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Avantika Singhal Jan 2015
Broken hearts.
Deep sorrows,
Sad thoughts.
Monotonous life.
Make up for my silent cries.

Shattered promises.,
Ugly mistakes,
Desperate pleas,
For a life never to come,
Haunts me in my dreams.
Short poem but just a thought. Isn't it like this when our life comes to a standstill and we feel sorry for ourselves? You'd think I am incapable of writing happy poems,eh?
Avantika Singhal Dec 2014
Is it something I said?
That made you turn,
Away from me?
We didn't get a chance to speak,
As I watched you hurl.

Is it something I did?
That made you angry,
Because of me?
Because you ran like,
There was a fire.
Within you. Within me.

It's always me,isn't it?
I think we should sort it out.
Because it's not like,
It's always my fault.
We should both scream and shout,
And let it all out.
Avantika Singhal Nov 2014
She looks lost.
The girl standing there.

I squint a little and realise.
Isn't she one of my friends?
Oh yes. She is.

Why does she look like she feels out of place? Pity.

Should I go help her?
No. Who cares?
I have my OWN friends around me.

I'll be selfish. I have always been that way.
This poem is dedicated to one of my friends who has this disposition to never help people in need. Thanks.
Avantika Singhal Nov 2014
The tension is palpable.
Our hearts best steadily for now
But are our minds at ease?
Stomach churns.
Anticipation burns,
My bundle of nerves,
Trouble me.

I shall stay strong.
I shall not unsettle myself.
And the others around me.
Avantika Singhal Nov 2014
The Royal lady's eyes behold.
The scene that is about to unfold.
The procession just outside Hawa Mahal.

She looks from one of he 953 windows.
The red and pink sand stone of the Mahal,
She feels from her toes.

She is Rajput by heart.
And inwardly thanks Maharaja Sawai Pratap Singh for this intricate piece of Art.

Constructed in 1799.
From it's windown,
The breeze flows;fresh and beingh.

Out there there are all kinds of people
Old. Young. Fancy. Simple.
They radiate happiness.
Mounted on elephants or barefoot,feeling blessed.

She smiles to herself.
And closes the Jharokha and feels excited as now,
To her friends,she has a story to tell.
Heritage poem.
Check out Hawa Mahal. It's a monument of Jaipur,India.
Avantika Singhal Oct 2014
The fire danced.
Like a ballerina does.
Graceful. Enchanting. Lethal.

It danced away on the matchstick.
It was born to ****. To burn.
Just like she did to discern.

What her passion was.
To find what she was all about.
Just like the fire. Bright. Searching. Predatory.

The fire changed colour.
Blue. Sea green. Orange. Yellow.
But not the ballerina. She was stagnant.

She is like the fire. Out to get. Out to burn. Out to amaze.
Avantika Singhal Oct 2014
We met. We talked. We smiled.
You fell for me. I didn't.
It was only for a while,
When you caught my wrist as I was,
Walking away.
I pushed you and went my way.

Now here I am.
Missing your smile,your texts.
Your late night secrets and your soft caresses.
You calling me names and I laughing.
And then you were gone in a blink.

I needed you and I didn't know,
Your value. Your worth.
You wee drifting away from me.
And there I was,laughing with north.
For I had no idea how much I'd miss you.

But now I know. I want you back.
But oh dear! I have no courage.
To haul you back in my life.
I failed. I always do.
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