Author: Kanika

First Light of the Day

Posted on by Kanika

A dimly creature that seeps in
every dawn through my veiled curtains
embarking my journey of shrugging it off
innumerable times;
pulling a pillow over my head,
an annoying hindrance to my sleepy eyes.
Today, I thank you
at the daybreak.
My eyes see you
My lips are moving
my soul will remember, now.
The unprecedented farewell
I wasn’t prepared for,
never will ever be.
Esp, of my people.

‘Light of the day’
I called you because
the darkness before
was threatening to engulf us in the
most heinous, unfair way.

Trepidations, palpitations, anxiety
levels skyrocketed
looking at my mother
lying there in the pool of her sweat.
That light of the day reminded
it was graceful enough to bless us
with one more of her morning
to fight off our fears.

The moment you think you have
won over your fears,
Universe gives you more.
The moment you think you are
already grateful for what you have,
Universe gives you more.

One cannot go on with the carriage
of immortality but witnessing from own’s eyes;
your siblings feeling weak
being unable to get up;
The helplessness of not being
able to fight the battle on their behalf,
the silence of your heart kills you already.

The horror, the panic
of these dreadful times
shrieks of the minutes & hours
we took granted for,
of the moments
meant to be celebrated twice as hard.
It’s been years I lost my father
to a terrifying disease
but there are loses you can never
surface it from.

‘Light of the Day’
sweet day of liberty
I’d give you the recognition you deserve,
honor your welcome,
carrying a forever debt
that you landed in my home,
in my heart
with another hopeful day.
My stars are hanging there tight
to welcome you, EveryDay

–
From:
the one who’s along with family still fighting covid,
the one who thought she has been grateful enough but surely it wasn’t enough,
the one who’s now more hell-bent in extending help after surveying how shamelessly people use other’s plight for their advantages,
the one who’s still growing in terms of being kind and more aware of everyone’s needs,
the one who’s still striving to convert any pain into poetry,
the one who continuously learn to get up after being fallen,
the one who aims at being a better human.

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Statues

Posted on by Kanika

Living alone for years & I developed a habit of talking to myself.

It’s just, sometimes
the statue in the corner of my room, talks back.

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Mirror World

Posted on by Kanika

Your face is like a mirror
polished on the surface
with a tinted pale reflection.
A reflection capable of
displaying an un-adjustable truth,
magnifying one’s shattered emotions
successfully hidden from the world.
When I am made to face you
I enter my own maze of sheer glance
the dark, the light, the inverted world
the illusion, the reality
bouncing in front of my eyes.
That enchanting pattern
is ethical,
is fictional,
is rigid,
But is classic.

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Stairs

Posted on by Kanika

Sitting on the stairs
in front of your house,
looking at the car headlights
from afar with my neck
imitating the path and
moving along as those pass through.
Nothing seems boring
while I have you in my mind.
Everything seems easy
while I have you in my mind,
even the wait!
I, somehow, can find
anything amusing now
and start playing with them
to kill time
because I know
you (still) are here,
with me.

Even after waiting for an hour
I don’t feel like complaining
rather something is rumbling
loud in my gut.
Era of butterflies have gone past.
It’s the tiny stars jumping
and giggling with me.
Illuminating my path
wherever I go.
I am not fearful anymore,
of my own inhibitions
because I know
you are here
with me.

I slide my hand down
the railing while I wait
like a plane landing
and gradually reaching its destination.
I didn’t mind
not having keys to the house.
You are going to come
and open the lock,
for US.
Like you opened
the portal of
another world for us.

Little tension and
amusement building up,
at the thought of seeing you.
And I imagine;
You’d come
carrying your backpack
and dimpled smile,
and will stand a bit
far from the stairs
for a minute or so.
Just to have a long good look at me.

I admire
the way you admire me.
from afar.
The thought makes me smile
for no reason at all.
You know what love is?
When even the waiting is this much fun
because I know
you are here
and
you will be here
with me.
For me.
For us.

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To the poet in me…

Posted on by Kanika

To the poet in me

Let the words find you,
Let the verses amuse you.
Let the metaphors play hide and seek
and when you’re about to give up,
they come running to you like a long lost lover.

Don’t try too hard, Poet.
let the world make love with you
in a desperate attempt to be in your art.
That when you’re gazing at an object
let it stare back so it can show off its beauty.
The desk,
the drawers,
the curtains,
the night lamp
Even in a constricted room
they are seeking your attention,
like an unprepared sculpture
seducing it’s master to be carved in prose.

Let them discover you.

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My Summer Poem

Posted on by Kanika

Warm and sweet like Summer Rain,
Your touch brushes against the tips of an intrinsic soul.
Like the lake that glowed at the ‘Happening.’
Happening of Sun breaking through the thick clouds.
Running along the field full of beautiful daisies.

Occurrences of my dormant, leftover emotions sprouting.
With the rest of the contents of uneasiness in the
bucket sliding down.

Innocence sinking it’s teeth into your charm;
The way one scoops out the largest chunk of a mango
and keeps it on the tongue
relishing the taste of a long lasting snack.

You’re the summer, the meadow, the blossom I forgot to wait for
yet you arrive in time.
You’re like my Summer Poem.

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Happy National Poetry Writing Month 🌷

Posted on by Kanika

Poetry isn’t about beautifying the words;

It’s about stripping off its thick cover and
appreciating the rawness.

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I am sorry that I am dark

Posted on by Kanika

I am sorry that I am dark…

I am sorry that I am capable of drawing the worst emotions out of you and place them in front of you, making you go livid over your own mirror image.
I am sorry for those spiteful comebacks against your most indecent, unfair speculations you whip me up with because I don’t shut up after being constantly hurt.
I am sorry for laying out the most venomous path from blocking you coming back into my life when your tongue developed a nasty taste of maligning a respectable person.
I am sorry for turning cold after you subjected me to sadistic weather denouncing me every now & then so you could easily hide your guilt from yourself.
Do I really have to be sorry?

I saw, at a very tender age, how humans are.
My father’s body placed in a funeral pyre;
people crying, people screaming;
people pretending to cry, people pretending to scream in pain.
Who would have thought what a 6-year-old could notice?
This turned out to be another gathering for you
the moment things were over,
the jolly lines of a personal sitcom started.
My mother had the toughest time dealing with it
but all you wanted was for her to stay immersed in her sorrows and never get up.
She knew the blabbermouths around her won’t feed her children
so she mustered up every ounce of her trampled courage
to go to work the very next day
and disregarded all the eyes prying into her bold actions.
The sulking heads kept scowling as to how quickly
she forgot to mourn and stepped outside the home.
For a little girl, it was admirable but I noticed everyone’s reactions
oblivious that they are being decoded.

I thought people would applaud her for being brave and strong,
instead, it made me realize the joy people dwell in
in pulling others down who want to climb out and do something better for themselves.
The darkest parts of human behavior I never intended to face at that age.
The way they talked behind her back,
the way they were jealous
Men because of her valor,
women because of her fearlessness.

I kept asking myself why would anyone be offended?
She is only trying to feed her family rather than asking for help,
or begging or victimizing herself
when she has been struck hard by her doomed fate in her prime.

I am sorry I grew darker with each rendezvous with humans,
when people secretly took pleasure in seeing others in pain and constant suffering.
I developed trust issues when in front of people
they smiled at me & said
“consider me like your father”
but turned a blind eye like I never existed the moment crowd disappeared.

I realized even my darkest parts
were shards of honest lights that still
knew about keeping the words.
My bones didn’t know the hypocrisy to
turn away from own blood.

My mother, that one person
who kept pouring in through the
tiny crevices of my open wounds;
the meaning of honesty, loyalty,
kindness & love and gradually
nursing it back to feel something;
while boldly ignoring that her whole existence
had been put under fire by that Lord
and how are we going to survive
in this vile world, was still the biggest question.
But she didn’t flinch while answering it, for certain.
Never once she responded back harshly to the haters; as to her one’s life & personality is what they make of it.

I am sorry for some of my darkest remnants that still
managed to hide somewhere that embrace
me when at any moment I am made to stand
in front of vicious thoughts again without ever
trying to intentionally hurt someone.
That darkness is much more comforting
than your sneaky glitters.

I chose kindness because I want to do good by that one person who could always find magic in living.
I chose kindness after accepting reality,
not out of weakness.

But to some people,
Sorry
but I am not sorry for being dark.

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Summers

Posted on by Kanika

Lips getting dried,
heart pumping faster,
sweat seeping through the pores,
cheeks turning red

Dear Summer,
Stop acting like my lover.

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An Ordinary Day

Posted on by Kanika

It was an ordinary day with
people busy in their lives.
A man running to grab a taxi,
a formally dressed lady hopping into her car in haste,
that pretty Aunt we have known our whole life
carefully rotating ‘Open’ sign in her flower shop
with her blossoming smile reading ‘Everyone Deserves Flowers’,
Our society’s famous grandpa out on his walk.
Looking at people the same way I am doing.
perplexed,
where everyone is going in a hurry.

Something my father before and now I witnessed;
an old lady, without fail, for 30 years
coming out to feed the birds, stray dogs, and stray cats all separately.
Those stray animals infamously known to bite strangers
easily calm down beside her.
A language of love? May be

The balloon seller coming and standing at
the same spot he had been for years
in scorching heat,
in heavy rains,
in harshest winters.
But it’s an ordinary day, isn’t it?

A middle-aged guy passing smile to everyone going by.
I thought he didn’t have any job
since he met with an accident years ago
rendering him helpless (my perception)
and restricting him to wheel-chair.
I recently came to know he’s a good painter
and he likes to smile at everyone who passes by.
It’s an ordinary thing, right?

His subtle way of saying don’t take life for granted
You have no idea how blessed you’re with your body intact.

He is waving and smiling at me now.
No, I don’t wish to smile.
I feel tired.
My soul feels tired.
but unknowingly my mouth curves up.

Well, it doesn’t hurt to smile.
It doesn’t feel like a burden as I thought it would be.

It sucks when I am not using some 40 odd muscles to laugh
because after doing so
I don’t feel that bad.
I believe it is an ordinary thing.
Anything would rot if not used for a while.

I walk up to him asking what is he painting today.
He says just ordinary things.
“a lady feeding the animals,
an old man walking alone,
a poor man selling happiness to little kids and
a girl sitting and staring at everyone like it’s the end of the world.
It’s not. It’s just an ordinary day
with people doing extraordinary things every day.”

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