avantika-singhal - Hello Poetry

I took the first sip of white wine in trepidation for the aftermath of drunk people in movies is not very pleasant. I downed it all, faster than an intruder who wiretaps an important building somewhere in America. I had vowed to not drown in the poison I had just consumed. But what happened later proved me wrong. I swam in clouds and I floated in shallow waters for the slurs that lay on my tongue were not something I would utter in a sober state. I cavorted. I danced. I showed skin. I was the frog that clandestinely dances in the rain and hides away before the ground is dry again. I swirled like a whirlpool. My cheeks were red and I emitted happiness. I made silly jokes about a plant named Wisteria and lay in bed, twirling away in my drunken madness.

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Jan 19, 2017

Jan 19, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC

Wine Not?

I took the first sip of white wine in trepidation for the aftermath of drunk people in movies is not very pleasant. I downed it all, faster than an intruder who wiretaps an important building somewhere in America. I had vowed to not drown in the poison I had just consumed. But what happened later proved me wrong. I swam in clouds and I floated in shallow waters for the slurs that lay on my tongue were not something I would utter in a sober state. I cavorted. I danced. I showed skin. I was the frog that clandestinely dances in the rain and hides away before the ground is dry again. I swirled like a whirlpool. My cheeks were red and I emitted happiness. I made silly jokes about a plant named Wisteria and lay in bed, twirling away in my drunken madness.

18

Her demise shook the world And left an uprising in its wake. She was human but the world Obnoxiously called her a Dalit. Her Skin was marred with scars of The most gruesome kind but Little do you know, they were Her battle scars that she took To the grave. Her body, a Holy shrine was entered without An invitation but you are not Aware that her soul is purer Than yours will ever be. Her cache of memories will Be drenched with flashes of Hungry stares and lustful eyes But also warm hugs and gentle Smiles from her parents. Something that the Scrupulous media does not want To reflect upon. She can’t be A secret anymore; her caste Cannot be a hindrance anymore. She needs a powerful voice And we must give her one. As i recount this tale, I am suddenly this girl. I Consume her desires. I Am her soul and spirit. And, My fingers close in on against Each other and I take labouring Breaths. My throat feels like Huge amounts of sandpaper were Shoved into it. My eyes are watery And blood shot and all you do is Stare. My clothes are shredded And little rags are my only trustful Companions on my otherwise Naked body. A string of wounds Cover my arms and legs and you Whisper about how sordid a Scene this is. You mutter about Me being a victim but the truth is I am a warrior who survived an Intrusion that was not supposed To happen and yet, you back off From a growing crowd and wonder What you’ll have for dinner tonight, Leaving me there on the ground, Writhing in more than pain and suffering.

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Sep 18, 2016

Sep 18, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC

Indelible.

Her demise shook the world And left an uprising in its wake. She was human but the world Obnoxiously called her a Dalit. Her Skin was marred with scars of The most gruesome kind but Little do you know, they were Her battle scars that she took To the grave. Her body, a Holy shrine was entered without An invitation but you are not Aware that her soul is purer Than yours will ever be. Her cache of memories will Be drenched with flashes of Hungry stares and lustful eyes But also warm hugs and gentle Smiles from her parents. Something that the Scrupulous media does not want To reflect upon. She can’t be A secret anymore; her caste Cannot be a hindrance anymore. She needs a powerful voice And we must give her one. As i recount this tale, I am suddenly this girl. I Consume her desires. I Am her soul and spirit. And, My fingers close in on against Each other and I take labouring Breaths. My throat feels like Huge amounts of sandpaper were Shoved into it. My eyes are watery And blood shot and all you do is Stare. My clothes are shredded And little rags are my only trustful Companions on my otherwise Naked body. A string of wounds Cover my arms and legs and you Whisper about how sordid a Scene this is. You mutter about Me being a victim but the truth is I am a warrior who survived an Intrusion that was not supposed To happen and yet, you back off From a growing crowd and wonder What you’ll have for dinner tonight, Leaving me there on the ground, Writhing in more than pain and suffering.

50

There's a virulent disease inside him. It pervades every where. It invades him. The toxic cells exist in every nook and crevice. He starts wondering whether his soul and body will suffice and live through the brutal treatments that await. Radiotherapy or chemo. A part of himself could be lost in the pomposity and elaborateness of the machines used to do so. He lies on the bed, surrounded by the ostensibly loved ones who mourn now and who hated him once. He looks back at his life and feels that getting back to his healthy, strong self is a chimera. Days pass and his bed is his sanctuary. The reports from the doctors arrive and he is all but stationary. He finds the concept of reports funny. They determine life and death in a second and after that, life could be jubilant or miry with hopelessness. The reports clearly indicate that "cancer was not detected". He scoffs at the elaborate medical language and sits back and relaxes, concluding his close call with death and an emotional mess. Not letting the intimidation and sinister nature of the diseases get to him.

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Oct 17, 2015

Oct 17, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC

Life through the eyes of a sick man.

There's a virulent disease inside him. It pervades every where. It invades him. The toxic cells exist in every nook and crevice. He starts wondering whether his soul and body will suffice and live through the brutal treatments that await. Radiotherapy or chemo. A part of himself could be lost in the pomposity and elaborateness of the machines used to do so. He lies on the bed, surrounded by the ostensibly loved ones who mourn now and who hated him once. He looks back at his life and feels that getting back to his healthy, strong self is a chimera. Days pass and his bed is his sanctuary. The reports from the doctors arrive and he is all but stationary. He finds the concept of reports funny. They determine life and death in a second and after that, life could be jubilant or miry with hopelessness. The reports clearly indicate that "cancer was not detected". He scoffs at the elaborate medical language and sits back and relaxes, concluding his close call with death and an emotional mess. Not letting the intimidation and sinister nature of the diseases get to him.

34

I live in a paltry cottage, with a cosy fireplace and rosewood floors. It offers me solace and isolation and yet my happiness seems to have lost its way. Then,I gaze outside at the brook that welcomes the sunshine like a ship on a dock. I gaze and gaze and Gaze until I can't anymore. Across the brook is my happiness amongst the wilderness, that fades away into nothingness. And here I am, on the dark side, with grey clouds and thunder and how it roars like a sad crow who doesn't know how to fly Anymore. My eye lids droop and I want to forget that I no longer feel joy inside my heart. I want to forget the bitterness that has resided from the start. All I feel is loneliness.

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Jun 25, 2015

Jun 25, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC

When happiness faded away.

I live in a paltry cottage, with a cosy fireplace and rosewood floors. It offers me solace and isolation and yet my happiness seems to have lost its way. Then,I gaze outside at the brook that welcomes the sunshine like a ship on a dock. I gaze and gaze and Gaze until I can't anymore. Across the brook is my happiness amongst the wilderness, that fades away into nothingness. And here I am, on the dark side, with grey clouds and thunder and how it roars like a sad crow who doesn't know how to fly Anymore. My eye lids droop and I want to forget that I no longer feel joy inside my heart. I want to forget the bitterness that has resided from the start. All I feel is loneliness.

32

The mistakes she made Are like those toys she Found in the attic. Totally Forgotten and guilt Ridden. As soon as she Looks back at the terrible Mistakes she made, she Curses at her childhood. She admittedly cusses At her foolishness. She Hates herself and forgets It. And then one day Again, she looks over Her shoulder, and those Mistakes made in the Childhood stare back, Bold and brazen. Every folly she wrote To others when she was So innocent and naive, Have come to haunt Her in the form of Lingering eyes and hushed whispers. Oh! Mistakes are terrible To make but what she Learns from them in The end, is that she Will never make them Again, even though Her chest will suffocate With the guilt and folly.

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Jun 10, 2015

Jun 10, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC

Naïvety.

The mistakes she made Are like those toys she Found in the attic. Totally Forgotten and guilt Ridden. As soon as she Looks back at the terrible Mistakes she made, she Curses at her childhood. She admittedly cusses At her foolishness. She Hates herself and forgets It. And then one day Again, she looks over Her shoulder, and those Mistakes made in the Childhood stare back, Bold and brazen. Every folly she wrote To others when she was So innocent and naive, Have come to haunt Her in the form of Lingering eyes and hushed whispers. Oh! Mistakes are terrible To make but what she Learns from them in The end, is that she Will never make them Again, even though Her chest will suffocate With the guilt and folly.

32

The man, lanky and Lugubrious in his actions, Filled with loneliness and Compassions. I watch With absurd interest as he Smiles, missing teeth and Yet, a light in his eyes that Never goes out when he Talks to his grandson, Beauty and approbation On his face. I conclude With sadness that this is The only time he is happy. The only time the life in Him awakens. The only time his soul rejoices And yet, I sit here, just Penning down someone's Penurious life sans joy. Doing nothing about it, Replicating the standard Human nature.

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May 27, 2015

May 27, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC

Compassion. It's missing.

The man, lanky and Lugubrious in his actions, Filled with loneliness and Compassions. I watch With absurd interest as he Smiles, missing teeth and Yet, a light in his eyes that Never goes out when he Talks to his grandson, Beauty and approbation On his face. I conclude With sadness that this is The only time he is happy. The only time the life in Him awakens. The only time his soul rejoices And yet, I sit here, just Penning down someone's Penurious life sans joy. Doing nothing about it, Replicating the standard Human nature.

22

It would be a catastrophe, If her mother is not in the Same room as her. Her Shrill cries would wake Everyone up. Her tiny hands would fist the air In hopes that it will bring Her mother back to her. The smile that adorns on her fragile, pale Face is too priceless. So much so that others Around her can't help but Smile happily and bless Her with the uttermost Sincerely. She would giggle pointlessly at others, revelling in their Happiness as it is contagious.

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May 18, 2015

May 18, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC

The Baby who makes me smile.

It would be a catastrophe, If her mother is not in the Same room as her. Her Shrill cries would wake Everyone up. Her tiny hands would fist the air In hopes that it will bring Her mother back to her. The smile that adorns on her fragile, pale Face is too priceless. So much so that others Around her can't help but Smile happily and bless Her with the uttermost Sincerely. She would giggle pointlessly at others, revelling in their Happiness as it is contagious.

19

It's like agony. The wait. It's like a knife twisting in my gut. The fear. It's the laboured breathing. The anticipation. And the reason is you. How stupid to have fallen for you. When I could have saved myself. And here I am,blithely stepping into the spider's web.

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Apr 24, 2015

Apr 24, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC

My Foolishness.

It's like agony. The wait. It's like a knife twisting in my gut. The fear. It's the laboured breathing. The anticipation. And the reason is you. How stupid to have fallen for you. When I could have saved myself. And here I am,blithely stepping into the spider's web.

7

The stroke of the pen on the paper, Soothes my nerves. The very fact that I see the blue ink taking shape of my words, Convinces me that I am alive and breathing.

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Apr 7, 2015

Apr 7, 2015 at 5:43 AM UTC

Words.

The stroke of the pen on the paper, Soothes my nerves. The very fact that I see the blue ink taking shape of my words, Convinces me that I am alive and breathing.

4

All her life she has, Been looking for Approbations. But to No avail. She always, Encounters failure. All her life she has, Waited for the moment, When her family looks At her with pride and Satisfaction in the eyes. All her life she has, Fallen on the floor, With a loud thud. But she also has had, The strength to get up, With much more vigour. All her life,she has looked for perfection and returned empty handed.

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Mar 29, 2015

Mar 29, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC

All Her Life.

All her life she has, Been looking for Approbations. But to No avail. She always, Encounters failure. All her life she has, Waited for the moment, When her family looks At her with pride and Satisfaction in the eyes. All her life she has, Fallen on the floor, With a loud thud. But she also has had, The strength to get up, With much more vigour. All her life,she has looked for perfection and returned empty handed.

17