Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  Jun 2018 Meera
imai
LOVE
could be a question of
who
when
how
but never
‘why?’

LOVE
could be a matter of
falling unexpectedly
under the sweetly cool
november sky

LOVE
could sometimes be
a gradual burn
or high paced recklesness
laced with unmasked desperation
and a wordless goodbye

LOVE
could have been
you and I

but LOVE
I never would have thought
be fleeting and discreet-
surprisingly gone
the moment we meet

LOVE
as I now know it to be
is an erratic creature
neither bitter nor sweet

LOVE
is a moment
I would never forget-
his eyes aflame under
the painted sunset

LOVE
was him
and all the things we
left unsaid

LOVE
is now
nothing but a far memory-
that of a star that once burned the brightest but
now is
dead.
I saw him yesterday, for the first time in a while.
I was expecting butterflies and all the trouble that accompanied a girl in love, but I was greeted with none of those.
I felt calm. It seems that I have moved on.
I've written this poem a long time ago, but it is only now that I truly relate to it.
Meera May 2018
Girls like me don’t FALL in love
Instead we walk,  gracefully into it
Wearing red lipstick, black dress
And high heels

In one moment you’ll be the center of our universe
We’ll show all our love to thee
And in the very next ,you won’t mean anything to us
Cause we believe, detachment is the key

We’ll break your heart,
Leaving you with the pain
And you’ll struggle through the pieces
Till you are not so sane

We’ll tear open your wounds
And play with your scars
We’ll shine upon you
The lights of a million stars

Like siren we rise
Establishing our reign
You’ll weep and sigh
Your grieves in vain

But you know what is
W  O R S E
Once you have tasted our lips
You can’t kiss anyone else

And after this disaster you’ll wonder
Will spring come again?
No baby no
You’re not going to sustain

We can treat you like ****
And you’ll let us do that
We can push you out of the door
But you’ll always come back

The thing about girls like me is
You can never get over us
Don’t ask me why is that
You just simply can’t
Never fall in love with a girl like me. i repeat 'NEVER'
Meera May 2018
all                                                     my
happiness
                                 sorrows
lov­e
                 envy
desires  
                         passio­n  
virtues  
                   sins
darkness    
                           demons
tears and    
                            anguish

             in      a     wine    glass

             Would

              YOU

              like

             a

              sip?


                  Cause that's all I have to offer
Emotions are like wine..... both become stronger with time
Meera May 2018
Do they think I am ugly?
Do they feel I am dumb?
Am I hopeless? Am I stupid?
Am I worthless? Am I ****?

Do they even like me?
Or are they just being nice
Questions like these
Went daily through my mind

I acted like I ain’t afraid of anything
Like I am just being myself
Though inside I felt miserable
Like a cobweb on a shelf

On this very face of mine
I have put masks for years
Hiding all my insecurities
Hiding all my fears

I pretended to be
Someone I am not
A girl who looks pretty
A girl they think is hot

I kept putting on these masks
Till they became a part of me
As slowly and gradually
They grew to reality

But lately I realized
I was losing my soul
Living in a fake world
Growing up a hole

I didn’t have any idea
Who I actually was
When I came to terms with that
The masks began to fall

And as the masks fell one by one
There was a different girl underneath
A girl who could face her demons
And believe in herself

This was a journey with many hills
And sometimes it was ok to be in a valley
A mask may help to’ fake it ‘til you make it’
Until you start living your own poetry
After 6 months, 1k words and almost 100 followers, HePo feels like home how
Meera May 2018
The princess who chose
To live in exile
Holding  the hand of her husband
With a beautiful smile

Framed in a guile by Ravan
But she didn't fall in his wicked ways
Despite being held captive
And tortured for nights and days

She refused to go with Hanuman
When he came to rescue her
Insisted that Rama come openly to defeat her captor
In Rama's honor exile did she prefer

On the Ravan's  defeat - to prove her purity
She had to walk through fire
But the flames neither touched her body
And nor her attire

The fire bowed in her honor
But that wasn't enough
For the clouds of gloom  
Were towering above

The world has never been fair to women
Despite of proving her purity
Sita had to leave
It was the height of cruelty

Cause Rama was as weak
In the face of his men
As strong he was
In front of Ravan

Rama- the man
Sita loved enough to die for
Asked her to leave
To the path that led abhor

Just imagine the way Sita would be looking at Rama
With whom she had to part
For he was standing dumb like a statue
When her world was falling apart

Would she have accused or looked down at him
As she asked mother earth to swallow her
She was going back to where she came from
In order to save the last shred of her honor
Sita was raised by King Janaka; she was not his natural daughter but sprang from a furrow when he was ploughing his field. Rama won her as his bride by bending Shiva’s bow, and she accompanied her husband when he went into exile. Though carried away to Lanka by Ravana, she kept herself chaste by concentrating her heart on Rama throughout her long imprisonment. On her return she asserted her purity and also proved it by voluntarily undergoing an ordeal by fire. Rama, however, banished her to the forest in deference to public opinion. There she gave birth to their two children, Kusha and Lava. After they reached maturity and were acknowledged by Rama to be his sons, she called upon her mother, Earth, to swallow her up.

Sita is worshipped as the incarnation of Lakshmi, the consort of Vishnu. Though often regarded as the embodiment of wifely devotion and self-sacrifice, she is critical of Rama at times, even in the earliest version of the Ramayana, and in some of the later versions of the story she departs from the idealized, chaste image of the earlier text.
Meera May 2018
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
Next page