin,
And converge the otherwise parallel roads of life and death.
In the marks of bravery cradled close to one’s chest, guarding the soundly beating heart behind it,a heart that’s long immune to quakes of terror.
In the deep indentation adorning a rather muscled bicep and in both fresh and fading bruises, reflecting the strength channeled towards the struggle.

Bloom /Blogmas ’21

A rivulet of sweat rolls down your forehead, threatening to invade the right eye.
You huff and shut your eyelids tight, wiping it off with the back of your left hand and resume work.
Oh, these tiresome days!
Unending hours of sweltering in the enraged sunlight, bruised red and burnt brown from its fire piercing your skin.
You feel like you’d melt under the heat of the predicament, or perhaps, vapourise into thin air.
But, even with the looming possibility of a blackout, ragged breathing and shaking limbs, you stand there persistently.

Nonetheless

You’ve been broken down to pieces,
And pulled yourself together nonetheless.
Your mind has reeled at the amount of things to be dealt with,
And gotten stuff done nonetheless.
You’ve been overwhelmed to the point of forgetting to breathe,
And inhaled hope nonetheless.
You’ve feared everybody else’s verdict,
And put yourself first nonetheless.
You’ve struggled to even wake up some days,
And made it through those days nonetheless.