You would never know the real me!
And with each passing day, I mean it more and more!
From the beginning of my life, I was taught,
A woman should stay in her boundaries!
Oh she can speak what she wants, But only when the person asks her to!
Wait! Wait for them to ask you to give your opinion!
This idea of not speaking out of turn was very well wrapped in a the fake words that said, " A woman doesn't waste her words, she speaks only when necessary!"
Bullshit she does! She should speak whenever the hell she wants to!
But yet, I followed what I was told.
I was told never ever go near a male's ego, never ever say anything that can shake it and make sure you never ever say something that hurts ...
Acceptance has been a very strong enemy of mine!
Accepting smallest of the small things has given me hardships and demanded a lot of power.
From accepting a compliment to accepting my mistakes, I was always the modest person and just rejected them! I worked on the defense that accepting a good thing would ask for better and so would accepting a bad one! And I was not a mediocre to be better between good and worse, and that made me good to some and the worse to the others!
But here I am, as I realised how messy I made my life for myself asking for things to be white and black and never grey, asking for things to be fine and when they weren't just easily take the blame, Askin...
I was turning crazy!
And I was told I needed help!
Oh I did, I knew I did, But not the kind I was offered!
I went in search for answers and was going through nothing but worsening of my conditions.
I was also told it was all in my head or I was just being bitchy in general and blaming it on my mental health, blaming it on my past or blaming it on my choices.
I was told life is simpler than I make out of it and so is the concept of trust. But no one tried to understand why trust was so much complex to me, why life was so much of a disgrace.
They told me open a book and read, go out in the winds and walk, take a pen and write, enter a shower and sing, CLOSE YOUR EYES AND BREATH!
To all the boys I've loved before,
Hey there, I don't know how did I stumble upon the thoughts of you!
Maybe coz I was placing a lot of emphasis on me today!
Thinking about all that I am and all that I could be and all that I should be.
I never thanked you enough for changing me , Making me weak and highlighting my strengths at the same time.
Making sure you made me feel good even about the things you never cared about. That made me realise how little did my emotions mean to you, how little did my progress or insecurities mattered to you, how little did I mean to you.
My first boyfriend wrote poetries for me and my second one sung me songs, and that's the way I thought love was defined,...
Holding this phone in my hand,my virtual pen and paper,
My lost eyes looked out for a muse.
And that's when I saw this little boy with a packet of wafers in his hand,
His eyes lost in the busy world around,unaware of the things in the news.
Does he know that the aunty standing beside him is just posting that we need to go on a war?
Does he know that the north of our nation is part by part being tore?
Is he aware of the fact that all the security officials around him are present because his city is on high alert?
Or is he just fascinated by them and their guns,knowing that he's safe because they'll protect him from anyone who tries to hurt?
He seems lost in the thoughts looking at t...
And it was funny how,
Even after sleeping around with so many women,
He felt the need to beat me after coming home,
To feel manly!
While washing the blood off my clothes,
I realised I shouldn't had killed our baby,
I shouldn't had taken that pill.
That's the thing
You crave all
And finally when
you find it,
True and deep!
You doubt it!
And what do you do when you find your long lost poetry?
Admire your master piece and let the world see?
Let it go, as you did with the person for whom it was written?
Would I be enough ?
My eye liner might not be perfect as time passes,
Maybe the shape of my eyes would change,
It might be that my dark brown eyes won't shine in the sun someday,
So tell me,
Would I still be enough?
Someday my lips won't make the perfect curve,
My ears might not be able to hear your soft whispers,
My tongue might not be able to play with yours,
And maybe my nose might not be able to guess the perfume anymore.
Would I still be enough?
My body might not have the perfect curves someday,
My hands might not have the strength to hold yours tight,
My belly might just need a shaper to stay in place,
And maybe my back won't make a perfect hemisphere when you touch.
"Mom,what if they lie?"
"Mom,what if they hurt?"
"Mom,what if they fight?"
"Mom,what if they abuse?"
"But why do I forgive them for all the wrong?"
"Because my child, it's not about what they are,it's about what you are. And remember it's not about who loves you, it's always about who you love."
"Why didn't you tell me early?I can't do anything now,just let it go"
"But Dad,when I got to know what molestation means,it had already been long."
He is the chaos in your mind.
He is the answers you're desperate to find.
He is the ever repeating beautiful crime.
He is the emotions difficult to define.
He is the monk helping you to find your soul.
He is the wrecked dreamer asking you to question your goal.
He is the smile masking the dark past.
He is the breathe that holds you till the horrible present lasts.
He is the sigh after a unanswerable deed.
He is the angelic food for the inner demons to eat.
He is the huge lightening cracking through the sky and startling your inside.
He is the tiny petal of rose, bringing back the memories,even after it died.
He is the love that you need,the one that wrecks you apart.
He is th...
A writer is someone who explains the beauty of the flowers without skipping it's thorns.
A writer is someone who pens down stories from all around.
A writer is someone who helps you express your love.
A writer is someone who can make your eyes wet and at the same time bring your lips to form a curve.
A writer is someone who shows you what lies deep within.
A writer is someone who puts forth the ugliest truths and still leaves you in a state so serene.
A writer is someone who can motivate you enough to love yourself.
But a writer is someone who is confused soul in itself.
"Not all heroes wear a cape; some hold a pen.
Not all heroes have to fly around;some can change the world fro...
That night as I scribbled down in my diary,
The lamp being the only light penetrating the darkness of the room.
I wished it could also enter my within.
That night as I kept finding a reason to write,
Trying to find the lightened up area somewhere inside.
I wished I wrote something about the love I had for him somewhere within.
That night as I fell prey to my demons, as always,
Not writing a beautiful poetry but just some random stories to motivate.
I wished they didn't just help the world but also me somewhere within.
I knew the next morning was gonna be difficult,like everyday.
I had to see him again and suppress the smile that only appeared looking at his face.
I wished I...
I was always scared of showing my scarred body to him,the perfectionist.
But that night as he lay there holding on to my naked body, telling me how much he loved me.
I realised expectations don't matter when you are an exception.
As she haughtily flaunted her curves in the tight fitted dress,
I sat there comfortably in his over sized t-shirt smelling on to the remains of his lingering scent.
When I tried to recall the moments I spent with him.
It was the missing inception that made me realise that those were just dreams.
"How are you sure that its love?",They asked.
"The day I realised I wasn't just delighted by his bright side but also ready to face his darkness,I knew it was love."
Her Paranoia of losing him,
Led them from a state of CO-EXISTENCE to CO-DESTRUCTION.
I was lying on the bed;
As I felt him crawl on the bed and touch my bare body.
I could feel his hand tracing down my body, from the nape of my neck down my cold hard nipples . I felt something wet around my breasts, it was his tongue. He licked down slowly through my waist down and stopped. He stopped there for a while swirling his tongue around and making me want him inside me. But having him wasn't that easy.
He moved his fingers around my thighs all over but didn't put them where I wanted them the most. I tried to speak but just could let a mumble.
I waited for him to touch me again. I wanted to feel the warmth of his body against mine and also inside me.
He slowly took the cloth off m...
I was just a spiritual being.
Lost in the name of love;
Trying to find the real me.
Never got to play with it as a child.
I was finally happy when I got to own it after his death.
But that night as I heard my name being called out in my empty house;
I realised why grandpa kept the porcelain doll locked always.
"If the concept of rebirth is real,I want us to be lobsters,holding each other's claws for life."
He said as we jumped off the cliff;away from the tortures of our families, looking forward to a new life together .
There was a different sense of intimacy about the room we shared that day.
Not that it was the first time we were together in a room.
But the moment he opened the door there was a completely different atmosphere that was built around us.
I entered the dark room; as he closed the door behind me.
He had just woken up, smelling completely raw without all the expensive perfume. His breathe so strong.
I closed my eyes as he held me tight and slowly moved me to the bed.
Slowly his slid down my dress and his warm skin touched mine.
It was the first time we were sharing such an intimate moment in the dark; coz he always said he wanted to see my sparkling eyes . But that day was different.
On my death bed,I saw my kids fight for the possession over the best selling books that I wrote.
That's when my grand daughter whispered in my ear,asking me if she could get the first draft of my unfinished book.
I sit here to write with nothing on my mind and that's when one of my favourite writer's poem comes to my mind. He hasn't written a best seller yet. He's still a writer on the path of turning into an author, yet he's my favorite and would always be.
So back to the poem.
I love the way it starts. The first line takes me to a flashback of memories and till halfway through the poem I'm just connecting my memories together. The first line says, "How things change and still stay the same!"
The line seems so philosophical. It seems as if it is demanding to have a deeper meaning. But to me it's just a simple thought we don't give much attention to.
It always takes me back to the beginning of my r...
ANZAR FROM AVALON.
How was it even possible? How did the time pause ? Was I even out of my place or was this all only a dream? My mind was clouded with too many questions.
I pinched myself,to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
And oh! I wasn't.
I rushed to the door dropping the dream catcher,the thing I wanted to gift him;on the floor.
I climbed down the stairs as soon as I could.
I had to ask Anzar what was going on.
What had happened; more so I wanted to ask him if it had even happened or not.
I rushed on the street to find that Anzar had already left. I was shocked,but more than that angry . How could he do that to me? He left me with so many questions. Left me in a eternal state...
Who Paused The World!
"Noooo!" I screamed.
But I knew I had to leave. He held my hand and started dragging me in the direction of the car.
I kept walking the way he took me with my eyes still glued to the fireflies and the sea.
I could see them turning small,as I moved away from them. And just as we took the turn,it was all gone.
"Elina,there's no reason to cry." He said.
I looked at him. I hadn't seen him without a smile anytime the whole night. And now he was staring at me with a straight face. Without a tinge of emotions being expressed.
I jerked my hand off his and ran to the car. Crying.
He calmly came to the car and started the ride back home.
"Do you wanna listen to some m...
Elina, you may get down." Saying that he got out of the car in a blink of eye.
I,still not sure about my decision, hesitantly open the door of the car.
Just as I opened the door , a swift blow of breeze hit my face. It was soothing.
I got down.
The temperature of the place was lower than the city,but not lower enough to give you chills. Just in a perfect place maintaining the equilibrium.
I looked around and there was nothing but the pitch black street,too many trees and a pinkish-black sky on the verge of turning it's colour.
But where was Anzar? I couldn't see him any where.
I walked ahead calling out his name.
His name was echoing in that place. And yet no reply....