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Jul 2016 · 986
thank you note.
sanch kay Jul 2016
my hands would like to thank your hands
for the time we were drunk out of our minds
but your hands knew enough
to hold, not grab
to hold, not push
to hold,
and hold on.

my hands would like to thank your hands
for being constants, not variables.
for having a thermostat so perfect,
holding hands is like entering
a fire-warmed cabin
after a snowstorm -
and you’re the only light around for miles.

but most importantly,
my hands
would like to thank your hands
for keeping other things from my hands;
things that shouldn’t be found in hands,
like the last cigarette
or a sharp pointy object -

and the last time
it was desperation that
got the better of me;

and not your hands.
Jun 2016 · 850
notes on letting go.
sanch kay Jun 2016
thrice already bungee jumped / said with much pride,
but haven't yet learnt
to not carry knots of tension in my shoulders
to not clench my teeth together in terror
to not dig trails of red into my palms
with chewed down nails
and not trap stale air in my lungs until they nearly explode
let them turn the colour of rotting grapes as
every last molecule of oxygen leaks from my nose

when all I want is for my muscles to let loose
let go
for my feet to stop clawing (desperately and at the very last second)
to every ledge and corner
because these hands
and these lungs,
these thighs,
these eyes
and this heart
to go
away -

far, far away, like that land from the fairytale
my mother read to me at night
to send me away
(just like Hansel and Gretel's mother did
when her bones got leaner
like my mother's is getting, now)

into a land she could only send me to -
never follow.

my letting go was the paradox
of sunshine on a snowy mountain,
a mother's lies to her children -
"I'm okay",
"It doesn't matter", -
my letting go
let go
only to slink back between the sheets
and hold you close.
my letting go
wears love in its eyes
stitches in hope from the sky
and prays for what was let gone
to come back;
else, you were never mine to begin with
but i, i am now yours,
(and only yours)
until the very end.
i was on the road. (uttarakhand +delhi trip, june 2016)
May 2016 · 999
the butcher.
sanch kay May 2016
worn hands
stained red from dead
remnants of animals;
old wife still finds
love there.
sanch kay Apr 2016
if there is an experiment to determine ways
of permanently doing away
with this everyday weight that is
i volunteer.
take me first.

take me first
before i send myself away.
sanch kay Apr 2016
when i was young,
i only lived
between the pages of a book
between the words of a sentence
between Privet Drive and Baker Street
between bookstores and libraries
where I did not have to speak
to make friends;
where I made friends
who would not leave,
where I could leave
and return to see
that nothing had changed;
nothing, except me,
but only a little.

now that i’m older
i’ve been twice
to the other side and back;
i think i’d also like to live
between time zones and skylines
between silken sheets on starry nights
between your fingers and your eyes,
where conversations are passports
to other worlds in
in other hearts beating
in other bodies;

if only for just a little.
for #napowrimo. to you, from me.
sanch kay Apr 2016
we do not have to beg and plead
to meet with our Gods in mosques and temples.
holy isn’t the space between stone pillars and walls -
holy is the absolute power of our ***,
holy is the space between our legs.
we do not have to hide and disguise
the pain of a hundred muscles writhing and twisting
and sneak into warm kitchens to feed cold stomachs
after hours;
a pounding heartbeat
marking every second stolen to steal food
from a home that is just as rightfully ours.

we do not have an obligation to remain
a glassy lake that lies still throughout the storm,
pleasing every passerby with a picture of themselves;
the narcissists and egotists can go straight to hell.
we do not have to cut our lips on our teeth
by setting our default response to a ‘yes’
when every cell in our bodies unite to protest.

we do not have to pretend to smile at the
uninvited embraces of unwelcome hands and eyes.

because no holy man in a holy temple that exiles women
deserves to rub his filthy hands over the valleys and mountains
of goddesses cast in stone,
and no tradition can lead to the starvation
of a woman who has to bleed if she is to live.
lakes do not stay serene in a storm, they do not surrender;
they bend over backwards and swallow the horror.

you see?
we do not
we absolutely do not
have to
need to
or be forced to
do anything at all -
unless we
really, really
want to.
for #NaPoWriMo, for equality.
sanch kay Apr 2016
learned to swim in an ocean filled with
jellyfish that didn’t sting,
and more hands than i needed to hold
in a party that of more than four,
our brand new family strung together with salt water.
this time, everything is for the last time.

is the
first ever time
my decisions are the
children of orphaned thoughts.
they swing across canyons of hope
attached to no rope.
reality is a maze with no roadmap.

there is so much lesser now, than there used to be,
there is also so much more now, than there used to be.
somewhere nestled inbetween is satisfaction.

today, my heart joined the gym.
the mission? twenty seconds of bravery.

mission accomplished.
twenty minutes of bravery,
here i come.

there was a time before.
there will be a time after.
from today, there is no going back.

the trek has led to
an obstacle course.
let the games begin.
part of NaPoWriMo 2016, and TheDirtyThirty.
Apr 2016 · 2.0k
a poem (just for you).
sanch kay Apr 2016
if i were a poem,
i would wallpaper
the walls of your heart
with my words;
that way,
every time your heart beats,
you’ll hear me sigh;
i love you.
Apr 2016 · 1.5k
sanch kay Apr 2016
"until death do us apart!"*
declared innocence.
"until time do you apart"*,
whispered wisdom.
my wisdom and innocence are in perennial battle.
for NaPoWriMo 2016, day 2.
(sorry for the late upload!)
Apr 2016 · 1.3k
reverse homecoming.
sanch kay Apr 2016
glass and concrete
walls that do not hold
memories of home.
form: Collom's lune.
for NaPoWriMo 2016.
Apr 2016 · 900
in your twenties.
sanch kay Apr 2016
broke, scared, high, uncared - ******.
too in love with love to let him go.
hands ripping skin around fingernails to shreds.
contemplating the existence of religion and of ambition,
(remember they say work is worship,
your purpose you cannot shun).
fingernails scraping the desperate bones between which a beating heart once bled.
in the shadows of the darkness you see the past -
another second passed, time flying so fast, one cannot last.
treading tip-toe across a tightrope
stretched thin between your rising expectations
and his fla(il)ling patience.
nature’s infinite scream tearing through dimensions, leaving you haunted.
there’s a lot you hoped you’d never be in your twenties.

slow, shallow, low, hollow - stop.
diaphanous landscapes leaking into memory’s slippery crevasses.
no longer aware of the here and now.
battling desperately against reality’s sting.
questioning the bitter metallic aftertaste that punctuates
every seemingly-cheerful conversation.
self-worth slashed into strings of cynicism
hanging around a sorry neck.
inhaling air thick with the dregs of a life
suspended between conflicting timelines.
the past and present collide angrily to disfigure the future.
the past and present, two words that cease to exist in the future.
glassy eyes staring proudly at shattered crutches scattered around cut feet.
there's a lot you never thought you'd be in your twenties.

bold, bitter, brave, better - ready.
ready for the solitary walk,
a lifelong talk with only the voices in your head for company.
ready to dance to the vibrations that distort carefully laid plans.
ready to survive stormy seas on stormy nights
with no lighthouse waiting to shine on.
ready for what's incredible, what's impossible, what's magical;
only not for what's mechanical.
ready to face more no's and less yes's
no heroes and angry villains  
but carry on anyway.
ready to say yes when your ego says no,
ready to say yes when your brain says no;
never ready to say yes when the heart says no.
**there's a lot we've become in our twenties.
Jan 2016 · 3.1k
sanch kay Jan 2016
pinecones are
childhood summers spent tripping over the syllables of dense forests
folded somewhere between real world Europe and my very real imagination,
nestled against each other on bookshelves made of pinewood -
a childhood game of hide and go seek pressed in photo albums
where a version of me lived;
a version of me who delighted my mother and father,
a version who to me remains a stranger -
smiling gap toothed, shoes in snow boots,
sticky fingers pressing pine cones against her nose -

the present, a fragrance;
the future, a rolling pine forest.

pinecones are what the years between 17 and 19 felt like
in perennial wanderlust,
soul spliced into shards trying to make sense of
everything I felt and everything I thought;
everything I needed and everything I still want.
pine cones perfume the edges of a dream
dipped in the streams and stories of far-off lands,
pine cones are the crutches of a crippled mind
still building a new home for itself
in the basements of other people’s hearts.

pinecones are
platforms which I danced from,
leaping limber, slaying fear, the win always near;
pine cones are a reminder that while
a man can break his shoulder trying to tear one from the tree,
the true mark of bravery lies in how well you can break free.

pine cones are
the skeletons upon which hang the colourless drapes of my future
before stepping into galactic puddles that splash colour
all over every unmade plan,
memories’ strands shining technicolour through translucent skin -
the touch of your fingers no longer feel like sins.

pine cones are young green and supple,
seeds of love lust and chance encounters
that blaze into fiery shades of yellows and oranges,
every colour turning a tinge darker, a daily time marker;
pine cones are what remain, dark and unyielding
after a lifecycle of fires starting
and dying
within the embers of consciousness.
hello, memory.
Jan 2016 · 1.4k
red wrists.
sanch kay Jan 2016
we’re the cool girls of this generation,
the ones with the words ‘i .cannot. give. a. ****’
slashed across us in bold red,
the little lies we tell ourselves to go to bed,
instead of spending midnight hours strung on the edge
unable to seek behind or storm ahead.

the ones who fell asleep
to the sound of constant yelling, artillery shelling; bitter bullets exploding
into ugly bruises splattered across still skinny limbs,
shifting stories of anger and frustration, guilt and regret
expressed across inches of innocent skin;
the ones whose clothes were just a little bit frayed on the edges
the wear and tear of secret battles
fought behind sunset alleys,
behind midnight tea stalls
or on bright Sunday afternoons
at the bus stand,
desperately fighting hungry eyes and hungrier hands.

we’re the cool girls of this generation -
the ones with the
red tips red lips
red ribs red wrists.

we’re the cool girls of this generation -
the ones that house boys in our hearts and
smoke in our lungs,
the ones who spend way too much time inside their own head,
asking a hundred questions before every step in this game of wizarding chess that
never seems to slow down -

we’re the ones that can be found
wandering insomniac across sulphur-sodden streets,
wisps of distant wishes
settling into the foggy vestiges
of a high mind longing to soar higher.

we’re the cool girls of this generation
the one that are still allowed just the right rationing of
action emotion expression complication communication
while wearing a constant resting not-so-***** face
head sorting information in a frenzied daze,
heart swinging between your fingers and a suitcase -

the ones with one foot in the present and
other parts traversing through parallel dimensions,
searching for a back up plan if your hearts refuse to allow us home;
the ones whose mouths became graveyards
for all the words that went unsaid,
for all the words to which we came undone,
for all times your eyes asked us questions that we shunned

we’re the cool girls of this generation -
the ones that belong to roads unknown and bodies untouched,
the ones that find stories in shipwrecked planks
that ride stormy oceans only to find homes
or perhaps even build them -
amidst the crumbling sand castles on the sea shore.

because we’re the cool girls of this generation -
the ones with the
*red tips red lips
red ribs red wrists.
Dec 2015 · 1.1k
dear twenty-year old me,
sanch kay Dec 2015
dear twenty-year old me,
the storm in your head will settle and
the debris will remain down for a few minutes longer this time.
(and then you'll learn to hold down fortresses in the
hurricanes, instead of being the ragdoll that
the torrents play tag with)

dear twenty-year old me,
there will be a moment when no amount of
poisonous smog clutching on the every molecule of breathable air
will be enough to block the clarity of the sun, the moon,
even the little stars that seemingly do nothing but give you a carpet
of diamonds to cut your feet on.

dear twenty-year old me,
this is a test. this is a phase. if life has taught me
anything, it is this -
**so should you.
musings as i bid the dying year goodbye.
Nov 2015 · 1.0k
sanch kay Nov 2015
you know nothing's okay
when half your chats end in meaningless okays
when 'okay' is your involuntary response to the questions that aren't asked
to the questions that pierce in the form of pitiful looks
to the questions that mean well
to the questions that only mean to tell
you that hey - your life is messed up and you need to get okay.
like I even know what that means.
who's been okay lately, really?
*not i.
Oct 2015 · 1.5k
21w (to part with).
sanch kay Oct 2015
and she wrote poetry
listening to the moonbeams crash at her feet
while the stars exploded and died before her eyes.
everything's gone.
Oct 2015 · 834
sanch kay Oct 2015
a thousand years from now exists
a world that thrums purely on the energies of nature.
a thousand years from now exists
a world whose stories you now
of what you create now to save then.
Oct 2015 · 882
sanch kay Oct 2015
my scars are
sneaky storytellers.
your eyes can
speak secrets.
our stories are but
fireflies that live
and die
*in the dark.
Oct 2015 · 897
failed writer.
sanch kay Oct 2015
by now i
should have could have would have
had all parts of me
in words
scattered all across the cyberspace
grabbing eyeballs from
all continents.

but without my voice
i'm struggling,
(my wings have been slashed),
its been

*i cannot write.
writer's block, you're a *****.
Oct 2015 · 545
using words.
sanch kay Oct 2015
i write this
|for you,
for me
but really
i write this
about you,
from me.
i don't think i'll ever stop writing you little love notes at 2 am before finally allowing sleep to steal me from you.
Oct 2015 · 586
you. (11w)
Oct 2015 · 1.1k
sanch kay Oct 2015
i lost it
to the mountains, that night when
the fireplace consumed log after log
throwing orange red and yellow
across the underground walls
, and
the river rushed above us
winter wonderland;
where three feet beds of snow
kiss jagged glacier lips and
bleed rivers.

i lost myself
that night, with you
(to you)
*in the mountains.
till we get to travel together for real, i'll keep myself content with sketching little adventures for us through daydreams painted in poetry.
Oct 2015 · 1.2k
sanch kay Oct 2015
looks are blushes, the summer skies burning
across the curves of my cheeks;
something deep down inside stirs.

'I want to get lost in the
mountains', you said, and i
immediately wanted to get lost
in your eyes.

Electricity -
that feeling of sudden power
coupled with the sting of vulnerability
that sets your nerves on edge
the first time he touches you.

(the first time he touched me
i forgot what my hands
even felt before
they met his.
they struggled to let go)

one day our eyes had
enough of waiting, our
hands got greedy for
naked flesh and we longed
for moremoremoremore.

we never admitted it
not to each other, and
especially never to ourselves
but baby, you were my manna
and i, *the one who perhaps
could have.

and to this day i have
not stopped longing
to wake up wrapped
around you, wrapped
in your arms,

Oct 2015 · 613
fire, fire.
sanch kay Oct 2015
never will it cease to amaze me
how little it takes to spark
so all-consuming a flame.
you set me aglow,
(there's no going back).
Oct 2015 · 1.4k
i like writing you poetry.
sanch kay Oct 2015
i like writing you poetry -
at 2 am, night lights glowing through
rain streaked windows, i listen to the city
and wish you'd listen to me.

i like writing you poetry -
angsty little love notes where
every word betrays the cool countenance
i otherwise wear on my face when
we're warring with our words but
teasing with our tongues.

i like writing you poetry -
it's where i can tell you the stories
that belong to the dead of the night
and the dead of my heart.

i like writing you poetry -
because it's the only way
i can tell you that i love you
*without you ever having to know.
hello, love.
Oct 2015 · 3.3k
how to disappear completely.
sanch kay Oct 2015
every day, speak a little less
reduce the number of words you say from half to
ten less, and then none at all.

Don't forget to be soft.
Kiss your mountaintop goodbye for
one last sunrise and descend
into the night
where it's quiet
like you should be.

one by one, pull back towards yourself
the orbs of energy you've left
bouncing around you in the
be their chalice
one last time
and watch them burn out.

and when you're reduced to
dying ashes and deathly whispers
a strong voice will suddenly falter
and they wonder -
*didn't we once know a ... ?
loud no more. i apologise for all the trouble caused.
Oct 2015 · 793
meeting in verse.
sanch kay Oct 2015
i like it when
your name and my name
meet in the unlikeliest of places;
falling off someone's lips like twin dew drops
in a stray conversation, or appearing
together as partners in crime
when our vices are the
topic of conversation.
sanch kay Oct 2015
there are too many hours of the day that I am awake for;
twenty-four is a number I have come to dread.
I hate that I'm rolling around for hours and hours,
watching the colours shift across the sky
from one agonising hour to the other
when I'm trapped in this body, this brain, this mind,
this me.

i hate the fact that an empty echoing house
is all that I have to come back to
and that my worst nightmares
are my every day realities;
just me, awake, all day, all night,
all alone in this ******* world.

i hate that the warm body and warmer soul I want to make love to
in whose arms I want to spend every night -
wants nothing but return to the comfort of his own bed,
leaving me to battle another ****** night
with the demons that devour my brain.

i hate that for every twenty seconds of sleep I sneakily ******,
i'm made to pay through weeks of wakefullness
that settles heavily into my muscles and my bones
leaving me aching and restless, making survival
a struggle and not a goal.
I hate this.
there are too many hours of the day that I am awake for -
**i want to be awake for none at all.
Insomniac, too many sunrises seen, too **** fed up.
Sep 2015 · 640
for. ever.
sanch kay Sep 2015
they say everything ends.
shall we prove them *wrong?
i love you.
Sep 2015 · 1.6k
where does poetry live?
sanch kay Sep 2015
poetry lives
not just in the dreamy glow of the moon
across your lover's eyes
on a perfect evening, or the
mesmerising game of light
and shadows dancing on
moving waters, through
wooded greens;
poetry lives in
the little things you
don't see and don't say:
the sharp edges of heartbreak, the
magnanimity of forgiveness, the
soft sighs of love that
*won't go away.
Sep 2015 · 588
bye bye, (sadness).
sanch kay Sep 2015
my sadness is tired of being sad,
it doesn't know happy;
it wants to go to sleep
and never wake up -
(like me).
will the pendulum ever stop swinging?
Aug 2015 · 599
sanch kay Aug 2015
broken words and wilting bodies,
that's us, a messy generation of
glassy eyes and bulletproof souls.
will we ever stop alienating and shattering each other?
Aug 2015 · 1.3k
to die.
sanch kay Aug 2015
of course* i want to die
i think of it every
second every minute every hour.

and now you've all begun to
ask questions,
whisper behind my back, she
looks dead;

has the lord of the underworld staked
his claim over
me *already?
is it my time to go? (please say yes).
Aug 2015 · 1.0k
sick minds.
sanch kay Aug 2015
our sick minds, they get no sympathy.
you can get caught in the civil war
your mind wages against itself and
emerge victorious night after night,
who cares, no one's looking,
you're not supposed to show off.
but cry for three days straight
and everybody loses their ****.
i don't want to have this sick mind,
i didn't ask for this sick life,
i'd rather take it all and sell it
to the devil.
since i'm destined for hell anyway, can i get home sooner? this living thing isn't really my thing.
Aug 2015 · 1.1k
lost (in the night sky).
sanch kay Aug 2015
little drops of me start
melting into the velvet skies,
i'm a hot sticky
dark and twisty
mess that needs to
go away into the
mysteries of the night.
Aug 2015 · 605
gasping through words.
sanch kay Aug 2015
and despite the hazy monsoon
in my eyes;
i plough on,
trying to write.
i don't know.
Aug 2015 · 819
sanch kay Aug 2015
home is
city lights sparkling bright
across the seas and into
the stars of the sparkly nights.
home is
waves thundering into the
shore, welcoming me
back into their frothy
home is
where I'll drown
to my happy end.

home is
silky blue candles
throwing yellow shadows
across our entwined bodies,
home is
where I'll
give myself to you.

home is
where I'm
not afraid to be
i'm homesick for my city (and my soul), can you tell?
Aug 2015 · 466
nighttime secrets.
sanch kay Aug 2015
and sometimes i want to call you baby
whisper secrets into your ears while
we jam into the midnight to our
secret symphony.
come back, you.
Aug 2015 · 900
sanch kay Aug 2015
it hurts to write down
all the words i feel.
memory is a blade,
slashing through the numbed skin;
i bleed in thoughts.
today, everything hurts.
sanch kay Aug 2015
i have questions to ask to
those who believe they have
every right to leave trails of
mass destruction blossoming
(like the fresh blood of a flesh wound)
as they trod across a landscape
of broken hearts -
tell me, does it delight you
to watch an entire generation
go down in flames?
so sick of all the apathy and cowardice.
sanch kay Aug 2015
and every time
you break my heart,
i learn to bleed
in *prettier patterns.
i miss you and i know that being apart is a bad idea.
Aug 2015 · 716
last words.
sanch kay Aug 2015
slash my wrist
wait to die.
this whole living thing is taking its toll on me.
Aug 2015 · 659
love notes at 2 am.
sanch kay Aug 2015
your musky metallic tang
on my bittersweet tongue,
(i'm thirsty);
oh honey,
*let's meet.
Jul 2015 · 693
sneaking out.
sanch kay Jul 2015
the rush of the illicit
while exhilarating.
is temporary.
for how long will you keep me a secret?
Jul 2015 · 715
sanch kay Jul 2015
freedom, you wild thing
coursing through my bleeding veins
*pulling things apart.
what if the only people we can be truth with are our own lonely selves?
Jul 2015 · 549
denial no more.
sanch kay Jul 2015
maybe the fact that you know
(the truth)
is the reason you're staying away -
(please come back).
Jul 2015 · 838
the fall.
sanch kay Jul 2015
the view from the top is marvellous.
such a shame it would be,
to *fall.
I sense a change.
Jul 2015 · 1.2k
sanch kay Jul 2015
i had things
go my way, then
right now, you and i
we'd be screaming through the
mountain air, hanging upside down
on a cord made of bravery and love, we'd
under the
naked moonlight,
waterfalls calling out
in the distance; i'd have
my hands around your neck and
legs tight around your waist as we paused
between the slipping rocks to steal each other's
breath away.
i had
things go my way,
baby, we'd take on the world
together; with a sky full of secrets
watching over us as we make memories
(and love)*
all over this world.
of love, lust and wanderlust. (i miss being with you).
Jul 2015 · 3.0k
on the fault lines.
sanch kay Jul 2015
and somewhere in-between
i'm okay and it's fine
i lost myself.
slipping through the cracks.
Jul 2015 · 842
sanch kay Jul 2015
your eyes with questions dripping off them;
we need to talk.
too late;
*i've forgotten how to.
too far gone.
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