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 Jan 2018 Ishant17
Stewie
Today I was strong.
I woke up, didn't smoke a cigarette, enjoyed the sunlight on the way to work.
You texted me.
I stopped in my tracks.
I legit stopped walking and looked at my phone.
A familiar feeling hit my throat and my heart like a hammer.

I still miss you.
My heart still beats fast when you text me.
Help. Me.
 Jan 2018 Ishant17
Goldilost
My therapist told me that I was in an abusive relationship.
I laughed, and said I know.
You see,  when your whole life you've been neglected, abused, and taken advantage of, you search for small pieces of that in your soulmate.
I've turned down many men who would've treated me "right" but all I craved was wrong.
If they were never broken themselves how could they ever understand my pieces.  
I know it's not pretty, but I don't want to date a pretty man.
I don't want a man who eats privilege for breakfast in the morning, or had his whole life planned out for him before he was even born.
Every time I have a bad day I don't need to be greeted with chocolate and roses, I wouldn't even know how to accept that.
When he roars I see fire and it ignites my lust for him,  it's how I was taught love.
When he pushes me I find peace in the words of comfort after.
  I don't want a man who could punch me in the face, but sometimes when he gets mad I need that.
It's how broken people were taught to love.
I chase the danger that our loves sparks.
So dear therapist,
Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.
The day he put his hands around my throat, or injures my essence, is the day I walk out the door.
Don't worry therapist.
I know what I'm doing, I know what I've gotten myself into.
Walking away is what I'm good at.
I've been practicing my whole life.
 Jan 2018 Ishant17
nanda
at night ;
 Jan 2018 Ishant17
nanda
the night is made
to say things we never meant
we intoxicate our bodies
transform it on its true self

i think it is funny
how when the sun is up
we walk around praising our life
caring for what the world thinks
pretending to be what we are not
putting on masks
so thick that you could never
ever tell they are fakes

but then the sun goes down
and shine its true light
on the moon
poisoning our veins
luring our hearts
to beat faster
and sing the truth out loud
making us confess
what we would later deny with light
the regrets of the night
 Dec 2017 Ishant17
Traveler
MY WORDS
 Dec 2017 Ishant17
Traveler
These are not merely words
Spun across a page
In unequal syllables
Phonics enraged
Chaotic break downs
Inconclusive
At their peak...
Oh no, no no
These are my words
Eccentrically unique
....................................
Traveler Tim
 Dec 2017 Ishant17
Seema
Hey,
It's Christmas night
And Santa's not in sight
Tho the stars shine bright
Something seems not right
Am holding my memories tight
Feelings pour in, while emotions fight
My fears turning into tears
A lonely Christmas since four years
Hopeless moments, no one cares
Darkness seems to be my true friend
The wailing of my spirit has no end
Yet, I've lit a candle to shed some light
In my dark corner, over a height
The night is beautiful, with decorations
On trees with antique creations
It's a silent night
A Holy night
Having cookies and milk,
Coz Santa's not coming tonight...

©sim
Merry Xmas :)
 Dec 2017 Ishant17
Jayantee Khare
On 2nd Dec 1984
Occurred
World’s worst industrial disaster,
“The Bhopal gas tragedy”
Leaving thousands dead,
Children orphaned and many people with disabilities for life.

Following day,
Cries of help were heard
Amongst the dead,
Lay few children alive
Shone bright, a ray of hope,
Miraculously the deadly effects
Of the gas they could cope.

Taken under the caring wings of an NGO,
With Medical aid administered
And the vital  support to grow.

Amongst the children
There was a girl named Ganga
And a boy named Ravi,
together with other such children,
they grew up,
Finding solace in each other’s
Company.

When reached teenage,
the girls had to be moved in a women’s hostel.
Distanced made them closer to each other,
And, the love grew stronger.

Ganga always dreamt of riding pillion on a bike with Ravi .
Ravi, the crazy boy,
sold his house (compensation by govt.)
And fulfilled her desire,
Often they went for long rides.

In the following years,
The love bloomed,
And
With blessings and love,
their marriage was solemnised
By the NGO.

All the women from the hostel
Joined the wedding ceremony,
Bollywood songs were played loudly,
The Haldi, Sangeet and Mehendi
ceremony made it more lively

On the wedding day,
Ganga attired in traditional weaves
And bridal make up,
A beautiful bride she looked
The hostel warden and her spouse
did her “Kanyadan”.

Fortunate was I to bear
the testimony of the union,
As I stayed in the working women’s hostel then.
Ganga moved in to her house
with Ravi to welcome a life anew.
When i stayed in a working women's hostel, i witnessed this marriage. It's a true story. 2 nd dec it completed 33 yrs to the tragedy. I recollected Ganga and wrote this.
(Sangeet: a dance party,
Mehendi: application ceremony of henna on the palms of bride,
Haldi: a body scrub containing turmeric, applied to bride as ceremony.
Kanyadaan: a ceremony of handing over daughter to the groom)
Thnx Sarita for helping in edits...
 Dec 2017 Ishant17
Jayantee Khare
Actions speak louder than words,
but the poets hereby differ...
Standing by my window
I hear
the wind passing by.
And all the melodies
that sweep along
entailing tales
from far and wide.

No hems can
block its passage.
No men can
halt its march.
It just whirls by
leaving a trail behind.
Some nights I prefer reading a book,
indulging myself in a nonexistent world,
rather, a nonexistent universe
where you and i were never cursed

Some nights I prefer solitude,
in the comfort of my home,
with nothing but a glass of wine
and you, running on my mind

Some nights there I lay,
on the cold ground,
trying to mend myself though I know
you're the only one that could

Some nights I wish
that there are no more wishes
nor prayers I could pray
just so you would stay.

some nights.
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