We talk in emojis
21st century style you know
Our conversation wraps
A few moments past dawn
He reports every second on the gram
Almost as if that’s his beau
Before exchanging good morning texts
He says Insta Fam hello
And when we do get intimate
It just doesn’t feel right
He goes on to publish
She’s my Aphrodite
Oh I want to be teleported
To the age of billet doux
Just two love birds
On a hilltop with a great view
So on a fine Monday morning
I told him what I really want
He said it much like a warning
That the Stone Age is long gone.
Strung to the poles
Bedazzled in love
At the apex
Stringing them along
A classic triangle
Hopeless romance of sorts.
They meet on the decision day
Under the cherry blossoms
The girl having made her mind
“No thanks I like my triangles with crust, marinara, and mozzarella spread.”
She came from a small suburban town,
Her conservative parents shaped her background.
Her dreams were withered down to a trickle,
She had to be married off as per the societal shackles.
One fine day when her age was “right”,
Her parents shipped her off with man they considered a knight.
It was the beginning of a lifelong nightmare,
Every night a pair of patriarchal cuffs she was made to wear.
And thus with each passing night,
She was subjected to his vicious smite.
Her cries for help were paused
As marital **** was never stated in laws.
I welcome you behind these closed doors.
I have no other skeletons buried in my wardrobe.
My eyes meet the day
at half past noon,
My morning tea is replaced
by a spiked blue lagoon.
By evening I’m drowning
In a glass of Chardonnay,
While reasoning with my heart
to meet my brain halfway.
As the clock strikes quarter past seven,
The mixologist in me whips up a brandy Manhattan.
I welcome the dawn
With a tequila sunrise,
And sleep off the hangover in multiple cries.
But that’s before I met myself,
And witnessed the most potent form of love.
So I let the bottles burn to ash,
And indulged in a whole lot of self love.
I am not my body, I am my soul.
I am not my body, I’m much more.
I am not the ice creams, that find their way to my thighs,
I am not a thing to be objectified.
I am not the pimples scattered across my face like an unaligned constellation,
I am not bound to always provide you satisfaction.
I am not the stretch marks that you so playfully shun,
I may not always be finished when you are done.
I am not just a pair of *******,
I am a hurl of emotions in a tempest.
I am not just another juicy ***,
Think twice before you say another condescending sentence.
I am the moon the sun and the stars freely dancing to the rhythm of the wind,
I am the flowers blossoming in the season of spring.
I am love and heartbreak art and music ,
I am the glimmer in your eye and the comfort when you fall sick.
I am the eye of a hurricane,
And the celebratory glass of champagne.
My body is a temple
A place of worship
A story of two
lovers from past,
I write to you
of a love that didn’t last.
Estranged & aghast
In an alien land,
A memory of past
their footprints on sand.
Every crashing wave
carries the last shreds of their reflections,
As their fractions float
on the swirls of the Oceans.
Their dying wish
To be greeted again
with arms open wide.
But the universe
had plans written ahead of time,
They wished to be together
but fate wasn’t as kind.
I still remember that mid-summer night,
I sat up whole night writing,
Of a lovers unrequited plight.
The morning dew kisses
As the first rays of the sun
Bring me relief.
In the month of March,
Chirping birds hum
rhythms that recharge.
And with the first sight
of your arching face,
I fall back into