The garden near the graveyard


The cherry blossoms bloomed dutifully,
In the garden that stood opposite the graveyard, so beautifully.
The pretty pebbled road to the garden gate
Meandered slowly to the place where people met their ultimate fate.
The cool wind that solemnly blew the dust from the top of the graves,
Blew the hair of little children playing, to blissful ignorance, they were slaves.
The dirt where the fallen men lay peacefully,
Was just 50 steps way from where young men jogged hastily.
Farcically trying to prolong their days,
Calmly ignoring the inevitable long night that lay.
Whispered promises of undying love in the grass,
Lay there on the other side rotting as carcass.
People buried little seeds, planting saplings in the mud, a sign of renewal
While some buried bodies, and called life cruel.
The sun sets poetically on one corner of the garden of eternal rest,
While the people return home, renewed with a new zest.
I marvel at their willful ignorance and optimism
Their desire to hold on
Even though before their eyes
Lies the fact that all will be lost.

Subtle signs


It happened so suddenly,

I can’t remember it perfectly.

However, when all I ended up talking about was you

When every moment with you, bought vigor new.

When the songs began to make sense,

When around you, I was always on fence.

When I spent hours looking for your birthday gift,

When I stared at you from the corner of my eye in the lift.

When whatever you did was perfect to me,

When watching you smile, made me go weak in the knee.

When I stayed up all night thinking of what you said on the phone,

When I looked forward to our moments alone.

When your name popped in my mind writing the poetry above,

I had an inkling, I was in love.

© Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

Midnight conversations

Today’s prompt – Conversation

The music was loud, the words were few

I couldn’t find my friends, all the faces were new.

I scanned the room, our eyes met for a moment

She looked at me and looked away, a little hesitant.

The noise was too much, I couldn’t hear myself think

I stepped outside, for fresh air, and saw a vision in pink.

It was the same set of eyes, I had seen inside

I smiled at the woman beside.

Two strangers tired of trying to fit in the crowd,

We decided to go somewhere not so loud.

While the world cheered at midnight,

I admired her pale face glowing under the faint streetlights.

Walking around the city, talking about everything and nothing,

I found the one thing that my life was missing.

While I did not have a grand celebration,

I found something better in that night’s conversation.

© Sneha Pathak [Rights Reserved 2018]


The purple skies

Here’s my entry for three line tales this week:

The little girl looked at the purple skies, sprinkled with fairy dust, and made a wish to live in the tall, mysterious tower she saw in the distance at the end of the village.

The lonely princess looked at the purple skies that matched the purple bruises on her skin and wished to be out there the village, free from this prison.

The purple skies faded away into dark night, leaving behind a thousand unanswered wishes.

Sneha Pathak


What do you do with the songs?

I wonder what do you do with all the songs? You know the songs, that people, friends, lovers and so on suggest to you or the ones you suggest to them? What do you do with these songs when these people leave?

What do you do when the song, that you and your best friend screamed into the mike at that karaoke bar comes on the radio, when you both don’t talk anymore?

What do you do with the song that your boyfriend sang on the phone at 2 am when he drunk dialed to tell you he loves you, when you haven’t seen him in months.

What do you do with the song that you danced to at your wedding with the man who promised to love forever, when the last you saw him was in a divorce court?

How many songs can you avoid? How many songs can you hate, simply because they bring you nothing but a stabbing  pain in your heart as the memories of people that left comes rushing back.

What do you with the songs?


© Sneha P [Rights Reserved]


Someone who listens

This week’s tale:

I stroke his beautiful hair, and ask him to go to his shed, and he does.

At least as a horse he listens to me, I chuckle to myself.

I wonder if he will remember what I did to him this week, and hate my being a witch.

three line tales week 96: an Iceland pony in the snow

© Sneha P


Ascend to madness



The chaos doesn’t bother me anymore,

The darkness has fashioned me wings to soar.

Breaking the trivial rules of the society,

Of nicety and propriety.

Playing by the rules has got me nowhere,

Let’s embrace the mayhem, let’s see how it fares.

Tonight, I will not bend

My vices will be my ladder, my demons will help me ascend.