MATURE ENOUGH?

With that dagger of maturity,
This heart has been slashed for the thousandth time,
For you can't act out even if it bleeds,
You are mature enough, you are in your thirties.

Seeing your ego getting subdued with ease,
Avoiding entwining in futile conflicts,
Beyond the surface facades, you ought to see,
You are mature enough, you are in your thirties.

Moving through jagged streets and inclement weather,
Confronting the storms with a plastic smile,
You are barred from the indulgence of panic
For you are mature enough, you are in your thirties.

You let go of your space, you let go of your dreams,
Striving to find an evenness,
Shielding your warped emotions with elation,
You think you are mature enough for you are in your thirties.

You are not rigid, you bend to the whims of change,
you cannot sulk, You are forbidden to don the cloak of helplessness,
You choose your adultness over fun,
Drawing a huge veil over the chaos within,
Are you mature enough or dying inside?
For you are only in your thirties.

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GREETINGS!! TO YOUR AGING SELF

Waking up all exhausted,
It takes an hour to gather yourself;
On the mirror, you condemn those fine lines and greying hairs,
Greetings!! To your aging self.

The stubborn fat wrapped up delicately,
The knees hurt, and the back is jangly;
Oh crap! It’s hard to avoid the agony
Is it just the age or are you a loony?

Baggy dresses have become the saviours,
So gracefully concealing the defects;
Stilettos are now steep and unappealing,
Sneakers and flats have topped every wishlists.

With black racoon eyes and a sloppy bun,
With a muddled mind and spectacles on,
Retire to bed with a book and a cup of tea,
It’s time for your plodding groove to repeat.


Nothingness has grown so addictive,
Lying on the bed seems fun;
Trips and gatherings have grown tedious,
Remaining aloof is now the new norm.

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THE ETERNAL CONFLICT


The garden and the butterflies
These are nothing but lies
Let your soul break those restraints
These are temporary and not your constants

Ignore the image in the mirror
It may seem sweet or may be sour
For it looks so real
Yet everything is all so virtual

Because the heart doesn’t know
All it gets is hurt and low
Let not your mind conjure against it
For it is too innocent to even solve it.

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NOT JUST WINTER BLUES

Why do you look so woebegone Lady?
For the world is so harsh on me,
I am bleeding, yet I am guilty
Is that a stinking reality or just the society?

This minute red stain on my skirt,
Is it that noticeable or is it not?
Oh my God, such an embarrassment
Should I drag a veil on it?
Excuse me, can a wistful smile avoid it?

A pack of fifteen shall suffice
Or wrapping an extra will be wise?
Dry net cover or the cottony soft one
A regular length or the winged one?
For it is going to be a week long
Lend me one, if, publicly,I go wrong.

I loiter outside the temple gates,
Stamped as impure and unpropitious,
Even the immortals are not spared
Let alone these people who are little cared
Is fertility, a boon or a bane?
Susssshhh..Check your emotions and pain.

Long gone and forgotten those days
Girls being all decked up in new dresses
Puff, everything got somehow changed
And no one talked about their first-shed.

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ZUGUNRUHE

Passing by the autumn streets,
Heard him wrabling,
Flashing his tail,
And rufous plumage beneath;
In the balcony in happiness
Or may be, to abate his pain.

An adorable bluethroat it was,
Being loved and cared in a cage,
Relaxed from those arduous North trips,
And the daily fights to survive.

Yet he is fidgety, quite perceptible,
With constant fluttering of wings,
Trying to shatter those iron bars,
Trying to fly away really far,
Into the blue unknown,
Picking up a berry and whistling a song.

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MYSTIQUE

Treading carelessly through the foggy street,
I saw a saggy bridge, thousand years old,
Espied a girl crossing it with a small frown,
While that bridge quaked under her feet.

The fog was growing thick,
Scary it was to see not a single soul out,
I saw that girl again, stumbling over a giant rock,
May be she is hurt or may not be,
She still continued walking lost in reverie.

Abandoned roads and freaking street lights,
I saw her standing by the roadside hedge,
Staring at those salvia flowers, she smiled and walked away,
I could smell that fragrance in the air,
I stopped by, to look at my aching legs,
Nothing it was, but just a small bruise.

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THE GATHERING

Giving replacement
Running as soon as she arrives
To attend the gathering.
Straightening the hair
All decked up in best possible dress
Being careful to not to repeat
And there you enter.
To grandparents foot-touching
To cousins and nephews and niece
Tight "jadoo-ki-jhappi"
From being sober to turning irritating
Saga goes on.
Anxiously you wait for the food
Along with it comes break up stories
Some funny Nick names and leg pulling
On the table gossiping.
You spread a mat
Choose your partner
Cards and ludo hold a special niche
Even eyes forget what they need.
Time flies like a Swift
Yet captured somehow
Hundreds of snaps
Making faces and twisting noses.
Then they all leave
And all you do is wait for the next gathering.

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MY NOVEMBER MORNINGS

The chilled halo around me
The roaring alarm
The broken deep slumber
Again came that evil "tomorrow"
Smashing my dreams into smithereens
Off the blanket as I go
Again slither down under it though.

With the hesitating body
And unkempt hairs
In a maze for a second
The sloth in me tries waking up
To see the sun
And hear the purling river
Freshens up and stands by the window.

Thence begins my ho hum routine
Wearing my daily attire
And muffled up in a jacket black
With numbed fingers and clammy hands
Searching for keys and hairbands.

Plugging in the earcords
With some music in loop
I drive amidst the greens
Away from the city hustle
I wish there were a light mizzle
And a never ending road.

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THE NIGHT

The lime green steth,
The dark blue apparel,
A pair of flat blue sandals,
Hundreds of mermaids in agony,
And some similar sweaty pals.

The crude stitch and the backache,
The fear of making mistakes by mistake
Only to hear the little one cry
Doing whatever it takes.

Blood soaked hands
The never ending panting
The neatly draped baby
You love her, still u hate the night.

The acutely sprained legs,
The two tiny tired eyes,
Can't even perceive,
Either the day or the night skies.

Ten cups of tea
And quick hot sips
A bit of burnt lips
Yet a crooked smile persists

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THE FORLORN FIGHTER

Let off the veil,
You don't need any shield.
The heat may scorch us,
You need not make a fuss.

That dress is bewitchingly black
Let me try, you put it back.
Even for you yellow is loud
Yet you are invisible in the crowd.

Diamonds are not just for you,
No! Even gold doesn't suit you,
Because it's all the same,
The kohl lined eyes, oh! so lame.
Let's not waste make up on you
Blush won't give you any reddish hue.

Rejections are just her daily pills,
A social outcast and sometimes evil,
It's her mistake, what she feels,
For the color outside that matters,
And the inside often gets tattered.

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