A tale of two crimes

I once heard of a tale,

A man who killed his neighbor,

And stole all the fruits of his labor.

It made me weep with sorrow,

What will happen of this cruel society tomorrow?

 

I once sat upon my window sill,

I saw an act of nature, if you will.

A pigeon toiled day and night to make its nest in my window,

And once when his eggs lay in the nest, came a crow.

Nonchalantly it took the eggs with it

and began to take apart the twigs for his own nest, ah the wit!

I thought no further of this act,

Until one day I began to wonder,

How the man and the crow, their acts were not very different.

Perhaps one had a conscience, the other was indifferent.

 

– Sneha Pathak

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The garden near the graveyard

Meander

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.

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]

Succumb

Succumb

 

Tonight the monsters don’t haunt, they whisper

Whisper the verses that fill the blank pages

Tonight, I let them out of their cages.

Tonight, my cheeks aren’t wet, no dried tears

Tonight, the ink sings my deepest fears.

The suppressed pain comes out tonight,

Tonight, I will not put up a fight.

Tonight, I will no longer feel numb,

I’ll feel the pain and succumb.

Love and its glory

Glorious

 

Crated carefully with stolen glances and shy smiles,

When every moment without them seems vile.

Brushing fingers that turns to warm embrace,

The definition of ultimate beauty becomes their face.

When a moment away from them seems like a decade,

When their little indifference cuts like a blade.

When nights of sweet nothings, turn to screaming and cries,

when words of romance are replaced with lies.

When tears and smiles alternate often,

When your strong heart finally softens.

When the pleasure and the pain both you have seen,

When you think of what it was, and what it could’ve been.

Regardless of the ending, the story is marvellous,

Cruel as it may be, love is glorious.

© Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

©

Memories that sting

Sting
Like a faded wound, that doesn’t bother you anymore,

I think about them no more.

Except when I stumble upon old letters,

I read them anyway, even though I know better.

Declarations of love, poetry for my beloved and sweet nothings

As my fingers trace the faded words, I have trouble breathing.

I move on to further musings, tear soaked papers, stories of pain

Promises to self to never love again, all in vain.

I find a box of heartache in every corner of my life,

Stories of people whose words hurt more than a knife.

Again and again, the same old misfortune and pain,

Just by people with different names.

Every time I look the dusty volume of my past,

I wonder what curse has been cast?

For even I though lock them away, memories of heartache still cling,

Every time I think of the past, it still stings.

© Sneha P [rights reserved 2017]