Poem 56#

There’a broken tap in the kitchen sink,
It keeps shredding pellets of water at night,
Many tried to fix it,
To repair the seal.
Yet it remains broken.

But doesn’t leak during morning hours,
For mum ties it with a muslin cloth.

“See now? There’s always a way to fix broken things,” Maa proudly says,

“I wish temporary solutions would work that way,”
I continue with the dishes for the day
With the soggy old sponge, I start cleaning the dishes,
It has holes now, blobs of black dots surround its core,
Yet it scrubs away the dirt and cleans the vessels perfectly fine.

Maa’s favourite steel kadhai is blackened due to overuse,
It takes me more than a couple of mins to scrub a small patch of dot,

“Ugh this won’t go away, Maa!!”

“Oh it’s an old stain, it won’t leave this quick,”
maa reckons to me,

“Then what do I do?”

“Find a way to clean the black stain, Shibu.”

“But it’ll take a lot more time, too much work.”
I sigh,

“Then what do you wish to do?
Let the stain get darker and even more difficult to get off?”

Maybe she was right,
Maybe old stains never leave their shore easily after all.
Keep getting darker by day,
And harder to forget or erase.

-Shivani Dubey.

Random thought.

This takes time,

It’s not fast in pace,

Rather steady like the ocean waves,

Yes they get violent, are tranquil at times too

But they never lose their pace

They keep moving on,

never lay still at one place.

Maybe healing works in similar ways?

Poem 55#

I dont wanna write anymore,
Was this destined in my palm too?
My palm has so many broken lines,
Reminds me of the geometry figure I couldn’t draw even after multiple trials,
Alas in the end, the creased paper had multiple broken lines, they were invisible to the naked eye,
But for me, I could see, my failure tangled like the spiders web.
And oh my maths teacher, she often gave me a zero out of 25.

I don’t enjoy my daily coffee too,
It tastes bland, maybe 3 tsp isnt strong?
Maa tells me this coffee is making me senile,
Or maybe it’s your phone, that’s making you mad! She says.
Maybe she is right,
I’m stuck with this phone like the lover to its rose,
It’s the first thing I have in my hand and the last thing I check before I sleep.

How much are you sleeping nowadays shibu!? Maa questions me for the millionth time,
Are you even paying attention to what I’m saying?? I nodd, but she walks away
I dont sleep, really, just lie down on my unmade bed, lie with my warm blanket shielding me away from the ghosts of the past,
But they find an abode through the space I leave off below my cold feet,

Did I do enough today? I question myself
But all I hear is the last local honking in the background,
There is no sign of moon today,
I see a bat hanging upside down the almond tree infront of my window pane,
He swings so peacefully and silently rests by the other birds who usually attack him in day.

Bhai then blabbers in his sleep,
Something about his work, how he has to reach the intended goal for the month,
He then nods his head and tilts to other side of the bed,

” Shibu dont you wanna sleep?” Dad’s hoarse voice alerts me away,

” Yes, i will now”  the cold floor really feels weird during winter days,
With a quick look at the grey skies, I escalate towards my bed.

” Goodnight dad” I mumble,

He ignores my words, as he sits by the window pane.

Poem 54#

•••••
It was a usual day,
With the moon shining by the purple skies,
Maa smiling with me, resting by the window pane,

‘The moon is more closer if you see, my dandelion”

“How, maa?” It’s so far away, like papa!!”

“It is right in here”
Her cold fingers quivered under the night, took my little ones and rested them on my heart,

“Now close your eyes” she said,

“But if I close them, how will I see my moon!!”

“Oh you silly girl, your innocent eyes cannot capture infinity, for that you need the vision of your heart”

she then giggled,
like a naive child
Under the moon’s radiant light,
her eyes gleamed with delight,
she beamed like the full moon

And in that moment, I realised maa had lied,
Maybe eyes could capture infinity

••••••
Later that night,
She fed me dried raisins and stale roti,
Then a glass of salty milk,
Tear stained, her lips were sealed,
Silently, I swallowed it in.

She ignited the oil lamp,hollow and dark.
Her rhuemey eyes had lost its shine,
Small and dim, the light,
it was empty inside.

She told me stories about the moon,
told me how i must act strong from henceforth,
Later hummed “tujhse naraaz nahi zindagi” until I fell asleep in her arms
But during that warm tranquil night,
I felt her cold lips kiss my hair,

“Goodbye, my dandelion, stay strong,
Mama will miss you”
•••••••

The letter was hidden behind papa’s razor box,
the paper had many cuts,
many words scribbled too.
Blobs of blood and tear stained,
The black ink echoed this way:

‘Maa won’t be back soon, my child,
Just rest your eyes and don’t miss
her tonight,
For she is going very far, close to the moon

The stars shall tell you, it’ll be soon.
She loves you, stay strong, my child.
She never wanted to say goodbye,
But this is how everything will be fine.

-The moon will remember you, my little dandelion.

Random thought (3)

We’re all bold,

We’re all shy,

We’re all dull and boring

We are dynamic at times,

We’re all happy,

We’re all sad people living a colossal lie

It depends on the day, that moment “that time”

For sane individuals to ruin their perfect lives.

Is it okay to be like this?

Do we fall in love with how the person actually is? Or the idea of them we have inside our brain,

We love to romanticize their dull eyes, their scam smiles and their honey dripped lies.

And oxytocin supports our beliefs overtime, the hugs feels heavenly, the kiss seems like a delight.

Their normal expressions seem so special, “the love drug” keeps playing tricks on our mind

Then we slowly start imagining scenarios in which they have married us and we are living a “happily ever after life”

But alas, infatuation or lust is temporary, most of the times,

You become obsessed with them, like an addict, you’re drawn to their presence and keep pestering them all the time,

Asking them about their whereabouts, feel insecure, jealous, feel that pit in the stomach when they dont give you importance,

You wish to keep them happy, no matter what, never wish to go against them, wish to be by their side, even though it hinders your self esteem all the time.

Until one day they tell you,

“dont contact me ever again”

And you realise, that infatuation played you well

You’re heartbroken, you feel this is the end of life,

When in reality, it’s not.

For now is the time you shine,

You give yourself the love and importance you deserved all the time.❣

Why are we like this?

We think more than we feel,

Think before we sleep, we eat,or play,

Think before making decisions, helping stranger in way,

Think about what could be,what might be, what is and what shouldn’t be,

Think about thinking in numerous ways,

Only to be disappointed when it doesnt match the thinking guidelines given by thinkers who used to think night and day,

I think therefore I am,

What if your thinking doenst let you be who you are?

Or is it to be is to think??

Or if you think then there’s too much to be?

Ugh,

Too much thinking for me.