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Jas Nov 2020
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𝘞𝘩𝘒𝘡 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳?
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We should retrace our steps
Maybe, visit here later?
Jas Nov 2020
When, in time, where a moment
Of intense desire tips the jar of elucidation
Sets loose a smoothly sailing stream
Down a hungry throat
To the awaiting gullet stuffed with malaise,
Can the rage of enzymes be heard?
Will the breath of despair, and the wailing brew
Of alcohol make peace in silence,
Or is the feat of the battle proclaimed in slurs?

When, in time, will the meager klinks of newborn knees
Ring as explicitly as creaks in an ancient house?
Will screams of hunger conceive compassion
Or should thee be mocked and exiled
To recover from the blithe shame of dependency and impatience?

Hear the sounds tread in darkness
Pleading, crying in the embrace of frigid walls and sterile corners.
Record the rhythm of footsteps
Echoing and fraying -
Taste the smeared sweat of exertion.
Count the patches of lost paint
Stolen and stowed beneath polished nails.

Hold me similarly while I recover.
Show me while I regain sobriety that I was caught
When, in time, I was lost in misery.
  Oct 2020 Jas
I don't have wings

But I want to go away like a bird flies.

On the first day of spring ,

I want to free myself from all the ties.

Migrating from one place to another,

The places I have been having my worn out feather.

My destination is nowhere ,

I just want to explore.

Not interested in knowing anyone,

I wanna know myself little more.

Thinking about bad weather can stop me from flying ,

I trust my feather and I can't stop trying.

One day I will fall and I want to fall like a feather.

Not too early ,

Swinging in the mid air with feathers altogether.

- Rishita
Feather - A poem for a dreamer .
Imagination don't have any flaws.
Jas Oct 2020
The rules of this game are clear.
It wins, typically;
A calm revoir
Imorisoned by a mind caught in rapture
In exile, persuades itself to be mute -
It recons with stealth during confession
Forges allegiance amongst its armies
For the sake of survival, and marries
The other which has proven to be insidious,
  Oct 2020 Jas
Nat Lipstadt
~for the wild child, daughter, wife, mother~

I am drifting into the tender part of the night, when deceit is pointless, and I argue with conviction within myself that in our lives that it will never be too late, but I know I contradict my prior musing...somewhere between the fact that time is a wasting commodity, precocious and precious, lives this idea within, that there is nothing that cannot be navigated, recompensed,  even forgiven...

the argument goes on, the tide of battle switching back and forth, and for now I must be satisfied with the meagerness of I can’t give up, be at ease by acknowledging defeat, not just yet, and the fast arrival of a clean slate is a chance, a draw, a ticket to ride, and,


is a wonderful idea, full of compromise, out and in, extra effort, and tomorrow I may yet teach one of us, even myself, by reaching inside of what churns within, and then have the perfect words you require, for a desperate need, and a comforting that comes forth easily
Jas Oct 2020
I'm finding it hard to digest these seeds planted in me
It's just not the right climate
For these sprouts to form rigid
Skins, and protrude through the dirt
This *** is barren and desolate.

Once in the spring I felt a bud bloom from these
Sweet caresses, oh I leaned in to soak up the medicine
From this foreign sun -
Light I'd been swimming in.

It grew and grew
Rose and slouched when it needed to
When these kind words faltered with truth
And this wind was too strong to master
Flower, subdued
For the night;

If I knew of the petals that would grow, this sweet flower
Sticking to you - inclined towards you
Would wither and grow grey,
Jasmine loses its color when the season doesn't stay, we grew fond of you.

The new, the pollination, my roots
This milk ran clear - oh, it grew and it grew
Wild flower in me is hard to digest because it's meant for two.
What can I be and what can I do?

Jasmine will always be fragrant and rich
Roots entangled, petals upturned
Growing in bunches, leaves left to spare
No room is wasted
But overcrowded, but
No one is in need of perfume.

Time is dwindling, nature is blue and patient
Bees are forgiving and gentle in hue
But no sharp words
No love so cold helps these seeds grow
My garden is land that cannot produce, or
Waken these seeds that are buried, and scared to brave the temperature

Flowers stay hidden, too.
Jas Oct 2020
My ears and my mind focus on the cicadas
Their cries erupt from their bellies in chorus
The sound of rubber sweeping the asphalt, townsmen racing across the bridge to escape the water.
The sunset was beautiful
hues of pink, orange and warm peach stretching across the horizon -
I watched the sky live minute after minute in the water's reflection, and I wanted to fly in that world
To be at peace in the depth until the glow of heaven's light reveals me in the reflection,
To jump in and leave the docks above me.
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