Sipping memories

She stirs up his memories

Gulps them down in shots

‘What is it like to drink poison

And never die? ‘

‘It tastes sweet at first!’

- she says,

reminiscing the good old days!

But slowly the drink starts its work

She feels drained

Runs out of breath,

Walks up and down

Moves her toes in circles

Rolls her eyes and bites her lips

It is not sweet anymore

It’s chokingly bitter instead

Yet she drinks

Again, and again

“But why?” – I ask.

Wiping her lips, she speaks:

“Just to taste the sweetness that

fails to retain”.

A GUY NEXT DOOR

Insecurities!

these days

he smokes insecurities

like an addiction.

The smoke drifting around him

forms a blurry hue

forbidding him to see

a clear picture.

Pity!

it’s nothing but pity

that’s what his heart utters

for himself

every time he engulfs into the last smolder.

Noise!

he listens to every last part of

the sound inside his head

turn into noise;

a constant and ugly reminder 

of his failure 

screaming its lungs out.

“Is it that tough?

to be your own hero?

to dust all the insecurities off

your shoulder?

to replace self-pity

with love for self?

to listen to the noise

as a music

tranquil enough to

play it in a repeat mode "

- he wonders. 

image source: Internet

Has it been that long already?

as the tips of your fingers
draw a line over my veins
it seems like
blood had stopped
flowing right there
a long time ago
making me feel nothing,
i feel nothing.
have my skin pores
forgotten the essence
of touch?
for you touch me
yet i am not touched.
you ask me
to look at the stars
you say they're so pretty
shining up above!
i swear i found them great
i swear i spent sleepless nights
admiring those heavenly bodies
but now i only see shining stones
pasted in black void
is my sight getting blurred?
or is the sky really getting ugly?
you tell me stories
of love and toil
of fantasies and miseries
but i fail to understand
what you mean
i fail to connect the dots,
you say you love me
you say it still feels the same
the exact same!
like flowers have just bloomed
the birds have just discovered
they can fly
feelings hold the same charm
you say!
why don't i feel the same?
have you changed?
Or ,am i bored of you now?
has it been that long already?

what love looks like

I see love after a long while
it has changed its shape now
it looks different from
what I thought it'd feel like
actually,
it is the exact opposite
of what I'd expected,
it doesn't smell of
roses and daisies
instead,
it has a taste of yesterday's alcohol
mixed with cigarettes
every time I kiss it.
I long to touch more
more of its cracked lips
frizzy hair
untamed beard
I crave for its fingers
running into my hair
that sweep it at the edge of my neck
and leaves a peck
on my bare skin.
this time,
love feels real
it isn't here with a bag
full of fake promises
and false hopes,
it is raw
just as my feelings are
when I am with love,
my feelings this time
they've come through a different route
without passing through the lane
of any regrets or memories,
and my words lie here
unable to fathom
how beautiful it is
to unravel love everyday
to listen a new story each day
like I'd always been a part of it
to wake up with the hangover
of its thoughts within me
to let go of the excruciating reality
when I'm nestled in its arms,
and for a moment
everything seems to freeze
and it's just love and me.

Fifth stick

This is the fifth stick

I'm burning today
wishing to end 
on this one
but wanting more ..
Ever since your absence
has been lingering around,
I caught a new addiction;
You hands looked better
indeed!
but my fingers longed
for more than just few days
for something to hold;
However,
things are pretty same
Or even better
since all that it poisons
is just my body now;
It has its share of attachment
but it does avoid me
from reverting to you-
somewhere I don't belong-
thus, pros exceeded the cons
this time...
In every toxic smoke I take
I wish it erased you away
But
looks like maths doesn't
work the same
minus , minus didn't end
in plus this time.
But it heals for a while
a short time cure
it provides..
That's what I've been
doing these days
falling for smaller remedies
to forget something big.

That girl

Last fall,

I saw her in the meadow

stitching flowers-

colorful ones-

on her plainly white shirt,

her hair neatly done

eyes filled with dreams up to the rim

smile tapering till ears

that could drive any passerby crazy

She would take breaks at times

to fill her lungs with the crisp air

dancing merrily down the hills,

she'd cup her little hands,

fill the flowing river into it

as much as she could

and drink it

to quench her thirst.

After that fall,

winter knocked her door

the flowers withered

into coarse futility

river froze to numb her hands

cold tried best of its endeavors

to inculcate despair into her soul

Yet, I found her the next fall

in the same meadow

stitching colorful flowers

on her plain shirt

Her hair though,

open,untamed and,

frivolously held

eyes still portraying dreams:

blurred but undaunted ones

still smiling through tears,

she soaked into the cool breeze

frolicking down the hills

she filled herself with the river

more this time,

for her thirst had doubled

and her hands now formed a bigger cup.

-Pragya

To my diary

Diary!

Please accept my heartfelt apology for not addressing you as "dear". I have never understood the concept of pseudo gratitude. Since it's just been a day that I have known you though we'd met earlier, I shall say it when I truly mean it. I am sure that moment isn't far away.

I know it is really selfish of me to remember you only in need. You had been placed untouched among other useless notebooks since a very long time. You might find it too much of a cliche to be decorated with a letter on the very first page but I couldn't come up with any beautiful idea either. Forgive me for being such a bore.

It might sound rude but if I can't be loyal to you , I don't know where else shall "loyalty" hold good in my life? You are one among the other fancy diaries I have been gifted with on my birthdays so far. From the beginning of my love for writing, I have in a way made it easier for my friends to choose a gift for me. They need not take their precious time for deciding what to gift as writers always need a diary, right? I will share you a little secret now. Most of them lie their untouched. I don't intend to disrespect the feelings that have been attached with the presents my friends offered but most of them have these beautiful colorful pages. My heart aches to scribble on them and defame their beauty.

Now that you've realized I have chosen you as you were the ugliest among all, trust me when I say this, you will be the most precious one. As I write, you will be the spectator of the tough times I will be going through . You won't be embellished with a beautiful handwriting nor by the multi colored pens girls mostly use. Your pages will be filled with sweat my palm releases as I write out of fear and frustration. When I run short of exact words to frame a sentence, you will be blemished with many cuts and dark scribbles I use to hide my errors. You won't smell of lavender or roses but of the tears and turmoils I will be going through.

Even though black will be the only color you will see throughout the journey , you will be well acqauinted with my various shades. I shall bleed black into your proximity but there you will find many colors reflecting my state of mind. Some days you will have to bear with my mood swings and the rest with my insecurities. You will deal with my pride and my downfall at the same time. Since people have basically given up on me ( which is fair enough looking at the mess I am ) , you will now be my next best friend , my soul mate , my better half or whatever terms that are used to describe one's closest person. You aren't a person but I will treat you as one. I will talk to you, hug you when I'm tired and express my frustrations when I feel like. I know you won't complain. That's why I have chosen you.

You know how a selfish human mind works, right? I might not remember you when I am happy. The days I don't write, you will know I am enjoying something else and have probably forgotten about you. Don't get upset then. Even though the day might feel warm and your absence might not haunt me, you will be the star shining over me when night engulfs me in it's darkness. At last the only thing that matters is who stays in your tough times, right?

As I sum up this letter, I won't promise you that I'll come back because all my previous diary-writing attempts have failed miserably. I merely wish you won't be the next. We shall meet when my heart gets filled with emotions and starts searching for pages to explode.
Until we meet next time ~

Would- be yours,
Pragya