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Avantika Singhal Jan 2017
I took the first sip of white wine in
trepidation for the aftermath of drunk
people in movies is not very pleasant.
I downed it all, faster than an intruder
who wiretaps an important building
somewhere in America. I had vowed to
not drown in the poison I had just consumed.
But what happened later proved me wrong.
I swam in clouds and I floated in shallow
waters for the slurs that lay on my tongue
were not something I would utter in a
sober state. I cavorted. I danced. I showed
skin. I was the frog that clandestinely dances
in the rain and hides away before the ground
is dry again. I swirled like a whirlpool. My cheeks
were red and I emitted happiness. I made silly
jokes about a plant named Wisteria and lay
in bed, twirling away in my drunken madness.
This poem is very close to my heart. Mainly because it describes my first ever interaction with alcohol. It was an interesting night on july 13th, 2016. I have wanted to get this poem published for a while now but to no avail. Thus, i am posting it here. Please leave your honest criticism and feedback in the comments below!
Avantika Singhal Sep 2016
Her demise shook the world
And left an uprising in its wake.
She was human but the world
Obnoxiously called her a Dalit. Her
Skin was marred with scars of
The most gruesome kind but
Little do you know, they were
Her battle scars that she took
To the grave. Her body, a
Holy shrine was entered without
An invitation but you are not
Aware that her soul is purer
Than yours will ever be.
Her cache of memories will
Be drenched with flashes of
Hungry stares and lustful eyes
But also warm hugs and gentle
Smiles from her parents.
Something that the
Scrupulous media does not want
To reflect upon. She can’t be
A secret anymore; her caste
Cannot be a hindrance anymore.
She needs a powerful voice
And we must give her one.
As i recount this tale,
I am suddenly this girl. I
Consume her desires. I
Am her soul and spirit. And,
My fingers close in on against
Each other and I take labouring
Breaths. My throat feels like
Huge amounts of sandpaper were
Shoved into it. My eyes are watery
And blood shot and all you do is
Stare. My clothes are shredded
And little rags are my only trustful
Companions on my otherwise
Naked body. A string of wounds
Cover my arms and legs and you
Whisper about how sordid a
Scene this is. You mutter about
Me being a victim but the truth is
I am a warrior who survived an
Intrusion that was not supposed
To happen and yet, you back off
From a growing crowd and wonder
What you’ll have for dinner tonight,
Leaving me there on the ground,
Writhing in more than pain and suffering.
Lengthiest poem in the history of lengthy poems? This poem is solely dedicated to a **** victim who was not represented enough by the media because of her caste. I hope it leaves a mark on you and stirs you to action.
Avantika Singhal Oct 2015
There's a virulent disease
inside him. It pervades every
where. It invades him. The
toxic cells exist in every nook
and crevice. He starts wondering
whether his soul and body will
suffice and live through the
brutal treatments that await.
Radiotherapy or chemo. A
part of himself could be lost in the
pomposity and elaborateness
of the machines used to do so.
He lies on the bed, surrounded
by the ostensibly loved ones
who mourn now and who hated
him once. He looks back at
his life and feels that getting
back to his healthy, strong self
is a chimera. Days pass and his
bed is his sanctuary. The reports
from the doctors arrive and he is
all but stationary. He finds the
concept of reports funny. They
determine life and death in a
second and after that, life could
be jubilant or miry with hopelessness.
The reports clearly indicate that
"cancer was not detected". He
scoffs at the elaborate medical
language and sits back and
relaxes, concluding his close
call with death and an emotional mess.
Not letting the intimidation and
sinister nature of the diseases get to him.
Avantika Singhal Jun 2015
I live in a paltry cottage,
with a cosy fireplace
and rosewood floors.
It offers me solace
and isolation and yet
my happiness seems
to have lost its way.
Then,I gaze outside at
the brook that welcomes
the sunshine like a
ship on a dock.
I gaze and gaze and
Gaze until I can't anymore.
Across the brook is my happiness
amongst the wilderness,
that fades away into
nothingness. And here
I am, on the dark side,
with grey clouds and
thunder and how it
roars like a sad
crow who doesn't
know how to fly
Anymore. My eye
lids droop and I
want to forget that
I no longer feel joy
inside my heart.
I want to forget the
bitterness that has
resided from the start.

All I feel is loneliness.
THIS POEM INDICATES HOW SAD I AM. Mainly because Summer Holidays as ending. Just kidding. Enjoy.
Avantika Singhal Jun 2015
The mistakes she made
Are like those toys she
Found in the attic. Totally
Forgotten and guilt
Ridden. As soon as she
Looks back at the terrible
Mistakes she made, she
Curses at her childhood.
She admittedly cusses
At her foolishness. She
Hates herself and forgets
It. And then one day
Again, she looks over
Her shoulder, and those
Mistakes made in the
Childhood stare back,
Bold and brazen.
Every folly she wrote
To others when she was
So innocent and naive,
Have come to haunt
Her in the form of
Lingering eyes and
hushed whispers. Oh!
Mistakes are terrible
To make but what she
Learns from them in
The end, is that she
Will never make them
Again, even though
Her chest will suffocate
With the guilt and folly.
Hello! Longest poem ever, I think? These days, spontaneity is my motto. I write poems in one go! It's stranger this poem is very personal so I won't be shocked if I don't get any likes on this one and if I do, then let's just say that you are a genius to figure it out. This poem expresses ME on so many levels and a humongous mistake I made in my childhood. Enjoy..or maybe not.
Avantika Singhal May 2015
The man, lanky and
Lugubrious in his actions,
Filled with loneliness and
Compassions. I watch
With absurd interest as he
Smiles, missing teeth and
Yet, a light in his eyes that
Never goes out when he
Talks to his grandson,
Beauty and approbation
On his face. I conclude
With sadness that this is
The only time he is happy.
The only time the life in
Him awakens. The only
time his soul rejoices
And yet, I sit here, just
Penning down someone's
Penurious life sans joy.
Doing nothing about it,
Replicating the standard
Human nature.
This poem holds a very trying message. We see someone in need for help and we tend to ignore that person. Why? Why is humanity missing that kind of compassion? It's not just me, it's you too. Help someone and feel good about it.
Avantika Singhal May 2015
It would be a catastrophe,
If her mother is not in the
Same room as her. Her
Shrill cries would wake
Everyone up. Her tiny hands
would fist the air
In hopes that it will bring
Her mother back to her.
The smile that adorns
on her fragile, pale
Face is too priceless.
So much so that others
Around her can't help but
Smile happily and bless
Her with the uttermost
Sincerely. She would giggle
pointlessly at others,
revelling in their
Happiness as it is contagious.
An unexpected visit by my sister brought along this poem as she brought her 7 month old baby with her. And she's priceless.
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