Story of a Woodpecker

Why doesn’t she sing on the majestic hills,

and sway on the bay till time stands still?

Why doesn’t she go the gentle way,

and feed on some easy prey ?

Someone tell the brutal tree,

“It’s time, to bend your knee.”

She takes a peek inside its soul,

Unwraps the mystery, and grabs her goal.

She screams her triumphs with her head held high,

The cosmos always helps those who try.

Oh woodpecker, you carve your name on every skin,

You’re Frail and small but so tough within.

Life is like the arduous tree,

You struggle and hit, till it sets you free.

Speak your mind, be dauntless forever,

Come what may, keep pecking like the woodpecker.

(Art source: google )

Sorry society.

Sorry society, for not being the fragile princess you always wanted me to be.
Sorry society, but when I saw his eyes transfixed on my breasts as if they were theirs to please, I felt I would crush those very eyes and stifle him till he could breath no more.
Sorry society, for I wear clothes which show my knees and those heels an inch longer,
I paint my eyes a shade darker and colour my lips crimson red just because I want to .
Sorry society, for somehow I forget every time, that only crazy women speak too much , mouths are supposed to be used to whistle at every girl that crosses the street.
Sorry society but I heard of this woman who chose to be a single mother, and raise her own child, what a reckless slut, isn’t she ?
Sorry society, I declined the offer to be dropped at my home safely after ten, because I thought I was big enough to protect myself.
Sorry society, but when you call anybody a pussy, I’m dumb enough to think that it’s not synonymous to weakness .
Sorry society, for being an irrational inquisitive loud freak, and not accepting that certain things are meant just for boys .
Sorry society, for not appreciating humour: ” why do women have legs ? So they can get from the bedroom to the kitchen ” it is a funny joke, I should have exploded laughing.
Sorry society, for I’m gross, I have hair on my legs and hands and everywhere else and weirdly it does not bother me.
Sorry society, for bleeding every month, for ruining my bedsheets and more than that for acting absurd during those days, for being unable to control my damn hormones. It’s all my fault.
Sorry society, for I stare right back instead of shying away and looking down .
Sorry society, for not having a soft soothing voice, for not walking the catlike walk – sashaying my hips with grace.
Sorry society, for I have rebelled in the past, in the present and shall continue to do so in the future .
Sorry society, for not being even remotely sorry, not a bit, not at all.

Floating clouds

Cold icy hands , a lean figure shrouded in black, he brings his hand forward, I could feel a smirk even behind the veil, villainous, destructing, annihilating- it doesn’t feel alien.
I walk in empty streets tracing my way across rusty street lights, hurling out smoke, dreaming of white tulips, and pink sunsets – it doesn’t feel alien .
I’m stuck on a forlorn island in a wooden hut. I can listen to the waves roaring, crashing, hitting the stones, a symphony.I close my eyes, it doesn’t feel alien .
It’s that time of the year, when the wind brings with it, the sweet smell of illusive nothingness, my mind whirls, buzzing with sweet memories of friends long forgotten and love unrequited . It doesn’t feel alien .
Hazy days and steamy coffee, here I sit wondering, trying to make sense of it all, things done, left undone, words said and left unsaid .
Another moment I’m weeping and laughing in the pouring rain trying to drown me or are they just my thoughts ? I look up and see myself sitting on the clouds with my head bent down; green, yellow, brown, blue, invisible I’m invisible to her ,no I look miniature, I tell myself . “You look miniature to her.”
I look down at my soggy legs, black dust and wet leaves. I think I should leave but it doesn’t feel alien .
I am tiny and fragile like a bubble floating around like a feather, I wonder where to land . It should be morning, the sun would rise any moment .
I’m moving at jet speed now, I race, I race I race, I am running running running .I collide into the crimson sun and rise with it, embraced by the smoke – I become whole.
I am sitting on the cloud, my auburn hair all over my face and black eyes transfixed on something; I feel alien now. Admist the silhouettes here’s where the road diverges into two – rocky dusty with the smell of sweet victory and the other which I cannot see. I dive .

The free caged bird

Choking , gasping ,
She sinks in the deep black ocean of
misogyny ,
Enveloped in a thick black veil that conceals nothing –
But your
black heart and your black mind ,
As you watch from the shore with your arms crossed ,
Blaming her for her plight .

She smothers , stifles and suffocates
Like a caged bird ,
desperately struggling to open its colourful wings and soar ,
High admist the thick white clouds ,
and the clear blue sky ;
while you’re busy holding on to senseless chains of patriarchy and belittling her .

But whirlpools don’t drown ,
For
she will rise like a dauntless vortex ;
destroying the very shore you were standing on ,
The shore which like your very own thoughts are built of grains of sand.
You can entrap a bird so beautiful ,
But she will never stop singing those summer songs ,
Songs – that give her hope and strength
To break free .

Blind in your ego and vanity ,
Numb in your rage ,
You do not realize that
One day
She’d be gone .
Gone far far away from your reach –
In a place beyond limits and boundaries ,
In a place beyond oppression and misogyny .
Singing her summer songs ,
She’ll meet you there.

The Burning City

There was one, a factor unknown,
Pledged to save the city where every man would mourn.
His very shadow was shrouded among shadows,
He could not sleep peacefully ’til he perpetrated his vows.
Man with an iron fist,
He believed that humans should co-exist.
The revolution to be bought was in full swing,
Revolution to destroy the ghoul – a brutal man ; only pain to his subjects who would bring .
But behind a brute there is always a machiavellian mind,
Who used power and his prestige to bind and grind.

It will now end ,pull down the curtains, close the shutters.
A storm is coming ,
We better start running, gunning for the city that is burning, turning, churning excuses but along the way learning.
To the ground it was razed,
Where once the cattle grazed.
A burning mansion, for the sake of expansion, it was a sensation of trepidation ,
that a nation so great faced emasculation.

The cessation of taxation; a phoenix will rise,
in the form a nation free of strife.
Ashes to Ashes ,
The burning city , to rise once again, now falls .
The people were once desolate and mauled ,
Somewhere from the hero’s brain, a whisper crawled .
“If you’ll stop now , you’ll be abhorred ” ,
His heart – the thirst for freedom , it had fully absorbed .
The value of a life will no longer suffice,
He was left with no other choice .
The beast of society has to end ,
The ghoul ‘s victory will bring more grief than the hero’s death .
And it was then that he realized he had made his bed,
The bed is comfy , it will be all black soon after red.

A fanatic exploited this golden land ,
Now ashes envelope it like a beach with sand .
Rise and now dispel the showers of mayhem ,
he thinks ,bring back concord , support the growing stem.
The enigma takes the ghoul along , it wasn’t really a tough fight .
He dispels the darkness, and finally spreads the light .
Before closing his eyes for the last time ,he prays for the sun to come ,
He thinks ,”under the soft breeze , a song I will hum ,
Only this time ,when I hear the drum , i’ll run ,
I won’t march , i’ll run till I see the sun.
Somewhere far away , into the wild ;
Build of mild anatomy , I’ll play soon just like a child. ”

     

    This poem was the result of a bizarre conversation that I was having with Shitij ( https://shitijsharma24.wordpress.com/ ) . So , this is a collective effort . Also his first novel ” The girl from Rostov ” just got published . You can get it here   (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01LDFM9EK ).

Abyss

Falling happily ,
In this
Obscure abyss ;
Like a reader lost in fantasy,
Continuing ,
Even if it breaks his egocentric little reader’s heart ,
Gulping the death of his darlings .
Embracing the wounds every word gifts him with:
A blissful peaceful slaughter .
I want to be stuck in this abyss forever.

Invigorating intoxicating pit this is-
Leading my mind to a trance .
A maze of relentless passion ;
It feels like fire .

I’m restless ;
Like a man sinking in the ocean ,
Clutching whatever he can ,
Holding on for dear life .
I’m ravenous ;
Like a man ,
Devouring the last drop of wine that is left,
Yearning to stretch that split second into years .
This abyss is now my abode.

When the clouds embraced the moon at night ,
I would sit by my window and envy the sight .
So many stars that filled the sky ,
Two of them twinkled in those bright dark eyes .
Damn those sadist little bewitching eyes.

Beauty

You ,
Yes you who’s reading this
You’re made of stars ,with galaxies within.
You’re not beautiful like the butterfly fluttering around the purple flowers ,
or like the moon in the night sky .
You’re not beautiful like a song,
Or like the snow flakes on the ground on a winter morning.
You’re beautiful like you .
You’re beautiful because you’re you .
You’re beautiful because no one can be you .
Even when you cry so much that your insides hurt ,
Even when you mess things up ,
Even when you’re angry ,
Even at your stupidest inane acts,
Even at your worst worst ,
You’re beautiful .
Because you’re not the times you were silent
You’re the times you understood silence.
You’re not your woes
You’re the times you had removed others woes.
You ,
Yes you .
Your flaws ,
Your curves ,
Your scars,
Your body ,
Your heart ,
Your mind ,
Is beautiful .
I can see ,
I can see.
And in the morning ,
When the clouds are white , when
the dew drops glisten on the leaves and
Your eyes opened wide ,
I wish you’ll realise ,
That you’re no less than the beauty that surrounds you .

Horrors of divergence

The adamant roots sprout from the trees;
Woven together like threads ,
Creating their own mesh.
Growing deeper and deeper ,
Like a thirsty conqueror,
On a conquest to seize the world .
Mating like lustful lovers ,
Who’ve been apart for too long .
Embracing and whispering sweet songs
into each others ears.
Interlocked in a manner ,
Impossible to be untangled.
An architect of the tree ,
They hold it firmly together.
Such is the strength of bonds formed by water ,
The roots prefer to die embracing ,
Than forsaking each other .

Why do then,
bonds formed by blood ,
Succumb to the slightest wind ,
Breaking like pieces of glass ?
Man killing another man with neither guilt nor shame ,
Aren’t we sprouts of the same bud ?
Our hearts have gone numb ,
It doesn’t rend at the sight of gore and wreckage.
We march towards havoc ,
Blinded by our prejudice and ego .
We’re on the verge of destroying the tree: once sturdy and tenacious,
Which now awaits its doom.
Our bonds so fickle ,
It gradually rusts,
while hanging on the barn.
Devoted like the roots ,
I hope we would eventually return to our roots.

Plea to my juvenile self

Dear five year old me ,

You climbed the Junglegym once upon a time and fell down scraping your knee. You got up and didn’t stop till you reached the top.

You spent hours on the swing ,
Gazing at the snowy white clouds that looked like horses racing on the clear blue sky.

You cried your heart out when it had hurt , when the pain was unbearable .

You spilled all the milk out of your mouth, bursting into laughter at a silly joke cracked by your friend.

You found solace in stories , pestering everyone who you knew to tell you one .

Why is the sky blue ?Why do we pray ?Why do trees don’t speak? Why am I supposed to this ? How am I supposed to do this ?
Your curious mind kept asking questions to everyone – without hesitation . Making a list of questions , you pinned them on your wall.

You sat beside your grandmother shelling peas , on your father’s lap playing with his hair , telling your mother what you did the whole day.

You jumped in puddles without the fear of spoiling your dress , feeling the raindrops on your skin , anxiously waiting for the rainbow.

You raced with the dog alone even though your friend , who was afraid of dogs , said it would bite you.

You believed in magic, fairies and unicorns even when elders said they didn’t exist.

You drew , sung and danced because you wanted to draw , sing and dance. Was there any other reason required, to do what you loved to do ?

Dear five year old me , I know you’re still there within me and I want you to stay there – always .

Criticism

Cuddling me when I don’t want to ,”go away ” I shouted but the voices wouldn’t listen.                                                         

Rises from dingy dull places ; the whispers , I think .                               

Inspirit if you can but do not condemn without a trigger to help.

Too curvy , too flat , too shiny , too dull ,too short , too long ,too rude , too docile, too fast , too slow – I learnt they always have to say something .

Inclement showers trying to break the umbrella.

“Cactus ” they called it when the seed was that of a sunflower.

Invading the mind ,perforating through the heart , it can puncture the soul; if you let it do so

Sturdy winds fail to push locked doors,however .

Make way , meteors blaze and break:they won’t stop.