Poetry

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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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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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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My heart in isolation

Posted on by Kanika

A broken heart is usually mended in isolation.
Like Bukowski said.
“You get so alone at times that it just makes sense”
At 3:45 am, I’m
waiting for the morning to come
waiting for the night to end
waiting for my heart to mend.
It all makes sense;
the things I’m drawn to
the people I wanna answer back to
the searches on internet I wanna go through.

I read about writers.
I read what they went through.
I read they all weren’t accepted the way they were supposed to.
Why does it feel familiar?
From where did
Plath, Woolf, Bronte, Bukowski
find words to let them swallow whole
or to swallow us whole?
Where did they hide themselves?
that they outshone everyone.

These are the places I go to
in isolation.
These are the people I re-visit
in isolation.
My heart aches from the hurt
and eagerly wants to find shelter from that pain.
Words make sense sometimes,
and sometimes they don’t.
My fingers itch to write more
but can never catch up with my mind
Or the heart
Not sure where are these words and thoughts coming from?

In isolation, I see my real self
Unprepared, unveiled, angry
because my own heart betrayed the rules and is aching more than it was supposed to.
It exposes a layer of vulnerability
to be cut through and dig out
the trash to be thrown away.

My heart wants to sing melodies of well-being
My heart wants to dance on the tunes of contentment and bliss.
My heart wants to drink and trip over to the seventh heaven.
My heart isn’t sure if it needs any ‘him’ or ‘her’ but
It, so ,freakishly, wants to be mended.
At times, my heart gets so tired of the hurt.
That even the excruciating pain isn’t able to make it suffer anymore.

~~ My heart in isolation

©kanikachugh

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Listerners

Posted on by Kanika

The more I wanted to
scream my pain out,
The better listener I became.
Thinking how badly
others would have wanted it too.

~ to pour it all out.

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The Rock

Posted on by Kanika

I am sure
I saw fear in his eyes,
but I was prepared to knock him down.

That first thrash hit him hard
then the second thrash,
the third,
the nth….
he still stood tall and proud.

My throbbing, powerful waves
kept lashing into him.

He was a ‘rock’.
But I believe
had a heart of a marshmallow
for he never
avenged me
for my behavior.
Sadly, he knew how ‘hurt’ works.

I had seen some humans crying for the very same reasons at my shore.

~ Rocks they seem but they do get hurt.

____________________________________________

Strong people aren’t good at showing their pain but are often misread as someone who stays unaffected all the times.

Never push a kind person beyond the limits. Once built, their walls would be impossible to impregnate.

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Fall…

Posted on by Kanika

I wandered in my
own denial
when those edgy skies
hinted way before.
Those shoulders I underused,
those hands retreated fairly quickly
when I wanted to hold them longer,
those smiles praising the other,
those lips stopped enchanting my name;

I had to let go
like shattered dying leaves.
I took the fall for being the flawed one
sucking the breaths out of me.
I kept descending until I reached
Nature’s lap.

Only to realise
all I ever needed was
to trust the process.
I never knew I’d bloom again
after a terrible fall.

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Memories…

Posted on by Kanika

Waiting for you.
at 2 in the morning,
I enter a narrow tunnel
of a lapsed timeline.

Few daggers in the back
still hurts.
Hollow words
laced with promises
mutilated those memories.

Memories; I thought

were the blankets
providing warmth
like a wildfire
on cold nights.

The timeless laughter
that hold our hands
in tough times.

But memories became
a slow poison
eroding my bones,
drying up my blood.
And this flesh crawls
in and out
of the cocoon every day,
counting the
breaths down.

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Too close

Posted on by Kanika

Stepping over my gut
I came too close to you.
It broke me to see
too many flaws in you.

Picking myself up
a disturbing mirror image appeared.
The one in the hindsight
had always been aware.

The foe I despised
comes to the rescue.
Getting too close.
Getting too dangerous.
It magnified him
as the most chivalrous.

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Misplaced

Posted on by Kanika

The chaotic silence buried underneath my heart,

hushing the storms to simmer down
has got long lost tales to tell.

A poet has been dead since ages.
Drowned missing her.

The muse perished
with it the intrinsic
art.

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