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Monisha Sep 2020
We met many many years back
When the realisation hit that I may need you
I met you at home and the street  but as a vision
When my mum constantly reminded me to get you home
I rebelled and didn’t want to
I met you in my tears
When someone wanted you
More than me,
I met you in disdain
When I saw many who had you
But strutted around in false pride.
And I didn’t want you.

And here you are,
Many moons later,
Wherein I rediscovered you.
It was never you, it was the picture I painted.
I am getting closer to you now
Fresh canvas,
Wispy and comforting,
Uplifting like a kite 🪁 in the sky,
You’re blooming,
You smell fresh as a 🌹.

You’re “getting lighter”,
And  to me now it is not my weight in body,
But the heaviness in my heart and mind,
That I am getting lighter with.
And as I do, I find you so comforting,
You were always my friend,
I didn’t see you
As people and my heaviness painted you as an enemy,
You’re my angel
And I know you better,
Getting closer to you,
Whispy, floating and free.
I like you lightness,
You’re me now.

You so want to come closer to me,
Constantly trying to invade  my mind,
Tentacle my  thoughts and dreams.
But hey I get you,
I am going to set you free.
Because now you’re inside of me
And my journey in the  here and now is to be.
You’re sweet and I get you,  
But sweetness is one flavour,
And I like it spicy and tangy as well,
A tad bitter, some more there,
So I’ll just set you free.

Now, I am free,
Whispy and floating,
Pink and sparkly,
Becoming me...
Monisha Feb 2020
When I was just a little girl,
And as little girls were taught then,
I played with dolls and a teaset,
Made mudcakes for food,
Wore skirts, made my hair into ponytails as I was let.
I saw the boys with the abandon which comes with free wear and play,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was older, a teen
and as teen girls were taught then,
Walk, talk, rock softly
Don’t draw too much attention
Or attempt to explore too much.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom to play, sit, be as they want  ,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was sixteen, oh sweet sixteen,
And as sixteen year old girls were taught then,
Don’t wear clothes that show your frame,
That’s indecent and you will be in another home and will incur alot of blame.
Don’t wander, argue, or express an opinion,
You’re a girl, being humble, quiet and gentle becomes you.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with freedom of movement and speech,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was older, and passionately sought a particular career,
I was admonished as many other girls in my time,
It’s not a career for women, late nights, more men to be around,
When you get married, that’s not going to work and troubles will abound.
I saw the boys then with the abandon which comes with the  freedom of pursuing their dreams,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

When I was married, and setting a home, working  and raising a family,
I left my work as many other girls in my time,
For my husband to follow his work path,
Unquestioningly, unflinchingly, resolutely.
I saw the men then with the abandon which comes with freedom of being in control of their lives,
And I thought to myself, why am I a girl.

But this is just the surface of my questioning being a girl,
When boys and men around tried their stunts on girls and women,
I questioned my existence.
When many girls and women I know,
Were told to stay mum on men close who took advantage of them
I questioned my existence.
When In the workspace,
Women got paid less than men because their salary were subtly looked at as secondary salaries,
Or needed to speak louder to be heard,
I questioned my existence.
When the onus of keeping a relationship working  was the woman’s responsibility largely,
I questioned my existence.
When a woman got hit by her spouse,
Its she who may have provoked him.
When a man strayed,
Its she who was not a good enough wife that he had to look elsewhere.
I questioned my existence.

The atrocities many men are capable of,
The filth many men spread,
****, hate, aggression, manipulation and more
Abuse, gaslighting inside closed doors,
Wearing a mask of sophistication outside
Animalistic and entitled beings to the core.

My apologies to men who are not,
And I know some,
But they are but a handful,
Too insignificant in the larger way the world works.

But then I see me,
A harbinger of change,
In my home and around.
Raising my son differently,
Advocating for change purposively,
Actioning resolutely what’s right,
Woman for women with all my might.
I see so many more women now who retain their selves and are beacons of hope,
They don’t sit around and just mope.

And I am glad I am a girl,
And I question no more,
I question no more.
Monisha Jan 2020
Hope and desire ,
Want and fire,  
The dawn, the start,
new beginnings, empty cart
New year, and jan of first,
Parched us in that undeniable thirst.

Brush away the old, learn anew,
Wee bit carte blanche, to run askew,
Every year same old story,
Can revelry sometimes be a tad gory.

A moment of solitude,
To think about those who can’t,
Pause pause pause,
Change the rant.

All those resolutions,
and the mutinous cacophony,
Let peace reign supreme
and create a veritable symphony.  

Bid adieu to  resolutions and to do’s in your head,
this cycle shall  break
Create  a “to don’t” list instead...

Don’t pressure yourself  to party
Don’t  forget to be thankful for this year
No matter this years sorrow,
There is that beautiful promise
Of a beckoning tomorrow.

Don’t set any more resolutions,
Live each day with gratitude,
When the new year becomes old
You’ll have many a tale untold.

Don’t stay in the past,
It binds in Chains,
Unfettered you soar,
Hopes, desires, wings and more.

Hope is a song,
It’s notes lilting
It’s wings shiny
And it’s span embracing.

2020 let’s  call you hope
2020 let’s  call you love
2020 more than anything
Let’s  call you dawn of another day...

Monisha Dec 2019
Waning dulcet tones,
Waging winds clamour,
Trees shedding their garb
Taking a chance with the tremor.
December, December, December!

Brown grass, Gray skies,
Hibernating desires,
Shorter days,
Pauses, sighs and whys.  
décembre, décembre, décembre!

Huddles warm and soothing,
Wuthering and whithering away,
Cracking fires that once were
Only remnants of embers remain.
Diciembre, Diciembre, Diciembre!

Wintery sun, caressed once
The skies await,half awake,
wanting, waning, waking,
What lies ahead, you mysterious you...
दिसंबर, दिसंबर, दिसंबर!
Monisha Oct 2019
Some of us, few of us,
Maybe he and  you,
and certainly me too,

Carve our worlds,
Different worlds,
Wanting, desiring,
Seeking the different.

Dark, gloriously different,
Decadent, wild and free,
beautiful to you and me.

Something elusive,  exotic and maybe ******,
mysteriously something out of the ordinary.

Sometimes we find it,
Sometimes we do not,
And we continue seeking the different,
It’s so achingly sought.
Monisha Oct 2019
Just like that,
I felt a sprinkle of pain,
You know the kind that gnaws and grows,
And nibbles your insides.

What started it, I wonder,
A buried thought,
a deserted experience,
Befallen, buried, squashed,
Run asunder, but still alive.

It pushes through the barriers to say,
Hey you! Yes you!
I exist,
Don’t think your looking away,
Will stop me coming back, some day.

Huh! I beat it hollow,
and there it’s slimy self crept back,
I had learnt not to feed it as it would grow,
I keep it on such a strict spartan diet,
My oh My! Look how bulbous it looks!

Hmmmm! Pain, were you feeding inside of me merrily while I was asleep,
Chewing my tissues, chomp chomp, burp,
Deep so very deep,
I feel I am missing a bone or two,
you gluttonous pain,
I am sure you’ve gobbled up many cells too.

Dark, gray, silent, doom,
Am I on for lifelong gloom,
Aah! Hrmph! Boo hooo!
What do I do,
So many around me,
Who do I reach out to?

Oh I do reach out,
And they say,
You? Couldn’t be,
You’re so strong,
It doesn’t fit you well, this pain you see!

I laugh, Is this pain
A size smaller for me,
Am I self indulgent,
In saying it hurts.

I start looking around,
And see many like me,
Laughter hiding the pain,
Cloaked well, their touch warm,
The tremble reaching out in vain.

It’s tough, this despair,
Sometimes with valid cause,
Many times so much accumulated,
Unaddressed, unmet, covered with gauze.
It rears it’s ugly head
For many
Eating their insides,
It’s canine jaws,
Sharp and unrelenting.

I still don’t have an answer,
Who does really,
Expectations, recriminations, justifications, validations, manipulations, mechanisations,
Eat us up a bit more.
We sleep off some days
hoping to sleep away to nothingness.

And then we arise to the morn,
The sun filtering through, casting its warmth,
A bird in the distance chirping away,
Pain still there but so are my fingers glowing like starlight along the Milky Way,
My limbs stretch and I purr away,
The clocks tick tock,
Reminds me of a chance,
A new beginning,
A fresh start,
A fresh me,
A wounded but mighty heart!  

Facing my pain instead of sublimating it,
Nursing it tenderly instead of ill treating it,
I know you’ll ease out, heal out,
And I will be better each day,
Because this life, this beautiful life,
Is worth living each moment, every day.

When I face you, I shall share you,
Tell your story to those I want to,
And suddenly, you will feel acknowledged and dance way into the oblivion because you’ve been sung to, heard, cuddled and celebrated.

Till then, I trudge along...
This is an ode to so many of us who carry burdens of hurt, unresolved pain, and stories to self which need to be heard. May you seek and find those willing to listen and hold your hand, sometimes that’s all it takes, sometimes you need more, but seek you must. I send you my love and hugs and Godspeed to find your pain and acknowledge it, only then healing starts.
Monisha Sep 2019
मुझे तंहाई अच्छी लगती है,
ख़ुद से बातें, सची लगतीं हैं,
बस हाथ में चाय या काैफी की प्याली हो,
और पुराने से कैफे  में,काैफी ब्रू की महक हो
और ऐसे में  कुछ यादें बस यूँही याद आ जाती  है।

टेबल अगर थोड़ा  गहरा हो,
थोड़ा घिसा, थोड़ा मैला हो,
कुर्सी थोड़ी कड़ कड़ करती हुई
अपना अस्तित्व जताती हुई।

कॉफ़ी का मग या चाई की प्याली,
चीनी मीटि की बनी हो,
गाड़े नीले या हरे रंग की,
लकीरें समय की समेटे हुए,
समुद्र की तरह  सब जानने वाली, समाने वाली।

दिन हो तो, भीनी भीनी सी,
इठलाती, बल खाती किरणें,
श्याम हो तो, पुराने लैम्प की,
हल्की, मघम रोशनी,
ऐक अरसे की याद दिलाते हुऐ।

सोच कर थोड़ी मुस्कराहटें आती हैं,
और आँखें नम सी भी हो जाती हैं,
जब कुछ लम्हे परचाईयों की तरह
एक जुट हो जाते हैं।

कितनी बाज़ुऐं इस टेबल पर टिकी होंगी,
सामनेवाले की कही सुनने के लिए आँखे झुखी होंगी,
कितने अरमानो की कश्ती,
समुद्री गहराइयों में निडर गोते खा रही होंगी।

वो कश्मकश से दूर,
पर, किन्तु, परन्तु से परे,
मीठी, मासूम और कुछ करने की चाहत लिए,
वोह पल याद आतें हैं।

और फिर सोचतीं हूँ,
वो यादें रंगीन थी,
ज़िंदगी की तरह, बेहतरीन  थी,
और आज का क्या विचार है,
चलिए आज कुछ और यादें बनाते हैं
कल कॉफ़ी पर उनको याद कर जाते हैं।
A poem depicting the passage of time, celebrating the past but also mindful of the magic of the present.
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