The idea

The best idea isn’t the one that you bring in existence forcefully.

But the one that hits you,
 hit you once and 
never egress

The one that
 doesn’t let you sleep at night
 and 
wanders in your empty mind

You are forced to write
to liberate your life
otherwise 
you will have nothing
but a mere thought
that once crossed your mind

Would you still look for me ?

One fine evening,
A thought came into my mind
which made me ponder and think of my plight
I sat on my chair and thought if I die
Would you come to me to say a final goodbye?
Would my dead body be able to get delight?
With  her alive beloved  sitting beside

I am not sure if it all makes sense,
But it is – just an attempt
to know…

That
If!! I am not alive except in your dream, Would you still look for me??

When the Dusk will set its spark,
with the sky full of stars,
Decorating it with their gleam
Will they remind you of your queen?
And  Would you still look for me??

Would you think of nights we spent together?
In that freezing cold weather,
To whom would you say-
“My world with you seems serene”
Would you still look for me ??

When one day suddenly your phone would beep,
Would you pray that;
By any chance, it’s your stupid being
If not!
Would you still look for me??

God forbid something silly happens around you,
Whose name would you scream?
Will it be mine or your new sunshine?
I hope she replies and
If not!
Would you still look for me ??

A lost battle

It was a beautiful day
with the burst of dancing sunshine
moving cars 
autumn pink flowers
and a general blather
A perfect day 
whence nobody peeks in their heart
a dreary place 
to look into
yet the habitual one
can’t help
to wander
to explore
to agitate 
and
to be beaten
A fight
a continuous battle 
with themselves
with their nature
with their soul

To reach nothing
but a defeat

 This is why a man is his greatest enemy

Quote

Poesia

 

Dreary nights with a longing
to meet him
the smile was exquisite and
when he asked if I’m the one to come from
the heavenly sky
I said yes
with a blissful smile
and a throbbing heart
the desire to meet you
was unconquering
my love
it was a nightmare
that distance
those long days
that’s why I came here
finally
crossing the five seas
to see you with these blessed eyes
that have been crying for you
to recreate that moment
that delightful scene
that coincided us
five eternities ago
O my dear I came here
only for you
I say
only for you

Mistakes & Gratitude

A smile, a blessing. There have been days when the leaves flicker under sunshine bringing new hope and joy. I have been called upon to watch them, listen to them and pay attention to them. Make their presence worthy in this world. They seem to bless the earth but they go unnoticed widely. We, fool human beings, take the beauty for granted. Their loveliness, their color, their presence is divine.

Then there comes a gloom in some dry cold country. A lonely place. An abandoned countryside. Old people are roaming there, still, hoping and clinging to their motherland. The country is known for its art. Art made ages ago. A remembrance of the past. Past full of crusades, wars, and famine. Yet, people are proud. Because they are ignorant. Birds shriek in dryness. The dryness that conquers the air. It is heavy and the sound is gloomy. The day settles at 15 and the darkness evades the entire village. Sun disappears behind the mountain and those bare valleys let it sunk deep within them. Swallowing it like a demon of darkness evades the light. People hide in their hood shutting themselves. Blinds fell and the artificial lights illuminate.

Then the memory works, fabrication initiates. His smile came back and his memory conquers the mind. That was a beautiful day. A heavenly presence was blessing me. Blessed me for a single day and left me behind as a cursed demon forced to live without his presence. May he be happy. May he reaches heights.

Sweet Beats (Part I)

Those eyes, beautiful
and delightful,
caged me forever.
My heart flew
away with joy
and
left me bereft like ever.

I cried, whined, sobbed
and declared,
It was you!
King of my dreams and
cause of my misery.

It felt like a havoc in my dear heaven.

There was a strange
pleasure whatsoever.
And gratefulness
for my fancies.
Hate lacked in the end,
I say,
in my lament defense.
And I’m again thankful
to you, my love,
for endowing me
with such a great sense.

For once and forever.

Such intensity within
those eyes,
smiling and loving
glazing and shining
will be my treasure forever.

Untold Story

At the root of all misery is unfulfilled desire- Scott Hahn (Pinterest)

There is a strange weight prowling inside my body. An agonizing suffocation of a feeling that is left untold. It was there for years- shut down in a remote corner of my heart. I tried to kill this cursed feeling, devastate it, murder it but it each time it emerges like an almighty angel.

We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in— Ernest Hemingway

I say it’s my inspiration- my muses, that makes me neurotic and help me down in work. This thought comforts me. But how do I say that this damned state is wretched and heartless- reminding me of the things I never had, the person I never had.

Coming back each night with its misery and sadness

My lifelong efforts haven’t been successful in repressing it as it came back last night and said, ‘Hey it’s you! I’m not only inside you but I’m you!’

Rupy Kaur: The Poet’s Voice

The writer who flourished from the Sikh diaspora and become one of the best known contemporary poets.

‘Milk and honey’, the New York Times best-seller is a first book written and published by Rupy Kaur who is now one of the most popular poets in the world. This writer emerged from the internet world. She is, as per Rolling Stone, the ‘Queen Of The Instapoets’.

It started in 2015 with an Instagram post in which she decided to open up and share a part (struggle) of being a woman. This was unconventional and was censored by Instagram. But Kaur didn’t stop and came to defend herself with the following response.

As a result, Instagram allowed the post to reappear on its platform but this rift brought a lot of attention to Rupy. She has been addressing a theme that, despite being a natural side of femininity, is considered a taboo.

Kaur’s writing often touches the intense themes: love, sex, heartbreak, abuse, trauma, race and gender dynamics.

Her life, as a child of the immigrants, along with her Sikh background influences her writing immensely. Her choice to use the lowercase and periods only is an ode to her mother tongue (Punjabi) and an effort to preserve the equality and symmetry it creates.

She talks about the pain and struggles that Sikhs endured during the 1984 genocide, that pushed his father to flee to Canada as a refugee. The trauma and the assault about which Rupi Kaur writes traces back those women who have been violated and left behind bereft in that period.

Her poetry reflects the lives of those South Asian girls who are expected to be conservative and quiet. Girls who are supposed to be pure and purports the dignity of their families.

Rupi challenges this idea of the tranquil woman and writes about her longings. The love she craves and the mistakes she made. The ache that the lost love induces and the wounds that a strong soul heals.

Poets like her challenge the silences and express their beliefs, thoughts in a way that makes the other forms rather unconvincing.

There are criticisms of course, but I wanted to write this just to appreciate one voice that excites the society to delve deep into the issues that we often ignore.
And pay my regards to another woman who inspires to search our soul with the art of poetry and encourage other people to create their own authentic masterpieces.