When we slow down long enough to look back on this

Will we breath out relief in a sigh

Will the unanswered question hold its hand out for us

To guide us down the last lonely mile

Will the aftershock ride in on a city bus

Will it all wait until it grows dark

Bringing to mind tomorrows yesterdays

Shining a light on who we are

Take what you can from this firm belief

That isolation has its own list

And if anything was lost in the making

We'll slow down long enough to look back on this

I choose You, Jesus
The one who chose me *first

I'm sorry if I scare you away with the thoughts in my head
but everytime I lay in my bed
everything runs through my mind
like is this the right one
or dang why can't you have fun
my happiness is there
but my mind is telling it to go down
even though when you come around
everything magically falls into place
there's still this voice in the back of my mind
saying remember last time
so please don't run
when everything I say comes out like a doubt
but what can you expect from someone
who's been broken
and can't find all of their pieces
how can you find pieces when
they're all engraved in the people
who lied the most
and now the one who cared the most
can't even enjoy the great gift
they've been given

I wasn’t born to write
With every bent petal,
and every fallen leaf,
my ma’s sweet kisses
And papa’s gentle smile
I learned to write

A five year old me was once fascinated
by the loop of an ‘e’
and the playful swing of an ‘m’,
The wide smile of a ‘d’ delighted me
Words were powerful and mesmerising,
now they lie discarded and ignored
in broken stanzas of self proclaimed irrelevance

I watch the black ugly marks
That taints countless sheets of paper
They surround me in a sea of ink
That once flowed carefully and slowly
A thousand thoughts with each single word
Drained lies my mind, my breath’s not a whisper but a plea
My heart pumps blood not ink, I’m not a poet, it says
Incoherent scribblings mock me with their existence

As a child, confined spaces scared me
But now, a confined mind petrifies me with just a glimpse
A pen stays gripped in my hand
I wonder what it fears more
My inability to let the ink flow coherently
Or my arrogant ramblings, regardless
And fearless of consequences
While I stumble on disjointed verses

A paper aeroplane is my best accomplishment
In my two hour search for freedom and thought
Who cares for pretty words and mystifying couplets?
When the idea of a paper boat seems much more exciting

-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്‌