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  Sep 2020 Gunnika Mehra
Don’t plead like Biebs
Timbaland was right
Too late for "sorry"
Can’t erase the blight
Your apologies
Might seem polite
But all your white lies
Have been brought to light
Selfish transgressions
Brought this plight
Upon your own life
Despite the height
Of your own success
Now it seems so trite
As they kick you out
Into the cold, dark night

Mistakes explode
Like dynamite
As your life ignites
Failures burn so bright
Crashing down in fury
Dead meteorite
You feel the pain
Your enemies delight
Nowhere to hide
Your shame in plain sight

Adrenaline surging
Now it’s fight or flight
So just take a sec
Sit down, rewrite
Reset your future
Set yourself upright
Your values and actions
Gotta reunite
Redemption’s hard
No way to expedite
It’s gonna hurt
But hang in tight
PAD Poem-A-Day Challenge November 2018

"an apologetic poem"
Gunnika Mehra Sep 2020
Slavery, the devil is in me.
Sorrow, heart craves for another tomorrow.
The world won't know what it means.
No one can decipher this being.
The language of this heart, covered with a dark shroud.
Dead, pulled apart, it won't shout.
Thrown down the drain, discarded.
Beaten up, bleeding on the ground.
The red, flowing, cleansing those around.
Serving without dignity.

Bow you all, bow to this being.
Such is the beauty, imaginary.
Existing in the mind, reality can't see.
A face blank, remorse, flee.
A deer bitten by a lion, see.
This is pain, this is what makes me.
Gunnika Mehra Sep 2020
I wish I were more like you.
With big eyes and a flattering smile.
But that's just a wish for hollow features.
I wish I were more like you.
With the big heart you have.
But that's just a wish for your heart.
I wish I were more like you.
Accepting who I am.
Yet, I wish I were less like me.
Gunnika Mehra Aug 2020
When I looked in the mirror,
I saw an incomplete face.
A human formed so vague,
God forgot to give her a face.
Formed by the last lump of clay,
A human,incomplete in every possible way.
Yet, a chisel given as the last parting gift,
Ready to define my own face.

When I look in the mirror these days,
I see a different face.
Imperfect but proud,
Because I sculpted it.
Gunnika Mehra Aug 2020
Staring at the moon,
It looks gloomy.
Tears in its eyes,
Guilt, surrounds it tonight.

It's not full tonight,
Just a quarter is seen.
Clouds hide,
The guilty being.

I look at the stars,
They don't shine like they used to.
The sky,
Represents my mood.

Guilt and tears,
For I know I sinned.
I can feel it,
Flowing within.

The clouds part,
I see the moon.
The guilt is gone,
The clouds helped it bloom.

The stars are bright,
And a smile blossom.
I can let go,
I found the way.

The withering flower
in me blossoms,
And as the moon now shines,
I shine too.

The clouds helped it,
And it helped me too.
The sin and the guilt pass,
I am free at last.
Gunnika Mehra Aug 2020
In an aesthetic coffee shop,
Scribbling away with glee.
Drinking to my imagination,
Is it only me?

In this aesthetic coffee shop,
Where lovers often meet.
I hear fragments
of what their life has been.

Talking over coffee,
They think they are strangers to me.
I observe,I know,
I share their happiness, a witness to their vows.

Sadness and pain,
Sometimes the outcome may be.
But they still come to this coffee shop,
Unknowingly drinking with me.

I am not the only one,
Voila,it's not just me!
There are other artists in this coffee shop,
Observing and scribbling like me.
Gunnika Mehra Aug 2020
Writing by the window,
As the sunlight fills my room.
Declaration of an undoubting love,
But these letters, for whom?

Writing by the window,
Staring at the moon.
Poetry on a dozen pages,
Revealing my truth.

Writing by the window,
Coffee keeping me alive.
A book in hand,
And imaginary friends beside.

Writing by the window,
Are my words true?
I will write,
Until I am not by the window anymore.
This poem is about writing by a window, where the window is a metaphor for the world and how i am writing ,while sitting next to the world, instead of being in it.

The last stanza which draws a close to the poem is the most important. It talks about fantasies and how they keep me going and questions the readers whether my writings are based on reality or not. The poem goes on to say that I will write till i am unable to see the world anymore or maybe when i die

For the letters of 'undoubting love' read
Oh great hero, childhood friend of mine and
A broken heart
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