Author: Kanika

I am, gradually,
degree by degree,
withdrawing myself from the world.
Our raging world of explanations,
rationalizations, reasons,
the one that carries a cadaverous
existence of logic, is splitting apart.
And a nameless orb inside me is
summoning through its artistic flashes.

I am plucking the hearts of
brewing stories in me
and planting it on the
sideways of dry city lanes.
I am retrieving so many
fruits of my merry struggles
with my teeth diving into
scrumptious sweetness
that the real world is losing its edge.
Like a broken stereo being
preferred over mirrored-mono
upon finding the right channel.

I have this whole universe
of travel reveries and paper towns
being redefined in me
that I have stopped missing
the flickering gateways of stars
and moon I see from my naked eyes.

I fear
I’m becoming wildly ignorant
of what they want me
to know or to accept.
Like a child who
would happily paint
the skies green, trees black
and the tadpoles pink.

I see a self within;
with big feet, tiny head
and a disproportionate body chasing
the sweet melody of wind chimes
and a poetic plastered heart
brave enough to want
what it wants.

I’m hanging on the palm trees
and windows panes of this world
by a single thread of farewell,
like a cartoon character
dangling on a cliff
only waiting to be
swept away by strong winds.
I fear one day I’d leave
the logics of monochromes
and chromosomes the same way.

I am afraid of
NOT missing this world
but of not MISSING this world
and getting lost into aesthetic oblivion.

©kanikachugh

Once upon a time in the village of Rebourn lived a grandmother with her two adorable grandchildren. The village known for its lush green landscapes, spring water outlets, lofty mountains, and heavenly waterfalls with all the varied, exotic flowers & fruits had everyone in awe. Love, peace and serenity among residents added beauty to the village. But there came a time when the land witnessed lesser rains and the drought followed. This went on for a long time.

Though it was saved from the severe famine by gradual rains but it couldn’t go back to its original green self and the vegetation and the others crops suffered. The means to earn became murkier than before so people developed some hostile methods to earn; gradually declining the inner beauty that held the village people together and thus they drifted apart.

The grandmother used to look after her two grandkids after the parents lost their lives. She used to start her day by cooking food for the kids, tending to her now-smaller farm, malnourished pets, and helping kids in their elementary studies. The kids vaguely remembered their parents now and considered their grandmother, everything.

Every week on Sunday, Grandmother used to hike to Aji mountain to get special herbs and fresh fruits for the children. One Sunday she went a bit far and realised she entered a rather denser area of forbidden woods, she only had heard stories about. She used to visit the forest as a kid with her elders and they used to tell weird but interesting stories of ‘Pillars of Re-birth’.
She felt like a kid again while roaming around, touching almost every thick bark of reachable trees in a attempt to revisit her childhood days. She recalled what her grandpa said on one of the visit.

“There are four trees that sparkle in the day as well in the night and can provide re-birth to any pure-hearted person, who is looking for it. The first orange trunk, my dear, it makes you re-live all the happy moments you ever had especially the childhood. The second blue bark tree takes away all of your physical ailments and makes you feel as energized as a full grown adult. The third, yellow one brings you peace and takes away all of your pain, grief, resentments. And the last white tree gives you a chance of re-living your life from the start. You forget everything, everyone and can choose a different life for yourself. But remember you can’t choose one out of four. It’s either all or nothing.”

Everything was so cryptic when she was small and now she was so tempted to start a new life. Suddenly she realises the Sun was about to set and her kids would be alone with a mere lantern in the hut. She rushed back to her home and hit a rock and fell to the ground, scraping her knee. She let out some cuss words and swore not to come back in the jungle.
But that night she couldn’t sleep. She kept reliving how different she felt today. How she had not be feeling at all lately!

On the next Sunday, she found herself at the same place trying to find the way to the Pillars of Rebirth, like her grandpa told her. She went into the thicker forest and finally after ungodly hours she found those elusive trees. Shining like the stack of diamonds, crowing like the biggest mushrooms, and the colors so pleasing to the eyes, it felt unreal. The reason the pillars got so illusory was because the village wasn’t as virtuous as before, yet she was able to find it.

With all the thoughts occupying her, she decided to go ahead with her decision. She went and touched the first tree. A gush of happiness passed through her and she felt ecstatic for every moment she was happy in her life. Afterwards, she touched the second tree and her body regained it’s youth, filling her with enormous energy. She forgot all the chronic knees, joints and body pain she had been enduring for years.

She moved to the third tree and hesitantly touched it, knowing this would take away the essence of her life -Pain. Loss of her husband, her parents, her own daughter made her a rock. Strong but unable to feel much. Regardless, she touched the tree and felt light as breath and not like a sigh anymore. She realised how much of a burden she had been carrying on her shoulders and an eternal mountain placed on her heart. It felt so free. She never wanted to go back to a life of burden again that didn’t seem to have an end.

She moved to the final tree but before touching she saw the day almost ended. The kids would be alone and in the dark and probably hungry. The thought of leaving them alone terrified her. She was so close touching the final tree and free of everything that was holding her down. But she started missing them and cried on her way back. While going back she passed through the previous three trees which one by one gave her back what she already had. A sack of everlasting pain, an old wobbly body and a tiny memory of her happy moments. She accepted and went back to home.

Love comes with its own share of pain. You cannot have one without the other. And no one in the world should be the judge of what the other person chooses for themselves. They know what they have been going through. It’s upto them to decide whether they
want to continue, keeping the love-pain coin in their pocket or wish to start afresh knowing they did their best and at a certain point it was needed to let go.

The ground has gathered our shadows.
The spell worked.
I’d collect our eclipses like dried leaves
and crush it in our garden.
You know, the leftover love makes
a good fertilizer for a fading passion
and might curb some pests
like your virulence towards me.

I am not toxic, am I?
I love you with all my heart
even though it beats hardly
in your absence.

I’d plant soft kisses
on your neck before the
urge to asphyxiate you takes over.
My tender hands love to
fondle your thighs or
scrape you with dagger-nails,
depends on how you behave.

Do you want to leave?
I will let you go but
with my pernicious influences
groping you at the midnight hour
of my baleful madness called love.

Oh! Wait. I did let you go.
Scatheless.
Is it the episode again?
where I wanted to hurt you
but wanted to change
for you too.
I am re-living attachments.
Again!

Damn! These weekends.

Weekends are the repository
of zombie memories
and I’d curtly admit
I get a little joy
in getting bitten up
and behave like a lifeless insect
exposed to be stomped on.
The only antidote is Monday
that splashes reality too hard
for my senses not to spring it open.

Would you hold me while I fall off the ladder of my own expectations? Would you blow air on my hot tea so I don’t burn my traitor tongue that forgot every other taste after yours? Would you laugh on my lame jokes sitting at the threshold of satires? Would you listen to one more poem of mine where I hide the shame of losing you but highlight creative words for my monochromatic feelings? Would you, one more time?

I know you have a better place to go and I won’t dare stop you but how do I say, that I am afraid. That, I still want you.

Would you say one more time that my anxieties make sense and I don’t have to sacrifice myself on dark wheels each evening when I sit down to count my burdens? Would you remind me of how strong I am when my knees embrace the ground, tears kiss the stones around and my fingers fiddle over a plucked, lonely flower meant for the hands of strangers? Would you remember me after you would hold hands with a stranger? I might stop then but for now I still want you.

Watching you go from a distance looks like someone told me a way to a buried treasure and made me swore not to ever be in a position of wanting it. It’s like I am free to find the fortune but can never have it because of the strong integrity I hold within myself.

I still see you from afar, meadows swaying along the breeze and a part of my soul walking away. An indescribable pain surfaces when the attached strings between us are pulled out one by one with your each step ahead. Far from my reach where I can only extend my hand and my feet frozen in an ice rink of an unsaid promise. A promise you took for me to be happy with or without you.

Would you please not say that I can be as unwavering as before without you? Would you please not say that I can climb the highest of mountains without you when I know you are my only purple, soft mattress I rest in to energize? You said we might be better off each other but,

But I still want you!

Picture credits: Kim Taehyung (filmed with Samsung’s cell phone (chame model)) 蘿

Inspired by BTS Song : The Truth Untold

How to
not be stupid
on 19th of that month
with thumb caressing
on that rectangular box
making lover out of a contact number,
ears thirsty for that voice
and eyes red as a bride
whose groom forgot to visit her.

Go easy on yourself
and smell fresh flowers again
and this time, without them around,
in the same coffee shop,
on 19th, when you first met them

How to
not be blue
at 1 am, after work
when they are winning the world
and you sit at the corner of your sofa
shrinking your bones into yourself
grating your muscles over rough presentations
loaning your smile to your future self
in a hope, your decades-after self
would smile more and probably, live more.
because that’s how hope works
for future, not for now.

I’d say give up hope
and take hold of the living substance in you, now.
It’s either mascara in your eyes
or pain. Don’t let both reside
and live a smudged life,
understood by none
not even by yourself.

How to
quit quickly
those seeds that you grew but
somebody acquired the land,
the mouths that you fed
but now take pride peeling you behind your back,
the walls wherein you wanted to melt yourself
but felt so cold, and so distant, and suicidal
that your home became the cauldron
and you the red meat.

Leave the city. Move to a new place.
Grow a plant, grow your hair,
place your happy feet
among plums and not homicides.
Where the air is white
and the Sun thickens your skin.
Where your echoes praise you
and your blood doesn’t betray you.
Where you fix yourself like a god
and nurse your broken wings like a goddess.

©kanikachugh

You still burn within me
with your cold stare
and hot departure.

You let November
unleash on me
manipulating
my October-lover
to leave, just like you did.

The moment I accepted
November in my arms
it was time for it to part.

How do you do that?
Keep people in your shade
and abandon right before
the Sun is beating down on us.

©kanikachugh

Nights make me wonder
If I did what I was meant to.

Did I read another page of that book?
Did I take good care of my plants?
Did I figure out how to complete an assigned task?
Did I cook something special for my people?
Did I spend enough time with them?
Did I make them laugh?
Did I kiss them goodnight?
Did I forgive someone without being apologized to?
Did I try to fix my mistakes?
Was I humble enough?
Was I human enough?

Nights make me wonder
did I achieve everything I was
meant to, today?
Time is gonna slip by
and I might not be able to
do these again.

Because when I do,
I sleep peacefully.

I have been growing hope in the backyard
and green ice cubes of algae
for my half-brewed liquor of anger.
The growth of hope-saplings is subjective.
The saint that lives inside the closed-door
sometimes goes on rampant, destroying the crops.

I visit the nearby bar cussing.
Words out of my mouth like cigarette smokes
insignificant but displeasing.

The man at the corner table
gently shakes his whiskey glass
and harshly condemns the politicians,
the sacrifices charade,
the size-zeros, the dead and
even his drink for not being bitter enough.

“Toxicity is like raw metaphors
when you don’t find it,
your brain creates one” he says.
I hate what he says
and I hate more because I agree.
He is brutally honest about a thing or two.

For once I feel it’s better to be
with honest people at least we are aware
they can be destructive most of the time.
But it’s just a thought;
once you face the brutality every day
you’d run for the hills.

Everyone is toxic
and the reason you keep
growing hope so close, is so
you can catapult the poison out
through the patio,
one day at a time.

©kanikachugh