Some days it feels like the world has twisted
Like the earth took a wrong rotation
Then it tried to fix it
but something didn't quite fit
There must be a crack somewhere
Where we all keep stumbling
One after another, day after day
Like a pile of dominoes
Welcome to the year 2020
20 dominoes that fell down
1...2...3...4...
20 things that went wrong
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 8:14 AM UTC
My child, with gentle footsteps you walk
While cruelly ticks away the mocking clock
With a heavy heart, I hide behind the cloak of courage
My child you were once, now headed for marriage
Darling, I remember when I first held you in my arms
With naive pride, I promised I will protect you from all harms
O little angel of mine, there’s a part of me that wishes I could ask you to stay
And go back to the wonderful days, when marriage for you was a doll’s play
This boy you brought home, he asks me for your hand
Says I love her, sir, I hope you would understand
My sweetheart, I know you love him more than anything
But the desire to keep you close seems so beautifully tempting
The red sari suits you quite well, my dear
My little angel, you look so beautiful and pure
My darling child, much too young to depart
The home and love of this father’s poor heart
Standing here, with my eyes helplessly filled
Oh, how I wish I could have this moment stilled
I watch as with a pinch of red vermilion he marks you as his
And I smile as I watch your face glowing with pure bliss
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
I've dreamt a little dream
Tucked it in, safe and snug
In that little corner of my mind
Resting, 'til it feels that tug
When my heart gives a call
As it sees my eyes begin to awaken
The dream will break its slumber
The cloak of past defeats, gladly forsaken
I stand, eager and willing
To embark proudly into the night
With confidence my armour
And my only friend, the moonlight
Shadows no longer scare me
As they follow me down the road
My doubts and insecurities left behind
No worries, I've finally broken the code
I wade through the darkness
To reach the other side
My nervous shakes' not a weakness
But a roar to the tide
I will swim through the tumultous waters
Of destiny and time
The stars will no longer write my fate
Let the clock chime
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 8:51 AM UTC
Some time since ink bled
On these lazy fingertips, poet
Clean hands; a disgrace!
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC
Wait; don’t pull the sheets, just yet
Give me a moment to breathe, to let the last tear fall
A broken heart still lies on an unmade bed
Let the smoke clear of the red stained cigarette
It’s funny, how even in daylight, a whisper darkens all
Wait; don’t pull the sheets, just yet
What is love, if not an exciting game of roulette?
Time played its hand; better place a bet, fate now holds the ball
A broken heart still lies on an unmade bed
To be fair, it wasn’t all blood, tears and sweat
Who was the winner who was the loser? It was far too close to call
Wait; don’t pull the sheets, just yet
Tell me, would I be easy, to write off as a love lost; to forget
Or do you, like me, spend sleepless nights, for a late night phone call
A broken heart still lies on an unmade bed
Don’t close your eyes, there isn’t much to regret
I’m not ready yet, to release my breath; for the curtain call
Wait; don’t pull the sheets, just yet
A broken heart still lies on an unmade bed
-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
She is standing on the brink of sanity
looking for something to hold on
She is twenty-six years old, watching a world go by
and wondering whether she belonged
An artist’s child she is, playing with fire;
uncertain if the rug would be pulled from beneath her feet
or if it would just burn in magnificent flames
scratching into her eyes calling forth her tears
She is everyone and no one
She is an idea, a rumor, an imagination
and the last piece of a puzzle that no one tried to solve
She is the pain in pleasure and the pleasure in pain
She is the terrifying beauty of life
She is addiction with a veil of innocence
clinging on to her like a possessive lover
She is curiosity with wide beckoning eyes
She is sin, a devil’s temptation
with delicate grace as enchanting as a lost nymph
She is the woman lying in his bed cocooned in sheets
stained with her blood
with a red so bright that it threatens to claw his eyes out
She is poetry with lyrical verses of wild hair
matted with dirt and blood,
ends curling down the edge of his pillow
She is music with symphonies of chattering teeth
and rustling clothes against smooth ivory skin,
borne of a night as cold as the heart she accused him of bearing
She is forgiveness with serene smiles on lips
as soft as a butterfly’s wings and a small hand outstretched
to clasp his and paint it with red pigments of defeat and strength
She is death with haunting eyes the color of warm honey
that his mum used to feed him
on rainy afternoons he spent curled up in her lap
But he has never been so peaceful
in his entire pathetic existence,
For if death is as exquisite as her
then perhaps death was what he had been searching for all along
-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
with quiet mischief;
on the brink of sanity
sleeps insanity
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 6:32 AM UTC
I wasn’t born to write
With every bent petal,
and every fallen leaf,
my ma’s sweet kisses
And papa’s gentle smile
I learned to write
A five year old me was once fascinated
by the loop of an ‘e’
and the playful swing of an ‘m’,
The wide smile of a ‘d’ delighted me
Words were powerful and mesmerising,
now they lie discarded and ignored
in broken stanzas of self proclaimed irrelevance
I watch the black ugly marks
That taints countless sheets of paper
They surround me in a sea of ink
That once flowed carefully and slowly
A thousand thoughts with each single word
Drained lies my mind, my breath’s not a whisper but a plea
My heart pumps blood not ink, I’m not a poet, it says
Incoherent scribblings mock me with their existence
As a child, confined spaces scared me
But now, a confined mind petrifies me with just a glimpse
A pen stays gripped in my hand
I wonder what it fears more
My inability to let the ink flow coherently
Or my arrogant ramblings, regardless
And fearless of consequences
While I stumble on disjointed verses
A paper aeroplane is my best accomplishment
In my two hour search for freedom and thought
Who cares for pretty words and mystifying couplets?
When the idea of a paper boat seems much more exciting
-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC