Where do you want to go?

Where would you rather be?

The all-powerful machine

That rests on top of your head

Where do you want it to take you instead?

In the woods far away,

Walking in solitude

Or maybe at a banquet of delicious food?

Would you rather be at a beach,

Or would you give up the excel sheets

For a chance to teach?

Or would you use this machine as a time travel device

To travel through time and space,

Somewhere where your heart lies?

Maybe with a loved one departed,

Maybe back to where your story started.

To try to change the course of your story

Or to escape from memories, dark and gory.

Picture yourself in the South of France,

Or in a studio where it’s just you and your dance.

Or a library full of dusty books that are your sole company

Or just to escape from the exhausting monotony

Somewhere where the music, sings your hearts symphony.

To live an alternate life with possibilities endless

To somehow avoid, life and all its mess.

Wherever you choose to go,

You only just need to close your eyes.

For all you delusional adventures,

Just a vivid imagination would suffice.

 

© Sneha Pathak [Rights Reserved]

Letters to those who hurt me

I write a letter.

Several letters, one for each

Set of eyes that made mine overflow with tears.

One for the teacher

Who castigated me for years.

One for each bully

Who picked on me when I was weaker.

One for the friend

Who let me down in my time of need.

One for the aunty

Who broke down my self esteem.

One for the nameless relative

Who questioned my life choices.

One for the colleague

Who backstabbed me without cause.

One for the lover

Who made me cry every night

I pour my heart into these papers

Hoping it would make me feel lighter.

Telling these people off,

For all the times they hurt me carelessly.

Words spoken, cruelly and hastily.

And I write one final one

For the girl who writes these letters.

One to thank her,

For because of her pain, I became better.

I thank her for being patient

For pulling herself together

For braving through stormy weather.

I am the product of her endeavour

Of her courage, and her fear.

Where would she be

Without these experiences?

They moulded her,

And she moulded me.

I tear up the other letters

And keep just the one

I rise, like a Phoenix

As I watch the other letters burn.

(C) Sneha Pathak

Your momentary mediocrity

Today you woke up

Perfectly ready to conquer the world

Be the best version of yourself and to shine unparalleled.

But as the moments trickle away

You decide to be mediocre instead.

For today is such an ordinary day

People keeping their heads down, going their way.

The breakfast is the same as always

The coffee is just regular

The commute to your 9 to 5 is exasperating, as usual.

The different faces you see each day,

Are still the same, sheeps with their heads down, going one way.

How supremely better am I than this kind

Wonders your potentially exquisite mind.

The world doesn’t feel ready

To witness your potential today.

So you work ordinarily

No less no more than the day before.

You make small talk with your coworker

You wanted to the conversation to sparkle some more

However why waste your knowledge and skills on this ordinary being?

So you indulge in those meaningless moments fleeting.

You go about the day, like the sand on the beach

Pushed around by waves, back and forth

Without any sense of self worth.

You write a poem, a simple ordinary verse

Avoiding depth of thought and talking superficially about the universe.

For the exemplary work of art you can create in a moment

Isn’t ready to be shown yet to these masses, who can’t comment.

It will go unnoticed, unadmired

For their little minds can’t appreciate your genius if they tried.

So you live in mediocrity, ignorant and at bliss

For today too, a day has gone by

And the opportunity is missed.

But you know today wasn’t the day to be better and to live upto your capacity.

So today, again, you settle in your perpetual mediocrity.

(C) Sneha Pathak

A gaping pit

Silent screams,

Even when the skies are blue.

When in the crowd around you, ears are few.

They say loneliness is like a dark room,

I say the darkness is a friend, for the lonely mind.

For inside this gaping pit, they learn to hug their knees

when they cry, they learn the virtue of being kind.

They learn the warmth of their own hands

holding them tight, encircling their being

holding it together

all the broken pieces, all their loose strings.

They try to crawl out and seek some light

they seek support from those outside

But the footsteps near, grow faint and fainter

As their hope fades away.

Soon, even when a hand comes in to pull them out,

they begin to cringe in fear, and their intentions they doubt.

For they have tried to blend in, to fit in, to belong

They are left wondering what they are doing wrong.

Even the closes comrades, seem to slowly pull away

for who wants to be with people who aren’t always gay?

Soon, they accept their fate and decide to stay aloof

To live a life with their constant companion, under their solitary roof.

(c) Sneha Pathak

Darkness within, seeking the light.

On some nights, the storm outside seems bleak,

For your mind is in turmoil, as your will grows weak.

Some days, in bright daylight, surrounded by a crowd,

Your demons make your mind grow weak, as they scream so loud.

Some days, the ray of sunshine just isn’t enough for your winter,

As the shards of the delicate glass of broken hopes just lay there splintered.

Some days, you bleed on the paper and you bleed yourself dry

For tears can come from your pen, and not just your eyes.

Some days you scream out your pain and no one seems to hear,

Some days you push people away from the wall they try to tear.

Some days loneliness is a gaping pit that swallows you whole,

Some days, you question the meaning of life and your petty role.

Some days, they call the ghosts in your mind just an illusion,

Some days, your thoughts run wild through a maze of confusion.

Some days, you want to end it all for good and get out of your dread,

Other days, you muster just enough to get out of bed,

Some may call it trivial, I say call it courage instead.

The will to get up and just try a little bit more today,

The desire to find a will, to start walking on the way.

For the warrior doesn’t always win every battle he fights,

Some days, you can be a contradiction, living in the darkness fighting for a light.

 

(c) Sneha Pathak

A list of bliss

Soft cool breeze in autumn,

Leaves decorating the pathway in Auburn.

Sky painted in shades of orange and pink

White sheets of paper, ornated with dark blue ink.

Jazz instrumental playing in the background

Finding enthralling poetry in a library profound.

Kettles brewing some fresh tea for the evening

The sound of waves and the peace they bring.

Sunflowers, Roses, lilies of several colors and size

Finding small shells hidden in the beach like a prize.

The feeling of being wrapped in warm blankets on a winters night

A warmer hug from someone after a fight.

Having a good book and some hot chocolate in your hands

Reading tales of love and utopian lands.

This is a list of things that may fill your heart with joy and bliss

Add to this list, if there’s something amiss.

(C) Sneha Pathak

The girl in the blue polka dot dress

I remember the afternoon I met Her

We were both the only two people in the mueseum, alone, yet together.

In that solitude we felt an unspoken tug to talk to each other,

Our silences spoke volumes as polite smiles pushed the conversation further.

We walked together in unspoken agreement, yet in sync

The paintings fed our minds and our eyes continued to drink.

We spent hours talking, debating and discussing stories of times yore

As we shared hisotrical facts and nothing more.

We shared a coffee, and spoke of Van Gogh,

The way her eyes lit up, made me forget where I was, and where I was supposed to go.

We shared stories of art, philosophy and culture

Her face I have forgotten, for her mind is what had me captured.

When I bid her goodbye at the museum door,

We had spoken for five hours yet, I wanted more.

I watched her get swallowed by the crowd,

But I knew she wasn’t like them, her voice may be soft, but her words were loud.

The girl in the blue polka dot dress,

She did not tell me her name, neither did I press.

We may never meet each other again,

But I shall remember this afternoon, where I entered the museum merely to avoid the rain.

The beautiful encounter with the girl mysterious

Left my mind feeling fulfilled but my heart was left curious.

(C) Sneha P