Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shreya Inks Jun 2016
Directionless and I wanted to be alone;
said you'll follow me no matter where I go,
lights misguide me, darkness is home;
we're clueless little kids not so long ago.

Words heal like nothing else would;
said all my thoughts you understood,
felt like am out of the woods;
but words stab like no knife could.

Nothing stays forever but;
general outlines of memories stay,
and it runs right behind you;
all those colors of promises fade away.

Telling the truth and lies too;
swearing like we never lie,
believed lies more than the truth;
love so blind, can’t deny.

Cried over mindlessness;
every time you tried to let it go,
hard to find good in goodbye;
‘cause you know healing is slow.

Nothing stays forever but;
general outlines of memories stay,
and it runs right behind you;
all those colors of promises fade away.

© Shreya ♥
"You were scared, weren't you? Scared of closeness, exposing your scars and fresh wounds. Scared to reveal your soul and a strong desire for a soul to cling to. Scared of agony, emptiness and heartbreak. Despite that you fell, deep and irrevocably —then you attempted to get over and it saddened your heart to know that there's no getting over, only falling deeper. You went elusive, you lost the desire to be found. You assumed that would heal, but healing is a slow and long process. Sometimes, you don't heal —you just learn to embrace it, sometimes you know it's a one way road and you take it anyway. You realize, you were better as a kid 'cause everything seemed easy then and most importantly you were loved, unconditionally. You believe in general outlines, like basic thing defining a figure. Colors fade away, images lose identity but the outlines somehow guide you to recognize and help yourself to pick up and keep going. Worst you can do to somebody is to destroy the perception about love."
Shreya Inks May 2016
You know it’s hard sometimes;
to love someone with all of your heart,
loving is bliss and curse same time;
and it hurts to have it torn apart.

We slip tears over the pillow;
threw head back to the laughs,
we have these memories;
in the words and photographs.

I whispered don’t go;
but you had to go home,
said I’ll miss you, remember;
I kissed you through the phone.

You’ve left on the nineteenth;
a little piece of me is where your heart is,
under that jacket you wore that morning;
the way I could miss someone is this.

Same old me and a whole new week;
but you can keep that piece of me,
tell me how this distance feels;
since you flew to west of the country.

I thought it will be same;
with you or without,
telling you a secret, keep it safe;
now I guess I doubt.

I’ll remember how you kissed me;
on the streets and by the lake side,
am bad at telling all this;
so I am just content when I hide.

You’ve left on the nineteenth;
a little piece of me is where your heart is,
under that jacket you wore that morning;
the way I could miss someone is this.

© Shreya ♥
"You don't know what you've got till it's gone."
Shreya Inks May 2016
Heard you laugh in my dreams;
like happy little kids were we,
all those things that scare you;
won’t hurt like a faded memory.

There’s this moon, full and bright,
you in slumber, curled in bed;
thoughts like old pictures of you,
hidden under sheets of tears shed.

Endless vigil, tear-stained pillow;
beautiful cuts and a deep fall,
melancholic it is, isn’t it?
to watch them go who had it all.

Hiding with sinking heart in a corner;
and life doesn’t treat you fair,
the truth is you want to run away;
all consumed up in despair.

Wounds are fresh and they ache;
victim of something unfortunate,
this nobody knows but me;
counting on the happiness so late.

Endless vigil, caressed skin;
all wrapped up in emptiness,
laughing throwing my head back;
so nobody could guess.

© Shreya ♥
“Every time, I felt like missing you —I told myself to stop and forced to sleep. I believe sleep could fix our souls. I don't know I slept or dreamt, I just watched something is missing behind and I did nothing about it. I feel like you're a mistake, I feel I'll regret this but I also know, there's a comfort of a kind in missing you. Comfort of being sad, maybe. I find a dark hollow spot sinking in my chest delivering me life and that's how I realize I am alive. I want to tell you all this on a hill top at 2:00 in morning under starlit night and lonely place followed by the North wind. I want to feel the shiver and realize, it's real. I want to smoke and make rings of it. I’ve caught you staring at me and I want to stare at you, find out what pain looks like and run my finger on the edges of loneliness. Losing my sleep writing about you is like a ritual for me, I feel I will be pure if I perform this ritual like vigil. The more painful it is, the more pure it will be. I have a strange belief that you can’t understand such a twisted logic, I am learning to be content with it. So I will be awake, writing and humming it like a nightingale –sitting in darkness under an unfruitful tree all alone and singing to cherish loneliness, sending you smoke signals.”
Shreya Inks Mar 2016
Flashback 2 decades;
candies were accolades,
paper airplanes and pistols;
card board houses and plastic dolls,
delayed tuition fee at school;
big kids don’t play but they rule,
bad grades on report card;
never been starred,
rented house, single bedroom;
finally had our little home,
jealousy well defined;
got it? never mind,
pocket money over again;
there comes the bargain,
man, all of the trouble;
so I formed this bubble,
stranger who molested me;
must die worst, I wanna see,
teen age and old radio;
my anger and alter ego,
same shirt thrice a week;
think a lot, never speak,
picked looking at right in the menu;
doesn’t matter what’s the venue,
knew mama saved money in a jar;
some wounds don’t leave a scar,
dropped things back looking at price tag;
ain’t no money in my bag,
man who stole my dad’s money;
ain’t no mercy, may he dies in misery,
dad’s scooter in blue;
man I loved that, they sold it too,
people don’t help but pretend;
imma break ‘em if they don’t bend,
working hard, success will unlock;
don’t say, “do” then we’ll talk,
to my friends in Delhi, sorry;
promise, will see ya soon don’t worry,
life’s a ***** I know;
it’s been quite a show,
know it was a rough patch;
like an itch ya can’t scratch,
but it's on, ***** it's on;
miss me when am gone.

© Shreya ♥
“Sometimes, things happen and you have no one to blame for. Sometimes, it happens to teach you something. Worst circumstances proves a great warrior and I am not the one who gives up easily, so bring it on. I want to remember, I fought –no matter I won or lost.”
Shreya Inks Mar 2016
22 new in the city;
big dreams, no money,
standing in endless queues for job;
dressed in old, holding degree.
Staying in a shoe-box;
street 16, opposite to a park,
with 4 figure salary;
missing spot, tryna make my mark.
Lost 6 in this city;
what they call that?
“rat race”, huh!
no feather in my hat.
Saving money for home;
****** up leave policy,
August at home finally;
but good times pass easy.
Extended hours at work;
but won’t extra pay me,
that’s my job they said;
can’t answer where’s my money.
Story 2 years later;
good job in a big company,
they said, nah not a great move;
***** now its 5 figures when they tax me.
Don’t even compare the numbers;
you don’t know that much math,
know you must hate me;
but I don’t give a ****, how’s that?
***** money games;
16 months didn’t see my family,
business replaced my priorities;
but numbers doesn’t make you happy.
Know now how **** works;
people are gonna judge ya,
they talk and won’t stop;
don’t worry your mama loves ya.
Struggle doesn’t end here;
the **** gets more real,
friends in 3 digits to say;
no one shows up when you fail.
Tell me I am an ice queen;
and I wish to be one,
world operates on numbers;
and I got none.

© Shreya ♥
“We at a point of time think money is all we need, and we plan our life that way. But happiness is another equation and money or any kind of number can’t balance it. See, numbers are for business and life ain’t business –so, sooner or later it doesn’t matter what’s your age, how much money you got, how many accounts you have, what’s your car model, how much is area of your house, what amount of luxury you possess, how many people liked (pretend to like) your photo on social media, how many trips you been to, what’s your height or weight. What matters is, are you happy? Because, happiness is something we create and you can be happy by reading a simple text and sometimes you can’t find happiness in 6 figure salary. I especially don’t like people who flaunt their stuff as status symbol. Anyone who reads Neruda, Murakami, Rumi, Bukowski, Sylvia Plath and remembers lines from their book is rich in my opinion. Or anyone, who treats people equally despite religion, cast, ****** orientation, color of skin, country, language, etc. You see, things can separate people in zillion ways.”
Shreya Inks Feb 2016
Took my pills on time;
left my phone on though,
I've been doing fine;
no signs of you.
Sale season is on;
I picked up a sweater in blue,
late Saturday night;
no signs of you.
How old books lie last in a pile;
sure, they're lovely too,
been reading Arab authors;
no signs of you.
I scored good in a game;
that's something new,
I play, but it's boring;
no signs of you.
Late nineties rap;
yeah I listened to a few,
it's on loop now;
no signs of you.
Good people are still there;
but I don't see any clue,
they're all out of time;
no signs of you.
They draw hearts on paper;
but don't have one I knew,
late February;
no signs of you.
I don't borrow but;
looks like some debt is due,
don't remember any;
maybe signs of you.
"Some people are like air balloons, once you slip them out of your hands -they won't ever land on your ground. They will fly high and end up on someone else's roof. You might never know where they went, 'cause the time of getting them out of your sight is very less. Longer you set your sight on them, deeper it will ache."
Shreya Inks Jan 2016
They say you’ll be alright;
know you want to believe,
and you hear them talk;
know you want to leave.

Fail to understand game of words;
all about the truth and lies,
silence is comforting but;
what a promise signifies?

They sell you words again;
can’t see the hole carved deep,
words hurt and words heal;
sometimes, aches even in the sleep.

Wish words were like smoke;
so you never have to have them again,
but they stay too long and deep;
nothing can refrain.

Of what’s already said;
sticks like arrows into your heart,
words **** you but flesh remains;
only words bleed when you depart.

They sell you words again;
words they can’t keep,
words hurt and words heal;
sometimes, aches even in the sleep.

© Shreya ♥
“Tell me –where the words touched you, wounded you and gave you scars that will never fade away. Show me every inch of the patch where words stabbed you to the bone, hidden under that skin. But most importantly, I want to know about that hollow spot where the damage was infinite and irrevocable. Maybe there is not a single word that could describe the damage the other words have done to you, maybe you will always be lost for words when you will be talking about words, and that is when you will realize that words are not only something that comes out of your mouth or flows out of the ink –it is something that creates life of its own and lives forever. Maybe someday when you will realize it has faded away and you’ll be curled up warm in bed, it will lurk from the past and scare you and you will be staring at those empty ceilings –sleepless and devoid of comfort. Maybe it will stab you again; right in the middle of your chest where all that dampness of sorrow resides –you will realize you were never over it, it was just like you had a cup of Novocain and now it doesn’t work anymore. That time you will know what a word can do. Words hurt and irony is you don’t find the words to describe it, so you name it after the people who gave it to you and that is why there’s no remedy for it.”
Next page