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Disaster

Disaster

In case of a forest fire,
People are taught to turn away are run.
Run till the glimmer of destruction
looks like a beacon of hope.

In case of an earthquake,
People are taught to find open fields;
lie down and sleep till the shaking ground
feels like a forgotten lullaby.

I have known love,
like I have known disaster.

So, in case of a heartbreak,
I run.
As far as I can.
As fast as I can.
Till all I can see is a beacon.
Till all I can feel is the humming of a lullaby.

And I land in a forest.
Pre-disaster.

City of Stars

City of Stars

*city of stars playing in the background*

 

I often go out on long walks;

palms a little sweaty

skies a little starry.

On nights like these

I often miss:

eyes to drown in

palms to fit it

lips to lock in.

I haven’t understood love

ever.

It has been like a foreign language to me.

I see people conversing in them; effortlessly.

And here I am,

a little too impatient,

a little too prone to

lose things in translation.

But on nights like these;

I am a little hopeful,

a little naïve.

I am blind to love.

Deaf to languages.

Scared to admit.

 

But on nights like these;

I am a little hopeful,

a little naïve.

So, appear.

I will be out on the walks

for quite some time.

Even a fortnight (If it comes that).

I still don’t understand love.

It is still like a foreign language to me.

But when you come,

I will raise my hand,

Leave messages on these stars

(that people write on rocks)

in dots and dashes – the way my heart

skips beats when I see you.

and hopefully,

you will know morse.

The prompt was "Night sky, the moon, stars, and of a romantic tone" given by Nivid Desai.
If you want a custom poem typed on a typewriter; submit a prompt by clicking here

Featured Artwork by Aditi Shastry. To see more of her work check out her Instagram
The girl who loved the oceans

The girl who loved the oceans

It was said that she used to carry

every favourite memory

with her; in a clenched fist.

every favourite thing

on her shelf.

and I would ask,

Where are the oceans

that you love with all your heart?

She would say

“Look into my eyes, silly”

And, I would drown.

Every

Single

Time.

Words

Words

by Aditya Mankad 0 Comments

The words.
They are dying to come out of my mouth.
When you hear my stomach rumble,
I am not hungry.
Well, I might be.
But I know the difference.
The voices are the whispers,
Whispers of the butterflies in my belly and the words.
Them, planning a devious plan to tell the things that I must not say.
To tell her that I… I am weak.
I don’t like people running over me.
With bulldozers of rejection and truth.
I wish I can blurt right things at the right time.
Like “No, I am not okay. I have been sailing in the storms without a sail and a boat made of paper” but I end up saying “Yeah, heh, mood swings.”

Like “I know it is hard. Hard to digest the fact that I fell for you. Faster than the midsummer rains. Faster than the train of thoughts that come to you when you miss the step, faster than…Faster than the blood pumping in the veins.
The veins that now carry the messages written on rocks and castles, that we..um.. I think of writing on stars.

The words are planning a coup.
And thanks to you, my guard is already down.
So here I am, defenceless.
Waiting to be taken over by the very things I created.

That day when you said hi on WhatsApp…

4 seconds after I had said “sorry”.
5 minutes after I had said, “I can’t do it”.
6 hours after I had said, “we need to talk.”
7 days after we had chai and you had sutta at our regular place”
8 months after I wrote my first poem for you.
9 years after..9 years after I started believing in love at first sight.

I almost typed in “listen, I like you. No, scratch that. I FUCKING LOVE YOU.

The strings are no more attached.
You don’t control me anymore.
But the empty thread holes and the dent in my heart stretch and ache at every sighting of yours.
Drawn to you like it is meant to be.
And the words have been heartbroken.
They still dwell in the past.
They still haven’t moved on.
So tell me this,
How does it matter if I have?”
*tik tik tik*
*Deleted*
I just typed in “Nothing Much, you tell me.”

So the next time I meet you,
Maybe don’t think that I am too sweet if you see me smiling back at you.
I am just pressing my lips as hard as I can,
So that I won’t shoot fireworks out of my mouth.
So that I won’t say the things that the walls of my body hold together.

I am scared okay?
When she puts her head on my chest and hears the pounding of my heart,
I am afraid that the words will slip out from between the skipped beats.
And now,
The skipped beats have stopped visiting,
It is their own way of showing how they are mad at me.

And I miss that.

Mostly because they used to sit together and stick letters,
;make babies,
call them words and send them to my eyes and fingers.
The fingers often got good responses.
But the eyes gave mixed signals.

Look how they have ganged up against me.
Even the fucking eyes have been oozing with things left unsaid.
It is them, the words.
I can’t hold them.
So this is what they are doing,
Writing a poem.

This didn’t start as a love poem.
But it is turning out to be one.
Unlike our story,
This one will see its end.
Ours is a site under construction,
And the workers have scurried away because of the ghosts of the past.
Ours just sits by the west coast waiting to see the sunrise on an eclipse.

Ours is the word that didn’t make it on the last page of a book.

Unlike ours,
Some stories
Have
An
Ending.

 

 

Featured Image made by Aishwarya Sainath

Let. Me. Be.

I often act like a child,
short attention spans
and big dreams.
I would run around in circles,
run so fast that my lungs will ache for air,
the same way my mouth waters for jalebis.
and I would fall,
partially hurt I would look around with tears in my eyes,
and then wipe them off if no one’s there to wipe them out for me.

you see,
attention is a catalyst.
Of breakdowns and tantrums,
half meant wails and crocodile tears.
So when I look at you with that melancholic smile,
Don’t give me attention.
Don’t ask me how do I feel.
Don’t pull me close and console me.
Don’t hold my hand and take me out for an ice cream.
Because you will leave.And your scent will not.
I will remember.
the short attention span has exceptions.
I will remember your voice echoing in my ears,
I will remember how I rested my chin on your shoulders.
my empty palm will feel incomplete,
heart’s is another story.you will be that toy to me.
the one for which I would bargain my toy train for.
That toy train by the way,
I used to call it my life.
I would push away the dish of jalebis
and make sulky faces.
It would feel exactly like someone had sucked the air out of my lungs.
But I won’t stop.
that glass window of that store still has my DNA.
I would press my face against it and stare at you.
worship you.
and cry.you don’t get it.
I WANT you.but children never say the right things right.
What I mean is,
I NEED you.
and you don’t.so,
Let
Me
Be.
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