dear mom, dear dad
let me tell you
what you do not know
you do not know that i had a self-esteem
that did not even exist
you do not know that
i have been depressed
you do not know that when i was 12 years old
i cut myself on my
wrist
and
thigh
you do not know that i have
threw up my food because i have hated the way i looked
you do not know
that i have cried myself to sleep at night
you do not know that i have felt
worthless
useless
unloved
not good enough
why?
because
of
you
because of your
words
and what's sad
is that if i told you
you would hurt me even more
because you would
not understand

i am from a peach colored bedroom
and an overflow of stuffed animals.
i am from a childhood of make-believe.
i am from innocence.
i am from a supportive family and loving friends;
i am from a place where i was used to
losing relationships.
i am from lonely days
and even lonelier nights,
my only sunshine-- a boy i know all too well.
i am from giggling whispers and sweet smiles;
i am from a school full of jerks...
that i fell for anyways.
i am from a constant sense of not belonging,
a paranoia I'm at the bottom.
i am from the need to define myself,
to be represented with words and lyrics
that prove i'm not alone.
i am from a world so familiar
it hurts.

do you ever re-read my words?
do you ever find yourself
flipping through old pages,
clicking through old poems
just to get a taste of my soul?
i see you sitting there, deep in thought.
are you craving my poetry?
i'm sure you're wishing you could visit me in the galaxies
i made for you,
take a swim in the cerulean waters floating through space.
tell me-- do you still dream in black and white?
or have my words sparked a palette within you,
a painting you'd never seen?
i gave you access to a world once shrouded
in petty ideas of logic,
instead of canyons full of literary masterpieces.
i think you do more than "re-read my words."
i think you become them.

Until her scars
are ingrained
on the texture
of your skin,
Until her pain
flows through
the cracks of
your bones,
do not tell me
you love her.
do not tell me
she is your home.

A naive innocuous man
disregarded even by his wife
out of her vanity as a princess

The only strength for him
proved to be his beloved 'Pushpavali'
A lady with character and will
who took the river of words out of the rocky hill

She transformed a dyslexic 'kali'
to an intelligent Kalidas - true love of pushpavali
and sacrificed her life
to make her love meet his wife

Kalidas renowned as a great poet
but the poem was incomplete yet

His poems were highly praised
unknown to the inspiration
from which they were being raised

Kalidas as a poet was much above
but the very fact is that
behind all this was TRUE LOVE  

TRUE LOVE of Pushpavali !

There is still a part of me that will always be a child.
I do not think there will be a time where I will lose her,
That part of me who needs to be looked after.

I have spent so long now trying so hard to independent.
The days I go hungry because it is only me who will cook,
They will always be a part of me.

I take solace in the knowledge I can always go home,
But the day will come when home is what I have built for myself,
And the only person who will cook for me is me.