So this very extraordinary poet
Said that my words were very "warm, and wise"
Oh I did a celebratory dance only
Before I sadly realised

That I was the girl who had once screeched
"I hate youuuuu" at a friend in the middle of a busy street!
Ah well, guess I'm that kind of poet who
Reserves all her wisdom for Hello Poetry

This is for the dear teacher
Who was once training me
For a programme where I was
Going to recite some beautiful poetry

To a girl all of fourteen,
Fresh, energetic, and naive
She gave a piece of advice and inadvertently,
Changed the course of her life

Yes, life!  
Here's roughly what she said-

Ghazal, you do NOT have to
Pause at the end of each line!
Because sometimes in poems
The sentence may continue
Beyond, so let the words flow
Like a Conversation,
And you'll notice how much better
Will sound your recitation

Something absolutely plain, yet
So meaningful, that today I wonder,
If she hadn't told me this simple secret
When would I, by myself, discover
That my words were allowed to spillover
Into the next line!
I can only look back in amazement
To thank her, and thank her some more
For saving all of that precious, poetic time

It's just awkward when people ask me what I write about

More so when they're still
Expectantly, quizzingly blinking
After I've already answered them with,
"Anything and everything!"

I think what he felt was beyond love,
For, after braving multiple imprisonments in hell
That she shamelessly put him through,
All he said to her was "I wish you well"

So what could be worse than
Lying on a hard, rickety bed
Squashed between wall and mother
With sweat travelling down your forehead?

And counting the blades of the fan
At its maximum speed, lazily tumbling,
Planning your mighty escape, because
Surely the termites were going to bring down that ceiling?

Spotting a lizard - expertly camouflaged - staring down at you from its abode - right at you - probably thinking to itself - "Oh cool, she'll catch me if I fall"

Yes, that's what's worse.

Return she will
As the evening draws nigh
For now, Mama Bird,
Let her fly

Ours wasn't the romantic saga
We had imagined it would be
But no less than a fairytale it was
In its length, short and sweet.
Few pages, yet composed with the
Most melodious words, moistened with
The most crystal tears,
A whirlwind- intense, abrupt, yet unbelievably soft
Our very own novella
That we wrote with our fingers intertwined
And illustrated some pages
With the color of our kisses
Remember you asked me why I left that last page blank?
I did it for this moment my dear,
Meeting you after all these years
You say you're planning to leave your hair un-dyed
From now, it'll be glistening white
I wouldn't do the same, I'm still coping
With these crow feet near my eyes!

You have a different world
As I have mine,
I didn't leap into your arms and shower you with love
Like, almost, was the norm in our time,
No playful nudges, no giggling, no madness

Just a strange, settled, calm kind of tenderness.

The tenderness, that, untouched by time,
Dutifully stayed
As a silent, poignant reminder that
The love never did,
And never will fade.