To rebel is to love…

The diary doesn’t hold secrets
It holds my rebel.
It holds my definition for you
as my favourite fruit,
as a platonic cat,
as any enamoured materialistic thing
with non-existent adjectives
making grammatical errors
along the way
misusing punctuation
but never you.
You my age of twenty-one,
You my little dreams,
You my 10 rules of winning in life,
You my sky and analysis of it.

I ain’t afraid if anyone
gets hold of my diary.
Cause it won’t make sense at all.
It doesn’t have to
Like my love for you.
No one can understand
but me.

©️kanikachugh

World is a non-genre movie.

World is a non-genre movie.
Fall in love the one moment
dip your hands in death in other.
Mourn a loss, live in shadow
then get interrupted by a friend
snowballing hope through shoulder.
Merry & high sneaks
in-between the world-ending.
Dark and anger at the corner
of the street, hiding
Fights and heartbreaks
are blockbusters choice
Cigarettes and ashes
usually the way to die.
The world isn’t a fight
between good and evil.
it’s the misinformation of
how we spend our time
amidst chaos and dry living.
Sky, prism, waltz, balloons
Unread letters, burned bridges, 3’o clocks.
They just spin
And spin us all around
till we fall
till we are grieved
with a genre leaked
of a house we lived in once
of the swing no one remembers.

©kanikachugh

How the crushed flowers look!

‘There are too many flowers,
not enough vases.
Get some more!
The fairy lights are
supposed to form a crescent
like a Moon. Fix it.
Lanterns add a mystic
brightness to the windows.
Hang those at a perfect angle.
Hand out the pamphlets!
A special someone is coming.
Prepare everything.’

That’s how I ready my heart
when they are about to enter
for someone to feel at home.
That’s another story
It soon becomes a haunted house
of web, and, old wood and no light
When I hear them say
‘Ah! You again.’

©kanikachugh

A mandatory birthday post? 😉

I never expected to have grays at thirty-four,
some answers though.
Never expected the flush of emotions towering after I hit thirty
a bit of fire to die out though.
I wonder which ancestry had been
so violent in wants
that I inherited their fire without
properly knowing their soul, their childhood.
A brute force
some forces that I don’t wish to pursue.
It doesn’t let you sleep.

The past year had been
about crushing and cushioning
about scattering the pieces of mine away
and then finding a new brand of glue
about fighting off depression again
and dancing on dull hours of chores.

I have rested
a lot
I have pushed myself through
a lot
Tried to numb my brain
but paced my feet.
Not everything is a realisation
sometimes it’s siting on your couch,
back-dreaming on the days you were happy,
you were happy with the people you love
And being grateful that you got to live those.

Today might be hard
but you also got some easy ones
You might be waist-down in water
but eyes can see sky
and mouth can still breathe
It’s still fucking amazing.

I have, certainly, fallen for me
in a different way than I ever imagined.
On the days, when I couldn’t get up
on the days, I told myself to take it easy
when I was soft with me
when I controlled my anxiety.
Another goal reached without knowing
Afterwards,
being so unbelievably unstoppable
that balanced out my globe of tasks.

Learning is such a devil
And I love it.
Every year, there is a different
element of learning.
You gotta learn how to take care of a rose
to keep your pockets warm
You gotta learn which acid not to intake to prevent yourself from killing

I feel better than I was in my twenties
not that I resent my errs
But that girl was learning too.
And today’s girl is much more (also learning)
a more spiky, armoury reflection of her mother
a gullible, a clever teacup of sweetness
standing at the crossroad of youth and experience
She’s a Sugar mommy 😉

©kanikachugh

Hello! Is ‘Emotions’ there?

I see my crush in my dreams.
She breathes the minds of people around.
Doesn’t look alive
But carry her headstones wherever she goes.
The light is bright,
the trees are blue,
makes the grass eerily silent with her feet.
I wonder what do I like about her.
The deadness?
the windowless eyes?
Words like dark crime from her mouth?
She kills me each night in my dream
and I get resurrected every morning.
There is so much emptiness between us, so
I try to fill up with gazes and despaired tenderness.
We are like loose threads of a garment,
soon to be ripped off
Nothing to hold onto.
not even each other.
Nothing between us
yet I sleep so I could fill her emptiness with mine.
©️kanikachugh

P.S –Lesson no. 46385837 on
Why to not go for emotionally unavailable people.

Fall is coming 🍁

Mainz, Germany

I taste a tinge of autumn in the air today. It’s on days like these when my eyes want to compete with the Sun’s brightness. I’ve often wondered why it’s always autumn, or the onset of it, that makes me value things more before their inevitable end. I’ve realized that I tend to cherish things more when I know they’re about to conclude.

It’s like how a fire burns brightest just before it extinguishes, revealing different facets we didn’t know existed.

Sometimes, I do secretly ache for the things not to change but the fleeting nature of life and the beauty in embracing transformation makes me appreciate that the miles we walk in this life are comprised of both stumbles and falls, regardless, we go through it. These changes within ourselves can be surprising. I’ve come to a realisation that I fall in love too fast. I fall for Fall and the little things around me too easily.

©️kanikachugh

It’s August

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

Graffiti Renaissance

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