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I went to see the winter sky at night.
I was in the hills, and the wind blowed ferociously.
The stars looked so bright, my eyes-
They could almost see myself in that light.

I was so dead when I was in the hills that night,
I couldn’t feel anything except for cold numbness in January.
I slithered out lies
When they asked if I was doing alright.

I felt like a black hole amidst heaven’s bright.
I stood in the balcony to listen to animals, calmly.
But I couldn’t hear them over the sound of my goodbyes.
During those dark and numb winter hours, I lacked sight.

I was dead back then,
I am a little less dead now.
I hope I am alive someday.
It hurts when the darkness takes over.
After that, it hurts no more.
Dead before the storm is felt then on.
It continues on and on.

The storm is supposed to arrive but
prolonged silence is “not” heard.
It fears something inevitable.
What’s nagging is the unknown.

When the storm does not arrive at all,
the dead before it persists.
It stays there, asking about the storm.
I sigh- “It did not arrive at all.”
I switch between believing myself to be great
and then crying for what seems like eternity.
I ride the rollercoaster
with the high-highs and low-lows.

The “high-highs” consist of paradise and normalcy.
The “low-lows” contain self doubt and abnormality.
I am a bird in the sky
then an insect in the grave.

I fly and become one of those euphoric beings.
Then, I become an insect and compost the dead.
I spread my wings wide to waft.
I crawl in the crypt like a creep.

I am but a bird and the insect.
Deep dark days led me to believe
that I couldn’t speak
but shout and scream.

I floated in a starless sky
with the rejects
but absent was the moon.

I shout and scream in a solar void,
this constellation-
-less grave of mine.

I’m buried with tenebrosity
not in a stellar
tomb but in screams.

The elysian darkness outside is
unparalleled by
the darkness inside.
Apr 7 · 22
Not An Easy Task.
To put my thought to words is not an easy task.
Grueling, struggling and pacing up and down the mind and make myself constantly ask
what do I want to write.
Random thoughts rushing in to make a vivid, written sight.
Some single unheralded thought jostles out through the mind.
It’s my own unique point of view. Hopefully, one of a kind.
Apr 7 · 26
Healing is never a singular process.
People are there to help you.
It never follows a singular, linear line.
Your thoughts are all over the place,
not singularly spread out.
So, do what is right for you.
Heal the way using your own route.
Apr 7 · 14
It’s so difficult to make sense of a mind.
If there were lesser people of our own kind,
just 5 humans all-alike.
It would be bad, and no differing psych.

Diversity is messy and large.
That is the way to like it.
To have to say goodbye
when you really want to speak your point.
when you really hit it off with a boy.
when you really want to spend more time.
when you really have to stay and cry.
Oh boy, goodbyes are plenty.
What matters is how you pull yourself back up
and return if that’s what is to be done.
Rollercoaster Mar 27
The old mud covered traffic cone
is standing there in its orange, triangular entirety
A little boy in his fifth year is walking with a kitty.
He trips down on the cone.

He calls for help as he sees his blood.
The mother comes rushing in.
He is hurt by the acidic grass and mud.
She too, falls down because of nearby the metal bin.

They both lay there,
in the grass, mud and trashcan dirt.
The mother called her husband first.
He came running in to help his wife and son.

The kid would cry (oh that imp),
complaining that the metal bin
and the traffic cone hurt his mother and his chin.
The mother dusted herself off and walked with a limp.
Mar 27 · 25
the frog and the rock
Rollercoaster Mar 27
A frog hops over the rock.
The rock shouts out,
“You’re taking the wrong route.
This isn’t the way to the dock.”

The frog continued to hop,
and croaked-
“You haven’t ever walked,
you’re just a rock.”
dont listen to rocks
Rollercoaster Mar 17
TW: Suicide

God, I can’t imagine the heart it must take to go through with it.
Do not call them cowardly.
They cared enough for themselves,
and they fought their problems in the wrong way.
Do not say they do not care enough.
It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff,
a cliff so infirm that even the breeze could push them off.
Don’t say that they couldn’t be strong enough.
You don’t know the strength it takes to withstand that.
The world had been unforgiving, and they succumbed.
They should not have succumbed.
It’s not as good of a place without them.
God, I wish no one has to be as brawny as they had to be.
don't worry im okay.
Mar 8 · 74
Listen to the voice of woman
who speaks when she wishes,
who tells her story the way she wants it.

Listen to her fight.
She fights like a woman,
no weaker than a man.

Listen to her choose.
She chooses for herself,
and her choice is human.

Listen to her opulence.
A personable woman
who’s amiable to her own will.

Listen to a woman.
Listen to her describe herself
because I sure cannot generalize.
another woman's day poem.
Mar 7 · 477
Dancing at night in dark blue denims.
You left the taste of lemon
in my mouth when you asked me to drink it.
I smiled out loud when I heard of your visions.

Dancing in the diner parking lot.
The cheap speaker you brought
is still playing our music.
I yelled that we were infinite just like you taught.

Dancing at the railway station by rail cars.
Looking at the stars,
thinking about the ones to which we belong.
I point to a pretty pair and you smiled at the dark.
Mar 5 · 36
Dinner Date Night
Wanting to change clothes because the ones I’m in aren’t comfortable.
I understand what you mean when you say I look alright.
Seeing you stare another man because you think my clothes aren’t workable.
I don’t hear any of your ******* because you don’t want a fight.

You chew the meat as if you’re seeing it for the first time.
I almost puke at the sight of your gruesome meal.
You puke after too many vodkas with lime.
I couldn’t even get to touch my meal.

Dinner date nights
always end in
screaming fights
and broken glass in the bin.
a fun idea i had.
Mar 2 · 47
Unable to Understand
I can’t understand
why people want to brand themselves.
Portray oneself as greater or
be the one who squashes the ones under them.

I can’t understand
why people are blind eyed.
Oblivious to others
or unaware of one’s own self.

I can’t understand
why people want to stay the same.
Reluctant to change
while knowing they are wrong.
Mar 1 · 68
I visit the places of doom.
I dig graves for myself,
but there is never enough room.
The great green expanses of land which I saw
Were scratched by Human's deadly claw.
The mountains so tall & great
made to serve as global warming's bait.

The canopies of trees both scanty and tall
Were cut down despite nature's call.
All varieties of wastes are running a race
of who gets to deteriorate Earth's base.

All the lives of animals came to a halt,
When the cranes gave the forest a jolt.
Pollution is intensifying each second.
We won't destroy the environment.

I root for a day in the future
when there's harmony amongst all creatures.
I long that amazing day,
When there's a ray of hope and the skies aren't the polluted grey.
wrote this back in class 7
Feb 26 · 79
Stuck (A Sonnet)
Rollercoaster Feb 26
When stuck in storms of hail and snow, insist.
If stuck in fights of sticks and stones, forget.
If stuck in dull debate unknown, desist.
When stuck in rain of life and beau, reflect.

But thou cannot be stuck by hail and snow.
Neither involved in fights of sticks and stones.
But thou is not amid rain of life and beau.
Nor thou partakes in dull debate unknown.

Do not give up between the storm of hail.
Do not accept defeat betwixt the rain.
Thou art more strong and does prevail.
Thou can withstand debate and will remain.

Defeat has never ever befallen you.
Dear thou, only victory is true for you.
Written in Shakespearean Sonnet using Iambic Pentameter. This is my first time trying this structure. Please tell how it is.
Rollercoaster Feb 24
I find the charging sky lights to be
disorienting and pure.
Black and white at same time.

It’s a rainbow in the clouds after the rain
and succeeding the dark clouds which make me sane.

I am aware that rain will come again,
yet I don’t know when I will be rain-bound.
Each turn is a change in the circle of pain.

When the lightning strikes,
we look at the bright, white flash of light.
White pierces through the dark,
and confounds us and leaves us looking at the stars.

We wait for it to strike,
only for it to come at the most unexpected of times.
We must not be confused, or surprised.

We should rejoice when things go awry.
For it will too pass, and change will evade.
The earned hope will remain.

For chaos and the unexpected are change,
and change is the inevitable truth which cannot be tamed.
We’re celebrating the chaos and celebrating change.
We’re celebrating the inevitable when we dance in the rain.
Everything is in a circle, it a cycle of interconnectedness or several cycles of interconnectedness which are themselves connected to each other. It is the same storyline, a basic plot line that follows a similar story from the past and everything repeats itself. So, it does not matter what the end goal might be, it is about the experience and the change that will give us a greater understanding. Living though the motions, looking at the circle go, and know a greater story exists and you just have to fill in the blanks to make it your own - to make your cycle of birth and death meaningful and like a ring with a lot of engravings on them and then hanging that ring in an a larger ring that involves the entire existence. Not just your existence, but everything that exists which is also going through the motions and is following the circle and engraving its own little and large details on the Ring of existence.
And at every turn point of the ring, which is almost at every point, there is change and there is chaos.
We think of rain to be release- from winter cold or summer heat. Release from the uniformity of suffering. Yet, rain comes in as chaos. We do not know when it will come and how the raindrops will fall. They will fall as they want to - in utter chaos. After uniformity, comes change. Change comes in form of chaos. And navigating in that chaos i.e. dancing in the rain is thriving and celebrating each little raindrop as it is. We’re celebrating the chaos and celebrating change. We’re celebrating the inevitable when we dance in the rain.
Feb 5 · 211
Calling for help.
People’s feet are hurting,
dresses and shoes are a size smaller than theirs.
They’re taking chances, and going to dances
and the truer selves are calling for help.

They’re dressed in their nicest,
their inner screams are the quietest.
Under the gleaming smiles,
their broken, imperfect selves are quietly calling for help.

The smoothest white marble floor lies,
in the reflection they seem to be perfect
while they’re numb inside.
Living corpses are calling for help.

They’re breathing slowly,
to cope with the swift dancing.
The masses are strategizing and scheming
on how not to call for help.

All is calm and feelings are suppressed.
Chandeliers are falling,
glass is on the dance floor
and hoofers are calling for help.
Feb 5 · 172
Life she never lived.
TRIGGER WARNING (this deals with suicide)

Hands fall down as they try to work in the mills. Hardened, bruised hands are cut and blood drips on the cloth that she's producing.

She has to work there, if she doesn't she has to bear the slaps of her drunken, miserable husband. Her eyes used to dream of skyscrapers and cities. Now, she is stuck in a slum and an endless cycle of misery.

She dreams on of a life she never lived. She wants it so much that she runs away from this world. She finds sweet release as her body is burned.
Jan 31 · 59
Pick your pain.
Rollercoaster Jan 31
Lasting pain in an everlasting mind
always comes through.
Babbling mouths do not help with the pain,
truth adds salt to the hurting veins.
Blinded by light, my blinded eyes
search for the handle to alter my path.
But it’s almost been snatched away from me.
I have no way out of this unreal reality.
Veering the direction of my pointless life
is what might help me.
The pain I receive remains paralleled to
the pain I give, yet I complain.
I believe I deserve the excruciating chains
that attempt to hold me back.
The pain will last as I live.
But I pick the pain,
and that’s enough for me.
Rollercoaster Jan 31
The ancient Egyptians wrote down words.
Proud of their heritage and culture.
Their words are gibberish to us,
we try to make sense of them.

I wonder what will my words
be like some thousand years later.
My voice won’t make sense to the future generations
as I would mumble out words, incoherently.

Will they try to encrypt my broken messages?
Will they try to know the thoughts of some 1400 year old boy?
Will another 14 year old boy write the same things as I did?
Or will my words remain worthless as they are today?
Jan 28 · 841
Fresh Snow and Water.
Rollercoaster Jan 28
I have been to the mountains where I have cried.
I climb hills not for the vista.
I climb for falling down the rabbit hole.
Then, I plummet down the icy gully.

I have drowned in bathtubs where I have smiled.
I swim in cold bathtubs not due to recklessness.
I swim to delude my presence.
Then, I hitch-hike upto the peak.

I do these things I cannot understand.
Reality slips away,
like fresh snow and water slip from my bare hands.
I climb to the mountain and fall to the bathtub.
Rollercoaster Jan 25
Four people in different rooms
with phones in their hands
and thoughts in their heads
that they are trying to suppress.

They are hurting underneath
the smiles and faces which gleam.
They blurt out things that they do not mean
and hurt the hearts of the glossed-over faces they meet.

They are dishonest and keen
to despise when the slate is clean.
Hearts of mortar they hide
by accompanying the blind.

I sit and observe
their pacts build and crack.
Lawsuits are filed and lawyers remain unpaid.
Changes are made but not sustained.

No injustices were done
to the ones with phones in their hands.
A choice was given to improve
and they said no.
Jan 23 · 57
We are the nation.
Rollercoaster Jan 23
We escaped the belly of the beast.
We weathered bludgeonings from across the seas.
we fought them with peace.
Together we wrote our own destiny,
we spelled out words of justice and equality.
We woke to self rule and sovereignty,
pledging to wipe tears from all eyes.
On an unfinished pursuit of our ideals,
our divided wounds continue to heal.
And heal shall they,
for we allow them to with our constitution.
A collection of our most-driven convictions.
We have witnessed wars and decades pass,
the technology grow and freedom last.
Tis nation of the Himalayas and the Malwa.
From the deserts of the west to the deltas of the east,
Liberty has been enshrined
& secularism promised in our revered book.
It is belongs to all of us,
in its mighty self and binding laws.
We, the people have rights that we exercise
and duties we fulfill.
We are not powerless,
we have the power - we are the nation.
I wrote this for the Indian Republic Day Celebrations in school.
Rollercoaster Jan 17
I will mourn the people I lost
and the opportunities I took.
I will suffer when the sun is out.
I will stay in bed tonight.

I will not go out
when I am supposed to.
I will think when I reportedly don’t.
I will stay in bed tonight.

I will admire the people I cheated.
I will congratulate the ones
who aided my fall.
I will stay in bed tonight.

I will not drink as required.
I will not be antagonising
another man in the dark.
I will stay in bed tonight.

I will not steal an idea.
I will display my work
and be laughed at.
I will stay in bed tonight.

I will stay in bed tonight
and wake as a failed being
that almost resembles a human.
Oh wait- a failed being is human.
Jan 16 · 99
Rollercoaster Jan 16
Nothing can be changed of soul
in my possession.
Its rugged, scarred self
hurts and heals.
I now own the soul and
I can’t let it go.
It works as a king in my brain and
lives as peasant in reality.
I am subservient to what I possess.
I cannot change it, but
the soul can change me.
A soul is precious,
so I gave in.
Into tricking another soul,
or maiming a different one.
I gave in and
now I am in agony.
What should I choose?
I will let the soul take over me.
idk if it makes actual sense.
Jan 16 · 63
Rollercoaster Jan 16
Hands try to move without no stimuli,
they fall down.

He tries to smile in the worst circumstances,
he is a fool.

They try to euphemize what hurts,
they are scared.

Ones who write exaggerated emotions,
the people who read it feel the exact ones.

Honestly, criminally and brutally,
honesty is torn down.

Mindlessness peacefully takes over,
it is despised after the crowning.

While taking the chances,
I fall to the ground.

The plants grow in the soil,
and return to it somehow.

The world is the truth,
the world is plenty with contradictions.

Is truth now only a contradiction?
Ah ha. Look at me trying to think like a real thinker.
Jan 15 · 562
Six decades of Intimacy.
Rollercoaster Jan 15
In a bus, sat an old couple
and held each other’s hands.
Two hands were clenched together,
as they had when they were just born.

They were at peace with what would arrive,
yet sweaty and energized like they had been
when they played in the green grounds
as little, naive boys.

Six decades of intimacy
running through their minds.
Both chanted and repeated prayers
and wishes for each other and others.

They were mid-desert
but their bond well-irrigated.
Their fields had borne flowers.
And water was plenty.

What had happened was that
a band of robbers had attacked.
They threatened to ****
and so, they did.
Jan 13 · 74
Out of reality.
Rollercoaster Jan 13
I took the vehicle to your house.
I didn’t meet you when you died.
But I know you wouldn’t have recognized me.
Your vision failing you,
and I’m hoping your heart hadn’t given out.
You drank tea before you slept
and asked the rotis to be kept for dinner.
I long for your voice,
I am scared that I'll forget how you sounded.
I cannot imagine how it would have felt.
I am terrified if I imagine your last breaths.
I received the call announcing you had "expired".
My reality did too.
Rest in peace, badi dadi ji.
That world is not mine
yet I bask in it.
I cry and laugh sometimes.
All so real
but it’s deception.
To yearn to touch
but falling short of the warmth.
It briefs me on what I want to have
while staying on the side-lines,
All the ****** time.
It keeps on rolling
as my time passes by.
And my tears pearl-down
And my grin turns wide
And my heart’s in a riot.
That’s what happens-
when I look at a
movie screen.
lmaoo watched too many good films.
Jan 5 · 53
I have met them.
I have not worshipped them far and wide.
I have not preached what I have learned.
I have not fasted for a thousand nights.
I have not helped more than I have hurt.
I have not done what I should have.
I have not longed for visions.
I have not had revelations.
I have met the poor begging for food.
I have witnessed people turn them away.
I have seen people loving so passionately.
I have heard of the dacoits threatening to ****.
I have read the books preached by the leaders.
So I conclude I have met god, whoever that might be.
Jan 5 · 123
With velveteen curtains and a table of gold
sat an old hag with stories untold.
Kids scurried along the marble path
as they escaped her ferocious shihtzu dog.
Filthy men passed one-liners
about her polished growl.
She played hoarse music on her platinum harp
and sang along verses of outcasts’ tarp.
She read out loud stories
banned by the elders in the ancient market.
She lured and polluted little children’s minds
with her ideas and little schemes.
Yet the townsfolk let that damsel stay,
for she was an old hag who could do magic.
With their minds did the magic play.
The populace attempted to play with her tragic
mind in the hope that they could do magic too.
Jan 4 · 52
In the mirror.
Stealing bits and pieces of information about myself from people I don’t know.

They tell me that I have my grandfather’s eyes or that I behave like my uncle when he was young.

I look for these parts, these broken pieces I lost. I don’t know when I lost them, though.

An aunty I meet will tell me that she heard I was good at geography. I don’t like geography. Or do I?

Don’t blame me for trying to find the shattered pieces of the mirror in which I hope to see my reflection.

But deep down I know even after I find all these shards, I won’t see a reflection of myself.

Because I won’t recognise the glossed over person in mirror.
ugh this isn't a poem.
Jan 3 · 1.1k
I don’t have a shadow.
Shadows are impersonations.
They move around
In the sneakiest of ways.
Lurking and inching and cheating.
Trying to escape the mirror.
The darkness died when the hero won.
It didn’t.
It just followed them, lurking to get back.
The core is darker of the fake.
They’re dark,
because they tell them of the time gone by.
In monochrome,
the color died, it lives in the real world now.
I don’t have a shadow.
I am one.
Jan 3 · 258
Stuck on the verge.
I’m stuck on the verge
of meandering outside
or wandering inside all the time.

I need to know if the sun shines
and if the moon still glows.
I haven’t seen the stars in a while.
The trees are in disguise,
and leaves don’t fall down by my side.
I haven’t stepped outside.

I need to know if my lungs pump out air
and if my brain still responds to stimuli.
I haven’t visited my heart in a while.
The emotions are in disguise,
and tears don’t fall down my eyes.
I haven’t stepped inside.
Dec 2020 · 135
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
My eyes have been searching for a place to call home.
I have been to Rome and have done what the Romans do.
I have failed to win a place amongst the ranks of caesars.
I have felt the harrowing escapism of not being at home.

I sit inside the colosseum and work in the communes.
I look for a place to reside, as I sway through.
I curse and beat myself up for not being homely.
I walk in the darkest alleys calling it my home.

I said bought the elephantine houses.
I said that I played with the kings,
though I only washed their feet.
I did not feel at home.

I search for belonging,
in my own heart.
Is it good?
Dec 2020 · 301
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
New dew on the lush olive green leaves,
coherent chaos awaits.
Yes, we can.
Dec 2020 · 336
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Your eyelashes fall down as you close your eyes to sleep.
You stretch your legs under the blanket
and twist and turn if you're not able to leave reality.
Your peach lips slightly move as you speak while you dream.
Your hand is under your head while you board a night taxi to partake in fantasies.
Wherever you might go, but I don't deserve you.
Dec 2020 · 118
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I belong in the heavens
and then I'm under the ground.
I reach the clouds
and then sweep the dirt.
I'm on a rollercoaster
till the end.
Dec 2020 · 94
Should I keep trying?
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
No matter how hard I try
I cannot speak
I cannot write
I cannot live
drama 👀
Dec 2020 · 70
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Is it okay to sulk when you know you’ll be better later?
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Her hardened feet and cracked heel
brush against the muddy ground.
She travels on foot to fetch water
as she withers away into the befouled.
Dec 2020 · 420
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Sometimes all we have to do is trust each other.
Dec 2020 · 95
Poetry II
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Poetry is the simplicities of life.
Dec 2020 · 250
"Goodnight, sweet dreams"
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
"Goodnight, sweet dreams"- I used to say.
Then when I came back home
after staying at grandma's for the holidays with the cousins,
I listed their names as I went to sleep,
good night, sweet dreams accompanied with each.
"Good night-sweet dreams, Nani Ji"
"Good night to everyone whenever your night might come"
"Sweet dreams to everyone whenever your night might come"
Nani Ji is maternal grandma in Hindi.
Dec 2020 · 102
I was just a little boy.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
I was just a little boy
when I asked why I couldn't run in the traffic;
when I bathed in the inflatable pool and didn't get out;
when I locked my mother in the room;
when I locked my cousin and myself in the room to play with our toys;
when I was puked on by;
when I scraped my bruises in fun;
when I got a fever after I saw that lost kid at the mall;
when I ran in the hallways in races with my friends;
when I told my mother everything;
when I was innocent.
Dec 2020 · 253
You can stop.
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
You can take something,
but can you take nothing?
You can take their life,
but can you take their soul?
You hit alright,
but can you hit no more?
You can start,
but can you stop?
You can stop.
You can stop.
Dec 2020 · 74
Poetry I
Rollercoaster Dec 2020
Poetry is the subtleties of life.
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