Don’t leave me alone,
because every time you smile,
the dimples in your cheeks
come out like commas drawn in my life
reminding me – this is not the end.
Don’t leave me alone
because your whispers add background music
to my otherwise quiet life,
Your fingers choreograph the perspective
of my eyes and make sure hope clings to each corner,
and I learn to hallucinate better than before- it is beautiful.
Don’t leave me alone
because I promise when next time you sit next to me,
my incessant words won’t transform into question marks,
only my eyes will look at you occasionally
in case you miss the talk.
Don’t leave me alone
because I promise this too,
on the days when you heart is too full
to accommodate the memories of the past,
we will go to your favorite river side
and let them find their way out
into the endless stream.
Don’t leave me alone,
because staring at horizon alone is boring,
besides nobody talks about the expanse of these abbreviated colors
into our lives.
Don’t leave me alone
because I refuse to have a life without you,
may be I should have told you this in the beginning,
instead of writing a poem.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC
Keep the windows open, in case it wants to fly away
maybe it is bored of playing hide and seek,
resting in between the empty spaces where even clock does not like to visit.
Keep the lids of sugar containers a little lose,
chances are, it will come back to the ones with whom it closely shares its nature,
How else did you think, there was sweetness in your life.
And do keep the inkpots full, because once it is back,
it might like to take a dip
and scamper its complaints on your skin
like tattoos, permanent tattoos.
It is love after all, and love will find a way.
But what if it does not come back?
Will you go out and look for it,
May be it is disguised in the red of the maple sitting in your garden and you thought it’s the nature,
May be these are its cold feelings soothing your sweaty temples on a hot summer afternoon – yet you moved on cursing the weather,
May be it is the warmth rising in fumes of the bonfire – but you heart is too chilled to feel it,
May be it is resting in your favorite banana walnut cake or folded in the layers of your favorite cheddar cheese risotto – but this only had to be your diet week.
Yes! You were looking, only if you knew where to look.
This time, look inside your heart.
turn off the lights….
hear your heart pounding louder, as if murmuring the prayers secretly,
feel the expanse of your lungs inside your rib-cage, airing the wings of otherwise rested butterflies,
wear its memories like a halo
and know when your feet sweep off the earth
it will arrive.
When the tears trickle from the corner of your eyes
and shine like medals of love under the moon lit sky,
when you will listen to the whispers of a quiet night,
know that it will arrive.
When you sit by the window
fingers scattered precisely to weave into its size,
lips waiting to seal the promise, no ink pots, no quills this time,
know that it will arrive.
When you are sure you don’t have to rely on the sugar containers to keep it by your side,
know that it will arrive.
And hold on this time because you must,
who knows what happens next time.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
Observing the uncanny sea waves
wrestling with each other
proclaim rivalry
as they roar through the buffeting gales
is no less than watching a war.
They rise like jeweled swords
hypnotized by moon lit sky,
pouncing preferably,
piercing through the enemy -bleeding avarice which
coagulates and transforms the silver swaying sheets to smug ridden breath choking dark blankets.
Rhapsodic survivors continue the slaughter
cajoled by dark brown ghosts of the shore
glinting occasionally with gravitated silver shafts,
looking like an enticing bejeweled throne during twilight, mere boulders
anxious to receive its new master and feeling maudlin
for the ones fallen in battle, dead.
Some are left behind and some
reach the destination at last,
forfeiting,
once a powerful individuality
to infinite, anonymous dots
evaporating only to form the clouds of incessant covet
waiting patiently for the seasons to change its course, again.
Makes me wonder, we inspire them or vice versa
-Pallavi
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
If you ever wondered what do I sound like
and pictured me like untamed winds on rainy nights,
humming melodies in chorus with raindrops
and spilling dulcet tones off holy concert
Or contemplated I would be as synchronized
as the sound of a calm water fall,
off a sharp cliff erupting euphony
every time its hits the bottom in a xylophonic fashion
Or believed I would be as patient
as a cuckoo reciting her syllables religiously,
calling out to her mate every evening,
let go
Let go your fallacious thoughts.
I am not a piano, violin, xylophone, flute or a guitar
I am
A tender heart who squeaks like squirrel
when exposed to unprecedented depths of uncertainty.
An introvert who sounds like a voice narrowed down into a tunnel
cascading echo in batches when exposed to unfamiliar faces.
A small town girl who orchestrates her crescendo in vain
when the slightest ray of hope is felt.
A fearless soul singing silently while her hands spill cacophony
when exposed to prejudiced ways.
A fiery lover whose heart beats on high tempo of passion
and spill music off desires.
Come in, know me better.
-Pallavi
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 10:04 AM UTC
Broken relationships unlike broken bones
don't make noise when they crack,
neither do they shriek out of an unbearable pain.
Their sequence of suffering is different,
beginning at heart with
a discomforting pain at the edges,
moving towards its center and strangle,
spilling the torment from eyes
Broken relationships unlike broken bones
cannot be healed with a plaster cast
or feel better if put to rest.
Though, they unknowingly do repose-
anticipate healing,
which is only a woeful void,
filling back with stronger protests
and irrevocable agony .
But once broken,they all are same
splintered and dejected,
desperate to gather but feeble
seeking refuge in the days of healing.
And once repaired, they are no different,
cracks heal but scars remain,
like trophies screaming the struggle.
Forgotten pain stays nestled in disguised hidings,
longing to come back with a slightest wrench.
Be careful!
-Pallavi
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
Fear is only a swarm of butterflies
resting inside your lungs secretly,
fluttering, every time you breathe,
impeding the smooth passage of air
provoking fake illusions of fright.
Sooner than you,
your body becomes their much sought adventure
and when they take a flight down to your stomach,
set idioms come to life - " i feel butterfly in my stomach"
making you feeling anxious or anticipate nervously "what's next?"
Little did you know,
you could pull them back to your lungs
and push them out with your determined breathing
only to see a rainbow erupting from lips,
not falling back in semicircles , but
rising sharp till the horizon,
breaking myths of conventional fears
and germinating new ideas of observing life.
Just- take the charge.
-Pallavi Goswami
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 3:37 AM UTC
If you were a glass of scotch,sans soda
sparkling like gem stones on rocky ice
or
A tiny shot of tequila,besieged
in a castle of glass,pleading
not guilty through out,
I could quaff you down
my parched throat, like
an elixir,stung
by short lived fearless wisdom.
But you are not.
You are a castle
amidst the infinite sea,
not made of glass,
concocted in layers,
masking the answers,to questions
i could never ask,
buoyant by wisdom hidden in your pillars,
resplendent by your tall embossed walls, with figures,
an index of its sagacity,
chandeliers hanging like words of all kinds,
enlightening the castle at its pilgrims appeal,with
right words,
wrong words,
sensitive words
and
insensitive ones,
So many words.
And I too wish to feel your embossed skin
through my fingertips,
with each flip,
gaining access to the your light.
I wish to stay afloat with you,
on your paras undulating
like sea waves of a quiet night,waiting
for an eternal dawn of wisdom.
-Pallavi Goswami
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
You could be my glass of scotch,sans soda
sparkling like gem stones on rocky ice
or
A tiny shot of tequila,besieged
in a castle of glass,pleading
not guilty through out
and
I could quaff you down
my parched throat, like
an elixir,
stung by fearless wisdom ,but
just for tonight.
So, let me drink
you through words,
one at a time
right words,
wrong words,
sensitive words
and
insensitive ones,
So many words.
So, let me taste
you through my fingertips,
taking down to you mine
through each flip, like
a token of appreciation, against
generosity bestowed,
none plundered.
So, let me drown
into paras, undulating
like sea waves, on seeing full moon.
Let me sink,and
get high on them, but
Forever!.
-Pallavi Goswami
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
Let go the want to watch for
The gates to open,Like
Beyond lies fate, or
Attempts to hear a knock in between
The pauses of time,they call
It a blank space.
Let him fly to you
With the wind,riding
On its hem
swiftly and softly.
Let him land uninviting
With the sweet waters,on
Your parched lips.
Let him run an errand,and hold
You off-guard,
Let his fingers leeway
On your freckled cheeks, as if
Motifs embroidered to augment your beauty
Let him dig them across your little graceful curves
And hold with the fingertips,evoking
The resting neurons and laid back impulses
Let him move his lips,lightly
On the back of your neck
And heal its lovelorn shriveled surface,because
yours is butter-skin
Forgive, if the blood trickles,off
passion and smear
your colorless life.
-Pallavi Goswami
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:26 AM UTC
I open my window
All glass and glory,carved at the corners
Painted on it,my favorite lilies
Once i am done marvelling, i look beyond that
I see your Mahogany window, closed and curtailed
No life thrives beyond it, just some echos remain
Last year,a rural house was locked in this urban city
But alongside this house,a souvenir remains
A dark,dense,impenetrable peepul tree
It looks down, looks up
and looks three sixty degree
When fails to find his neighbor, we two together feel lonely.
Still , i see you scampering down the stairs and hiding in alley
Ignoring your mom's yelling, not bothering what consequence could be
waiting for me to come and rush to kiss me
holding me close and breathing inside me
Years of adolescence were drenched in rain
Not a moment without thoughts of each other, as naturally as in body a heart remains.
I was about to be eighteen , when you sneaked into my room
You brought with you candles, cake and one woeful news
My birthday wishes mocked at me as you were telling your story
You said " Baby! listen to me, it's time to move on,
there's life ahead of me waiting and i have ladders to climb
My ambitions won't let me sleep and as for you, we've had pretty good time."
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC