Subtle Kaleidoscope

You are everything but invisible.  I can see you wide and clear, I can hear you loud and easy. I can touch you all and cold. I can hold you warm and cozy. You are everything but invisible. You are not amazing; you have your flaws. I didn’t expect you to be amazing and flawless at all. You are a mess, a big mess. But not invisible. Can you believe that? can you believe that I can love you and see you? I can see you. I don’t choose to ignore you.  A giant pile of mess. Two days old orange peels, your clipped nails, your plants’ dried leaves, your crumbled paper with your attempt to write something meaningful, your period pads, your tears-soaked napkins, A huge rotting piece of mess. That is foul and rotting away. Smells like rotten eggs. That is what you are but not invisible. You are not invisible. Don’t try to slit your wrists, stage your own death, lay on the floor for me to notice you. I already do.   I see you. You are not invisible.  Can you understand that? ...

" So please hurry, Leave me I can't breathe  Please don't say you love me" . . . If I get three lives, I'll marry you in two And in the third - I'll be a struggling poet In a dim room  Trying to write down What colour would your eyes be? And why I know they will be dark brown  I'll be alone, but not lonely  I'll have a few friends, or many so In this life I'll be more bony I'll have bigger eye sockets, and eye balls: chapped lips and sunken cheeks  My favorite colour will be white : Like the shade of dying snow I'll spend my twenties, Thirties writing you  breaking 11 of my pens: Why my silent sobs feel loud Why the smell of blood reminds me of your mouth  Why the ghost under my bed warms my cold feet  With his warm hands  In this life I'll marry too And I'll make a husband regret me again I'll ask him to love me just to  Watch him fail ; He'll ask me to love him , just to see me in pain  I'll take pills and I'll do ...

  I read somewhere the act of peeling oranges for someone is considered love. I had mixed thoughts about it. I wondered if it was an excuse for not taking care of yourself or if it was being loved. I knew it was love, I guess it was love. But then I thought it was something the social media was feeding our system. A narrative being started to cause tension in relationships that were, before, perfectly fine. I couldn’t deny that it was an act of love, but I couldn’t justify why one needs to feel that. I am away from my home state in another state. People speak a different language and the whole premise of my life has just shifted. Away from people I love, away from people who love me. I knew, before I came here, that I needed to love and care for myself more this time because people who could care for me or fill my part weren’t here. Self-Love. Taking care of yourself. These days my city is burning, hotter than ever. Heat waves and everything. So, to fight that I bought my favou...

I think I like daisies, particularly the smaller ones, because they almost pass as weeds unlike other flashy flowers. . . . Not a flat, Not an apartment by road, Not my father's house, Not my man's A house of my own. With vases full of daisies, my pillow and my porch. Few books piled on the other slippers by the bed;  a coffee mug  on the table made of white oak With footprints of my wet feet , as I tiptoe from shower to my room A room with canopy of cream linen. And a garden of daisies I  grew on my own With post-it notes on refrigerator,  inside jokes. On the kitchen island: Some electricity bills, few grocery lists Loads of unfinished artsy canvas, and the many glasses I own Daises in the cozy corner with chairs that fold; Living room dancing on the rug, not too old A place I can rest, light as snow No one to guide, No one to scold No one to know, no one too cold Filled with daisies and Love A place,  effortlessly, my own.

"Come out and haunt me, i know you want me. " . . .  i peeled my own orange today, like i did yesterday too, i do my own laundry and i fold my clothes i write my poems, i tie laces of my shoe i put on two pair of socks because my feet are always cold i make my own coffee, i take some flowers home i count till five and i let breaths out, a few. i push me through, i pull myself from, i would peel pomegranates, if he ever asks me to   i wait, i waited , i am waiting i will so a perfect moment when i can lay down  on my bed, making sure no one catches me though "don't know, don't understand" never see it coming, but knows when it'll go an airplane passing over your head , and you'll know i ask you to let me peel your orange, "let me know" you let me know how sad the pith on my oranges make you   i will peel my own oranges i won't ask you to; i won't tell you to ask me again you owe me enough...

  “…mind over matter is magic, I do magic…”   . . .   Yesterday I told this person, I like listening to these songs showing that one playlist we all have that we are so damm proud of in our hearts but still think twice before showing someone, because we wonder if that would be embarrassing, what if they hate these songs? We’ll be enemies? Poles apart? And what if they like them too, then what? True love? A match?   What if they neither hate it nor love it, then what will you do Sona? Then what? How will you decide if it’s a match made in heaven or if it’s an old vendetta our souls may have had? What will you do babe, if you can’t decide if it’s one extreme or the other? What if it’s neither nothing nor everything? What if it is meant to stay right in the middle with you having to balance it for the rest of your lives? “It’s just a playlist”, Sneha tells Sona. “You will be okay” the only embarrassing thing I feel about my playlist is how each song that I lik...

There's so much to do, Sneha . So much to see, so much to absorb, so much to feel, so much to be. How will you be? When will you be?  I literally never address myself with the name my family calls me, I never talk to Sona. I am afraid if she even exists in my world. I do have Sneha, different types of her, and different kinds of her. But only if I had a Sona. Technically, I am both Sona and Sneha, but I was Sona and I am Sneha. Sona is me till, I guess, 5th standard ; everything after that is Sneha. I have had someone tell me I should talk to Sona and tell her it's okay and acknowledge her, hug her. Honestly, that makes me cry so I don't do it often. It's like hugging someone you know will leave. It's like hugging someone who is not even there. So I let her play around. She dances to weird songs and reads love novels and binge eats snacks and tells you everything she knows about herself . I don't feel like correcting her, she'll grow up otherwise. I am tryin...

bits of replaying a song and wishing some lyrics changed.  (I may not be original but i learnt how to improvise better ; ) . . . Honey, when I am  Lying under the trees , I see what you see I stare blank at beliefs And I am, right now, pushing up trying to make a touch Through branches breaking up my sky. Showed you all of my hiding spots, Hide and seek , in disbelief I was still seeking when you stopped. Hearing locker keys, and small talks freeze A one that opens up my door. When did all our lessons, started to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt? A fool you dream, With a big man scream, I hope you get what you see, I haven't loved the new me yet, She'll never give you that. No I didn't mean that; Sorry I can't see facts, through all my man made mess. Honey, when I am above the trees , I see it for what is. But you're, right now, signing off letters  that you wrote, with an insincere "Yours Sincerely " bribery; it all makes sense t...

so long but so often. that is what i say, whenever she asks me anything about how i am doing. that is how i feel. so long and so often. i can try to picture where it all went wrong for the first time but no, there wasn't a first time for it. it always felt wrong.  no matter how hard i try to brush it off, or shrug it off, or choke on it slowly, or die for it fast, anything that i can do will only lead me to live, with this burden. i was better off pleasing myself by pleasing few. now i don't seem to care about pleasing anyone, because there is so much to run for, their list goes on and on and on. I try talking it out, but i can't. i cant make anyone understand how is it like. People are fighting demons that look like the hell hounds, demons that will dig their claws and tear flesh away. demons that are demons. funny thing is that, everyone out there fighting a demon thinks that their demon is unique ; that they are fighting a war that never occurred before and are drunk on ...

  I will stand between the heavens and the earth for you. . . . “You can leave me.” “I won’t. it’s alright.” A big sigh, and a bigger breath. “You shoul d leave me.” “I will not” This place is crowed with so many people, feels like it would have been fine if one or two died. No difference could have been made. Look around, avoid eye contact. “Weather is nice today.” A big sigh, and a bigger breath. Long pause, longer glare. “I don’t want to talk about the weather.” Pauses , and begins fidgeting. Nails, grass, fingers, rings. A gust of wind and pats the sweat off. “It is really … a nice windy day.” Hands held hands; eyes saw eyes; and a confession was let out. “ I don’t want to talk about the weather. Tell me why, what, when. Tell me what you like about ants. Tell me why there is a seahorse shaped birthmark on your belly and on what side and why you think it is a seahorse. Tell me about that one time you overstayed at your grandma’s. Tell me how many times y...

"Stop your crying, baby It's a sign of the times We gotta get away from here;" . . . I had this brilliant continuation of my “I want to be alone” thought. I still pretty much want to cry when things go wrong and not tell a single living soul about it. But I am also terrified of being abandoned, of being left unseen. I think I could love being a curse or wish more than I would want me to be anyone’s habit. You know I want to be alone; but I don’t want to be left alone. You see the difference? It’s a very slight one. I want to have space, but I want it within the walls of something defined. I don’t think I imagine floating in the damn space when I say I want to be alone. I see myself lying in the garden ; I need someone to watch over me , not constantly but warn me before it starts to rain because I have this beautiful dress I don’t want to ruin . And I asked myself, “Do you need someone you can trust your fears with?”. ”Exactly.” I thought I finally reached a part wh...

  ( Prerequisite: You might wanna listen to the song first ) . . . Pretty lies, I never thought this light would die; When someday it would make me cry To recall the weight of your words . I'll sit strong, In my castle of dried rose thorns From garden of broken homes Burying flowers i couldn't ever earn. Candlelight, The wax melting burns my thighs, You sit and then paint me skies  Of a life, i never yearned. If heaven and hell decide That they can no longer try, I'll drop the melting candle For a wild forest fire. But here's no-one around me As my soul burns to cries, Will you follow me into the dark? Blood soaked gowns As evil as this mute town Where everyone just looks down To both of my bruising knees.  But you and me, Have felt everything to feel From teardrops to infant dreams And the bits of paper crowns. Sewing down, Your nails turned to earthly brown, From dyeing my dream red gown Into your favourite shade of blue. If heaven and hell decide That this light won...

 " I know exactly how the rule goes Put my mask on first No, I don't want to talk about myself Tell me where it hurts I just want to build you up, build you up 'Til you're good as new And maybe one day I will get around fixing myself too I don't even know where to start Already tired of trying to recall when it all fell apart I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved myself "

epitaph  of a water sign They say that the more you dive in, The harder it gets to stop yourself From diving in, From diving in and trying To find the deepest you can go To find the longest you can hold; The harder it gets to stop yourself from dying. Much harder than crying Is to dive into something so dark and wet, So cold and dead; To pierce open his heart To tear apart, The waves that went quiet The ripples which just collide  Within themselves. They say the more you dive  The harder it gets to survive, Outside on something solid and fine  Like the land where my footsteps don't sink. The harder it gets to love life  Around the air that leaves you dry . The harder it gets to blink; The harder it gets to stop yourself From choking on water From soaking, In the dirtiest reeds In the ashes of people I had to burn The harder it gets to unlearn how to grow weeds ;  To forget the lessons they forced me to learn. Someone touched me, That hand on my shoulder lai...

 . . . I had a breakdown at 2:54 PM. But long before actually physically having the breakdown I knew I was going to have it. I knew the signs, I knew the triggers and at some point, I think I knew my biggest trigger is actually “me finding new triggers”. Like me exploring the cascade waves of the ocean through all the storm and lightning , but I figured as time passed by that the storm has either fallen into a void and now has no sound at all or the constant raging winds that were cold, carrying spikes of frozen tears of rain have pierced my ears to finally make me deaf. Maybe I am still sailing , exploring the waters for I may have grown a secret liking for a thunderstorm that either went quiet for me and giving up its very nature of being, or chose to make me deaf so that I endure its very nature of being. Either way, it remains to be the most unfortunate love story no one will know about, except for me. Either way, it just remains a story.  I  am still ...