I’m fine.



I wish I could stop using this sentence at times, but ever since I was a child, maa always told me everything is fine, it’s all in your head,my little dandelion.

She told me that as a woman I must learn to accept some hardships in life,that crying over things isn’t the solution to life.

“Then when does one cry, maa?”

People cry when someone dies, shibu” Not when they’re alive and happy”

I wonder if I am truly alive?

My heart doesn’t really beat,
it functions like my neighbor ‘s old Ben clock,
Only at night does it realise that its alive
It echoes a silent tap, those muffled voices in the background snicker and laugh,
I hear a whimper, too soft for anyone to notice around,
But it ticks too loud, but oh the silence of the night takes the credit away.


***
Go for a run or a walk, Dad orders me,
I find myself wearing those worn out converse of mine,
Where my laces have knots and are too loosely tied,
I jog for a few minutes until those thoughts feel too much for me, the same disappointment,
The same numbness, the people in my life I could never please, I run, run the way I have always liked,
The one where people disappear and my heart beat comes alive,

After 3 rounds of running, I return back home,

“You look like hellboy” dad acknowledges my presence as he opens his new bottle of whiskey, tonight.
After two 60 ml shots,
He tells me that I act like an emotional fool at times,
that I must learn to be tough, be like a rock he says, it never cries.
I wish I could tell him that oh it breaks, shatters into pieces when it can’t cry.


……

I wish I were a child right now,
atleast writing “I am fine” hundred times would let my unconscious mind accept this plight,
Alas my heart would never accept that sight.

….

Why dont you share anything with me, I am right here, my friend texts me,
But what do I tell her when I myself dont understand it,
That there are times I just wish to be left alone,
All I want is the silence around me, not questions and remarks about how I am not doing well in life.
Rather all I end up texting them is, Oh it’s nothing, I’ll be just fine. :))

The paradoxical one.

She is unsure and uncertain in life, she wants a few things, yet doesnt want them too. She would initiate the conversation then feel it losing it’s sight and in time with her lack of effort, it’ll die.

For she knows they’d have many others whom they would talk to, she’d assume small things and get nervous all the time, “why did you type the Okay ♥️ as ok, / okay / k/ this time?”The others she wonders about the tone of their text and replies, “were they in a hurry or did they wish to talk to me after a while?”

“Why didn’t they use their regular emoji, or are they done with her hopeless plight?”

She deletes messages quite often too,for her anxiety tells her it sounds too rude or maybe not right, what if they feel bad? What if they read in between the lines? They cant see her vulnerable side.

Sudden calls from strangers scare her to death,do they expect a specific reply? Is hmm and haan and okay and yeah, fine? What if they feel she is not contributing to the conversation at all,her heart comes to her mouth, she feels like 1 year old, she babbles or mumbles or at times is inaudiblely loud.

At times,she is sure of her mind, sure of the things she has to say and feels about the people around, yes doubts and fear cross her mind, but her heart comes to resuce those times.

The others, her heart plays tricks on her mind, for it doesn’t understand the difference between infatuation or lust, confuses it with love and keeps her awake all night.

Yes she overthinks, she has scales of measurement for this overthinking too, a bit done every now and then seems fine, she takes overthinking breaks in between her day, thinks about the topic from all the sides and even tho the stimulus is out of her sight it still revolves in her mind.

Is it yes or was it no?”

She dislikes the term in between and people giving her ambiguous hues. She likes weird and confusing things for sure,

The puzzle the daily crossword, the sudoku hurl, the Rubik’s cube, confusing it may be for others but she’d try all the combinations and solve it overnight, and if not, then mess up the code and add more sequences to her plight.

At times she is nervous and shy,like the naive Caterpillar that transforms into a beautiful butterfly, she is oh so cautious and alert of her moves, never to harm a soul and usually complies.

The others she is bold and scary they say, like the moth, that’s as dark as the ruinous sky, you’d shoo her off, so that she doesn’t ruin your cashmere shawl overnight,

She’s reckless and wild, is attracted to dangerous people who often hurt her or leave her in the absence of light, is attracted to the feral fire that could burn her core, yet she wishes to go near it, to warm her numb soul.

…..

Life for her is a puzzle,

one cannot fathom right away

It is never truly black nor white,

At times it’s blue and purple, red and grey,

So arrange every piece that comes your way,

And that’s how she lives her life, everyday.

Poem 53#

Does your heart ever beat aloud, when my name pops on your screen?

Does your face heat up, or do your lips start to smile?

Do you ever look up at the sky and gaze at the moon sometimes?

Remember our previous conversations and way you hugged me, tight?

Do my thoughts ever cross your mind,

Whenever you’re busy at work, trying to study, or sleep at night?

Do you even remember the words you said before you first kissed me,

Or way you smiled so bright?


I wouldn’t know, anymore.

But,

I do know you’re searching for a girl who’d fit into your world.

Who is different than the others, you’ve met,
Someone who adds value to your life, understands you.
Doesnt expect you to be perfect,
Rather, accepts your various hues.

Doesn’t give up on you, when you push her aside,
Who keeps texting you, even though you hardly reply,
Who is always loyal to you, honest and never lies.

You’re a man of few words,
You pretend to listen and hardly reply,
But expect others to listen to you,
but do you comply?

You welcome people, but never let them in,
You know their secrets, hardly share your worries, at times lie.
When confronted, you dive in your cave, you sigh.

You overthink, overanalyze, but keep mum, in your agony, you die.
But tell others that overthinking isn’t right

You have peculiar moods, one in which you wish to be left alone,
One in which you’re no longer the gloomy soul, you’re cheerful,
full of life,
Alas it doesn’t last that while,
And finally the one,in which, your mood, monosyllables provide.


But there’s this void, this tiny black hole,

That exists within you, in your heart,

That is masked by your smile,

One that I can see in your eyes.

What if it forever resides?

Poem 52#

He’s here, but he’s truly not,

I don’t recognize him,

In fact I never have and never will,

He babbles and abuses too,

His eyes, don’t see what we see,

It sees a world that keeps opressing him,

His mouth becomes a flame of lies,

Of pain and hurt,

betrayal and crimes,

His past surfaces in and he becomes the same old boy

With khaki shorts and torn shirt,

With worn chappals and lost eyes

Who’s father beat him, to hide his lies,

To hide his affair with the woman he loved,

Who wasn’t his wife.

It all comes back to him, at times in episodes too.

He remembers the time his purple hand was beaten black,

The times his father thrashed him

Left him away and ignored his plight.

But oh he forgets the time he left us away,

Instead,

Says I am a burden,

And my siblings are no longer his children too.

He slurrs and slips,

Fumbles on his own failures, oh he falls.

And when his tired eyes and calloused feet hurt a lot,

He crashes his stout body on the defeated old bed,

Mumbbles a “I hate you, you’re no longer my child’

And goes back to sleep, soundly, every night.


Poem 51#

I didn’t know what I’d write today,

For hasn’t life become so mundane?

So monotonous, like the clock,

At every interval it ticks and tocks

Prompts me, it’s alive today.

I wake up to my mom’s atypical voice,

The news broadcast, tallies the death tolls,

The uneasy cooker keeps fretting too,

With each whistle, it gets louder and louder,

Until it’s left to cool at its place.

Dad works on his laptop grey,

With his tea cup beside his ashtrays,

His weary files are out again,

He enters the data,

fiercely stabs the fatigued keys,

Oh this damn old laptop, types ‘he’ as ‘eeee’

Sweety then chirps a loud meow to me,

Oh! she’s awake and is famished

She wants to eat the loaf of bread.

Along with the her favourite peanut butter

And chocolate spread.

Alas this short poem comes to an end,

For sweety’s wrath is inescapable,

When she hasn’t been fed.

PS: Sweety is my 10 year old baby parrot.

And still I rise. (Poem for the day)

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

– Maya Angelou.


Hey everyone!

So I came across this amazing poem written by American poet, storyteller Maya Angelou.

I really loved this poem, I thought I’d share it with you as well. Hope you like the message she wishes to convey!

Thank you so much for reading ♥️

Poem 50#

She remembers crying late that night
Praying for dad, searching for him among the gloomy skies.
Her mother handling her a tiny gas lamp,
Empty it felt, weak it was, to survive the night.

Yet she waited for him silently,
Her stomach beseeched her dad,
He had promised her, they’d both eat dinner together,
Then he’d read the Princess and the knight.

She protected that perishing light,
Kept praying to the God unknown,
With weak words and trembling hands.
Just please let daddy be all right’.

And oh, he was all right,
he bought the frigid winds alongside,
Entered abode and gusted in,

Her dying light, fell right into her sight.

But did he care?

She asks herself the same thing, every night.