August seasoned my summer with more raindrops.
I feel less incomplete,
someone with more soul.
The longing doesn’t end though
but the deep pits appear shallow.
As if August could lend a hand
and pick me up from deep valleys.
It’s not that I don’t miss July
But August, It’s preparing me
for less shame and more colors.
‘Cause soon it will be time for Fall.

©️kanikachugh

Today, I saw a kid scrawling graffiti
Well, today I caught a kid expressing
mercilessly on the walls.
What to say—
How does it feel to witness an artist in his/
her artistry form?
I always relished the idea of art in its
process instead of a polished result;
a duckling instead of a swan,
a messy color palette over gracefully-sketched canvas
a mere, timid sapling to a magnificent tree.
Any art in its raw form tells how everything starts weak, disoriented and vague.

We are a part of someone’s process as well;
Perhaps our own.
Somewhat damaged, somewhat
overpainted with layers and layers of
stories, corrections hidden beneath.
The journey of self-breaking and self-making
tainted with love and lessons
trying to reach an end goal with self-discipline
Who’s to say what to become of us…
but being the masters of our brushes
we are as unique as any fine craft
and the burnt marks on the soul
allows us a chance to make our own graffiti.

©kanikachugh

I hear Schubert’s Frühlingsglauben
and read Uhland’s poetry about
echoing their faith in Spring,
about using leftover optimism and colourfulness of Autumn,
about making the deepest valleys of heart bloom.
And I hear this as melancholia; why?
‘cause Schubert was dying when he wrote this?
‘cause he knew Spring would wander
in and out of major and minor
seemingly, meeting its end one day?
I hear it; with parched lips not cause of the
Summer’s tapestry of fire but
‘cause your lips left mine for another season,
for a better, rainless sky.

‘Have faith in spring’, they said.
It’s a wasted breath when I couldn’t convince them you were my spring.
And I used to crawl back to your heartbeat to bloom.
Oh, my poor heart, learn to live with this fear
of seasons ending
of impending danger
How could two seasons ever be together?
at the same time ?
The Cold has to die to meet the Bloom.
Wish I knew before,

Because darling, you were Spring.
And I was a cold cold winter night.

©kanikachugh

Note : On my journey of learning German I stumble upon different words and phrases everyday. I was listening to a composition by an extremely prolific composer Franz Schubert – Frühlingsglaube
which translates to Spring Faith or faith in Spring that eventually made me read Johann Ludwig Uhland’s poetry for the same composition and I was moved by the meaning of the words. Couldn’t help but write about it too in scorching summer

Preach preach preach!
People
preach
from filled pockets
and empty brains.
With unscathed heart
and untethered emotions.
Sided by parallel friends,
attentive as bread crumbs
asking to ‘just move on’.

With double skin,
houses on higher ground
preaching ‘not to drown’.

With dried pillows and
shadows never patrolling at 3am
urging ‘not to grate brains and sleep’.

If they knew Hurt
the way a burning paper
recedes in front of a matchstick.
If they knew Wound
as an unasked excavation of land
with mostly dirt and barely a treasure
If they knew Heartache
they’d would know
why some turn into wolves,
finding comfort in being
dangerous and to howl all alone;
all ’cause of the lack of help
and not to bite back the world.

©kanikachugh