megha-balooni - Hello Poetry

Please don’t ask me what poetry means because its a means to communicate what i mean, For those who cannot speak I’m bad at explaining my thoughts the words which i mean to use, a thousand songs that i might sing to you, oh the melodies, croon them, just for you But somehow I cannot understand why words fail me when i need them the most i mean, don’t we need words to read the other? don’t we use them, rather? wouldn’t they be the savior of my conversations, then? My words fumble with themselves creating in them, patterns, knitting yards of never ending fabric exhausting spools that stay unbroken They say oceans have the best kept secrets Hidden, treasures reside Safely; That that which goes into a black hole, gets ****** in it, rather, may never return How Adrienne questioned the ability and in- ability of words to mean what they mean for silence might fill the blanks too A song plays on the loop didn’t we make mixed tapes to convey what we couldn’t express, in words, we thought rhymes were a better solution to love letters which were never conceived replaced by poetry scribbled in papers torn from the last pages of notebooks we thought stealing lines and verses from our English textbooks was being romantic That is when I discovered that we could mean in fewer words without having to convey what we mean, directly- This world of poetry seemed like sunshine and rainbows for a person who had no vision; imagine, the wonders they could do with that magic and I, begging them at last to leave me something which I can mean and the other could decipher as what I truly try to mean would never be found in simple sentence meanings. So please don’t ask me what poetry means for I might not have words meaning what I mean.

0

Jun 2, 2016

Jun 2, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC

Poetry: A definition

Please don’t ask me what poetry means because its a means to communicate what i mean, For those who cannot speak I’m bad at explaining my thoughts the words which i mean to use, a thousand songs that i might sing to you, oh the melodies, croon them, just for you But somehow I cannot understand why words fail me when i need them the most i mean, don’t we need words to read the other? don’t we use them, rather? wouldn’t they be the savior of my conversations, then? My words fumble with themselves creating in them, patterns, knitting yards of never ending fabric exhausting spools that stay unbroken They say oceans have the best kept secrets Hidden, treasures reside Safely; That that which goes into a black hole, gets ****** in it, rather, may never return How Adrienne questioned the ability and in- ability of words to mean what they mean for silence might fill the blanks too A song plays on the loop didn’t we make mixed tapes to convey what we couldn’t express, in words, we thought rhymes were a better solution to love letters which were never conceived replaced by poetry scribbled in papers torn from the last pages of notebooks we thought stealing lines and verses from our English textbooks was being romantic That is when I discovered that we could mean in fewer words without having to convey what we mean, directly- This world of poetry seemed like sunshine and rainbows for a person who had no vision; imagine, the wonders they could do with that magic and I, begging them at last to leave me something which I can mean and the other could decipher as what I truly try to mean would never be found in simple sentence meanings. So please don’t ask me what poetry means for I might not have words meaning what I mean.

57

Life as a word, as a concept, has been very intriguing for me. The trip however, that happened a few days back, has left me with new questions while some of the previous ones that I had seem answered, for now. I am particularly not good with writing long texts, long pages of articles that might make sense when read all together at once. Generally, all of what I start off with the intention of writing about, loses its essence after the first few lines. Therefore, I am not going to drag this one and start writing that I came across, the incidences, the faces. It is more of a personal documentation as I know that these stories would be lost somewhere if not bookmarked now. Take what you can and leave what you think needs or is felt to be expressed.

0

Oct 31, 2015

Oct 31, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC

1.1

Life as a word, as a concept, has been very intriguing for me. The trip however, that happened a few days back, has left me with new questions while some of the previous ones that I had seem answered, for now. I am particularly not good with writing long texts, long pages of articles that might make sense when read all together at once. Generally, all of what I start off with the intention of writing about, loses its essence after the first few lines. Therefore, I am not going to drag this one and start writing that I came across, the incidences, the faces. It is more of a personal documentation as I know that these stories would be lost somewhere if not bookmarked now. Take what you can and leave what you think needs or is felt to be expressed.

2

Slithering through my skin inch by inch makes its way down bursting opening the bubble the premier cell on the surface meander, wander yonder, a crimson state gnawing to get a base for existence basis for existence existence trickling, shades and textures sizes and characters seeking something better something raw something juicy with more news than you, probably, droplets of evaporation sublimation a Freud theory in disguise gone wrong for most, most parts till it doesn’t slide to my lips in playful bouts tasting of salt.

0

Sep 14, 2015

Sep 14, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC

Salt.

Slithering through my skin inch by inch makes its way down bursting opening the bubble the premier cell on the surface meander, wander yonder, a crimson state gnawing to get a base for existence basis for existence existence trickling, shades and textures sizes and characters seeking something better something raw something juicy with more news than you, probably, droplets of evaporation sublimation a Freud theory in disguise gone wrong for most, most parts till it doesn’t slide to my lips in playful bouts tasting of salt.

25

The breathing is composite Of the infinite years that we've sung through Of the infinite possibilities that could be to life But its me and you again, Us in the corners of the world Or maybe the core of it all Where white stars refuse to diminish And bend down a powerful light A time lapse so strong You have your string held tight And mine on the other side might Not be as pulled hard on Let's not be a broken mirror in a scraped out wooden frame tilting behind an abandoned, old barn, with a messy hay stack open, the meta strings untied rained upon walked upon more often than it was originally supposed to be. Lets not be a predefined song blasting through the ears at 3:49 am on a digital clock in a dingy, cold studio apartment which hardly makes sense to what one feels, at that moment but blasting in the ears, anyway because the silence is too deep for your existence, to bear too fragile, to make this heart pound flesh out and about beat the veins, upturned memories spit out some venom, some close to perfection in a moment brief, unexpectedly Although knowing it had to happen a long time ago. Lets be a coral in the deep shimmering, look at the odds through scattered, refracted, reflected, light, only to fill up its dream not being the blind box of colors only hoped in its heart. Lets be a lost star in a far away galaxy appearing to some like a planet escalating like a meteor not being defined, yet existing. Lets be an endless well quenching thirsts, unknown bursting possibilities feeling a little too much than what was defined or hoped.

0

Jun 7, 2015

Jun 7, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC

Exceeding Hopes.

The breathing is composite Of the infinite years that we've sung through Of the infinite possibilities that could be to life But its me and you again, Us in the corners of the world Or maybe the core of it all Where white stars refuse to diminish And bend down a powerful light A time lapse so strong You have your string held tight And mine on the other side might Not be as pulled hard on Let's not be a broken mirror in a scraped out wooden frame tilting behind an abandoned, old barn, with a messy hay stack open, the meta strings untied rained upon walked upon more often than it was originally supposed to be. Lets not be a predefined song blasting through the ears at 3:49 am on a digital clock in a dingy, cold studio apartment which hardly makes sense to what one feels, at that moment but blasting in the ears, anyway because the silence is too deep for your existence, to bear too fragile, to make this heart pound flesh out and about beat the veins, upturned memories spit out some venom, some close to perfection in a moment brief, unexpectedly Although knowing it had to happen a long time ago. Lets be a coral in the deep shimmering, look at the odds through scattered, refracted, reflected, light, only to fill up its dream not being the blind box of colors only hoped in its heart. Lets be a lost star in a far away galaxy appearing to some like a planet escalating like a meteor not being defined, yet existing. Lets be an endless well quenching thirsts, unknown bursting possibilities feeling a little too much than what was defined or hoped.

64

its not like i don’t have more clothes or that its my favorite pair it just fits me in a way that i really would’ve supposed life and people to fit me when i were really small and by small i mean my age, young and now, at this age i think my ego forbids me to acknowledge much than i would want to but the feelings remain the same its what it wears that same piece of clothing again and again because it knows my skin each cell in my body being aware of its existence and it might have started feeling to me like home, a place of familiarity beyond belief beyond the actual existence of one such place and maybe that every vein and every strand of my hair and every drop of blood flowing through is not prepared to let go of that That that feels like home One that might not even exist.

0

May 28, 2015

May 28, 2015 at 3:54 AM UTC

Clothes.

its not like i don’t have more clothes or that its my favorite pair it just fits me in a way that i really would’ve supposed life and people to fit me when i were really small and by small i mean my age, young and now, at this age i think my ego forbids me to acknowledge much than i would want to but the feelings remain the same its what it wears that same piece of clothing again and again because it knows my skin each cell in my body being aware of its existence and it might have started feeling to me like home, a place of familiarity beyond belief beyond the actual existence of one such place and maybe that every vein and every strand of my hair and every drop of blood flowing through is not prepared to let go of that That that feels like home One that might not even exist.

27

I saw her I saw her smile Focus out through the sparkle Reflecting from her danglers And the ones in the atmosphere. Turquoise sequinned with beige Crackers, all around her Our first new year Where she took me by My hand, entangling fingers Lacing, when she thought she'd Lost me,skipping between White walls and brown floors Finding a way out Through the maze. Low hung ceiling lamps. Dragging me back through my memory doors Remains the same White walls and brown floors While I wait outside. Inside you're having your chemo. Crackers Inside my heart Slithering through my mouth I see her in between Those flinging and swinging Prayer flags, I recollect Hanging them in the backyard Of our home, you Bargained them out A flea market, before That year's Diwali You had inside of you A life that would bless us In three months. A tangerine Georgette Saree And rhyming with it, Rani colored bangles Sneaking up on the roof. Crackers White walls, wooden floors You lie quiet, unmoved. A skyrocket ups in a distance As I light you up in flames. Crackers You'd always come back Focusing, defocusing My memories' pitaara Sparkling, dangling Skipping and lacing Through all those crackers Lighting me up

0

May 19, 2015

May 19, 2015 at 4:21 AM UTC

Crackers.

I saw her I saw her smile Focus out through the sparkle Reflecting from her danglers And the ones in the atmosphere. Turquoise sequinned with beige Crackers, all around her Our first new year Where she took me by My hand, entangling fingers Lacing, when she thought she'd Lost me,skipping between White walls and brown floors Finding a way out Through the maze. Low hung ceiling lamps. Dragging me back through my memory doors Remains the same White walls and brown floors While I wait outside. Inside you're having your chemo. Crackers Inside my heart Slithering through my mouth I see her in between Those flinging and swinging Prayer flags, I recollect Hanging them in the backyard Of our home, you Bargained them out A flea market, before That year's Diwali You had inside of you A life that would bless us In three months. A tangerine Georgette Saree And rhyming with it, Rani colored bangles Sneaking up on the roof. Crackers White walls, wooden floors You lie quiet, unmoved. A skyrocket ups in a distance As I light you up in flames. Crackers You'd always come back Focusing, defocusing My memories' pitaara Sparkling, dangling Skipping and lacing Through all those crackers Lighting me up

52

I'm walking to her grave Every once in a while Not by a will that belongs to me But a promise I made In the name of the Almighty The day we wed Me to my vows and she, Obliging to her parents Cheating me, fulfilling her chalice With lust and mine with hurt and hate. The syringes lying on the floor one noon Petrifying our daughter, an overdose And overflow of blood and spitting Her heart out, she left Bitter vows, an unfilled unholy grail Lingering between us clouds of smoke And even though the floor Towards her grave Is patterned irregular cobblestones Stuffed with snow in the crevices Its my heart That feels a cold stone pavement.

0

May 15, 2015

May 15, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC

Stone Pavement.

I'm walking to her grave Every once in a while Not by a will that belongs to me But a promise I made In the name of the Almighty The day we wed Me to my vows and she, Obliging to her parents Cheating me, fulfilling her chalice With lust and mine with hurt and hate. The syringes lying on the floor one noon Petrifying our daughter, an overdose And overflow of blood and spitting Her heart out, she left Bitter vows, an unfilled unholy grail Lingering between us clouds of smoke And even though the floor Towards her grave Is patterned irregular cobblestones Stuffed with snow in the crevices Its my heart That feels a cold stone pavement.

22

There’s a beauty in the path that I followed White carpet and lavender border The uneven terrains that I skip and trotter on A freshness engulfs the atmosphere I could stay in bliss and a state of wonder The dragonflies, flickering light A constant urge to learn and explore Entendamonos The hills have called me home.

0

Apr 21, 2015

Apr 21, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC

D2

There’s a beauty in the path that I followed White carpet and lavender border The uneven terrains that I skip and trotter on A freshness engulfs the atmosphere I could stay in bliss and a state of wonder The dragonflies, flickering light A constant urge to learn and explore Entendamonos The hills have called me home.

9

A cluster of bamboo shoots Out of ground Into the air There's smoke A grasshopper hides Half behind my balcony Drain hole I think of the city And people I left behind I have no care in the world Because nature fulfills The human wants Our soul food Nothing tastes as good Because nature fulfills The human needs No aggression, no greed The chirp of the birds Those faint conversations A cup of tea Sitting between greenary It's a shame we forget How a wonderful place We're born in Give in to city life's fallacies The chirp, the whistle The hills, the green The silence. What could you want more?

0

Apr 14, 2015

Apr 14, 2015 at 11:31 PM UTC

D1

A cluster of bamboo shoots Out of ground Into the air There's smoke A grasshopper hides Half behind my balcony Drain hole I think of the city And people I left behind I have no care in the world Because nature fulfills The human wants Our soul food Nothing tastes as good Because nature fulfills The human needs No aggression, no greed The chirp of the birds Those faint conversations A cup of tea Sitting between greenary It's a shame we forget How a wonderful place We're born in Give in to city life's fallacies The chirp, the whistle The hills, the green The silence. What could you want more?

29

Shards of words A stack of blank papers now unstacked A trail of coffee Traced from the machine right next To me, I love it black And a quill In an open bottle of ink My thoughts spilled on it like oil Shards of words Refusing to dissolve or Come together Shards I lie there cursing the night the dawn to break For in moonlight you appear all but a ghost.

0

Apr 1, 2015

Apr 1, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC

Shards.

Shards of words A stack of blank papers now unstacked A trail of coffee Traced from the machine right next To me, I love it black And a quill In an open bottle of ink My thoughts spilled on it like oil Shards of words Refusing to dissolve or Come together Shards I lie there cursing the night the dawn to break For in moonlight you appear all but a ghost.

15