A doomed romance

Smooth jazz playing the background,

He spins her round and round.

While we sit there, in the candlelight

A classic black dress, and a shirt bright white.

Like characters of a film noir,

We soak in the beautiful soir.

You sip your whiskey neat,

and stare into my eyes,

and enjoy watching my heart skip a beat.

I wonder if this moment here

will we ever be this way again?

So far yet so near.

Far, because your eyes are drunk on liquor

My eyes,  drunk on something stronger

in the dim lights they flicker.

This moment here, you ruin its beauty

with your casual nonchalance,

And I, with my hopes pinned on a doomed romance.

So we celebrate this evening,

with some faux discussions.

My heart now wary, for I know the repercussions.

I fall nonetheless, for the music was intoxicating

as were your eyes and lies.

We watch the city lights and I wonder

if you notice my shy smile

I wonder if you noticed, it was missing for a while.

I wait for you to say the words

that would make my fairy tale come true

But guess you meant it

when you said you never knew how to woo.

As the night comes to an end, the tears flow down my cheeks

I shall dream of this evening for weeks.

But tomorrow, you shall forget my love,

For your eyes, didn’t have the same shine.

Come tomorrow, don’t worry about my broken heart,

My darling, it has endured a lot, it shall presumably be fine.

 

© Sneha Pathak [Rights Reserved]

 

 

 

 

 

Hope is the thing

Hope is the thing that ruins you

The veiled demon,  dressed in a cloak of gold

Hiding underneath the dagger and the black robes.

Like the sirens that call out to the sailor

Hope sings a melody of success and dreams

Of success, glory, and joy bursting at seams.

It draws you out of your comfort zone,

Of apathy and inaction.

The small flame of light,

Fighting away the familiar dak night.

It promises you the morning sun,

Beware, its a trap. Run!

It draws you out and makes you toil

It makes you walk the burning soil

It takes your sweat, blood, and tears

It gives you sleepless nights filled with fear.

For now, you have something of value

The false diamond of dreams, gifted by hope.

But now it has made you a beggar

For you pray to all gods known to mankind

You pray to the universe, beg for a sign.

And when its all gone to dust

As you maybe knew it would

You are left a pile of skin and bones.

Hope will be the death of you

And just when you have given up

It will resurrect you anew.

 

© Sneha Pathak

Fall

Fall of leaves and hopes

When I was younger

A walk in the park, in fall evenings

Crisp cool wind and the golden glow before the sunset

Illuminating the glass windows of tall buildings

And auburn leaves falling all around me,

Were enough to make me smile wide.

I’d imagine I was in a movie

And feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

I’d hope to stumble into

My celebrity crush on the streets

And dream of walking Paris streets.

I would dream of growing up

Of having the freedom to go where I’d like

To pursue my heart’s calling and

Live however I liked.

Foolish dreams made of stardust and hope,

Swept away like fallen autumn leaves

By the merciless rake of adulthood and more.

Now I walk the streets, and feel the wind against my chest,

But my preoccupied mind and unobservant eyes

Ignore the wind, the leaves and the sunset.

I have the freedom, but I am confined.

I can go where I want, in theory

But I can’t take that first step, not today, not really.

For things need to be done, bills need to be paid,

People have to be pleased and deadlines have to be met.

Too afraid to take a chance,

I continue this monotonous dance.

The onset of autumn brings along memories

Of a golden time that made me beam.

But I can no longer feel it, for I lost my ability to dream.

(C) Sneha Pathak

Out of place

In a storybook village

She sits by the river,

emerald blue water

melancholy song of the birds

its a dull day.

There are only dull days.

In this quaint little town

where nothing happens

she feels like she is living in a daze

in a beautiful but toxic maze.

Caught up in the monotony

unable to escape

unable to move.

It is unsettling, the perfect harmony.

She longs for a different life

one with the cacophony of the traffic

one with the sky-high buildings

one where the city comes alive at night.

She sighs.

In an overcrowded city

She sits in her small cubicle

overlooking the grey skies

She misses the fairytales and their lies

The printer keeps buzzing

as does her phone

The only quiet she finds is in the bathroom

People surround her, breathing in her space

From the second she wakes up,

Life feels like a race.

She longs for a quiet escape.

A hidden nook

Away from the noise and the movement.

Somewhere where life halts for a moment.

She sighs.

Both look at the sky

and wish for a different life.

 

 

© Sneha Pathak

 

Where do broken dreams go?

Where do broken dreams go?

Do these broken shards pile up somewhere

and make you trip and fall

and bleed

on lonely nights.

Or do they just rot in a corner

of your broken heart

where the stench becomes unbearable

maybe that’s why you find it hard

to just breathe.

Do they become a rope

tied to your feet

always holding you back

always keeping you tied

preventing you from taking risks

moving forward, trying.

Do they become ghosts

that whisper in the night

and keep you up

singing of all your disappointments

as the tears slowly roll down your cheeks.

Do they become the reflection in the mirror

always reminding you

how you fell short

how you couldn’t get them.

Do they become the silence in the room

when people leave

because you despair too much

over these broken dreams.

Do they become your best friend

holding you hand, always in close touch

more so, than any other real person.

Do they become you?

Do they manifest and slowly metamorphose into you

Taking away your identity

Your being, your joy, the sparkle in your eyes.

And all that remains, are these broken dreams that now define you.

 

(c) Sneha Pathak

What do you know of heartbreak?

What do you know of heartbreak?

You don’t get emotionally invested

Your eyes have never been tested

For the number of tears, they can dispel

Your lips, for the number of apologies

They can propel.

You can walk out of love like it meant nothing

You, forget people like children forget old playthings.

You thought the song under the stars was a childish gesture

My love, my care, my loyalty, do you realize they are a treasure?

You dismissed the cards I made you,

Staying up all night

You go to your parties, right after a fight.

You see no emotions in the poetry I write

You don’t fear losing your love,

and waking with a fright.

You say you’re stoic and unemotional

I say you have never known love and devotion.

I say you haven’t felt the pain I feel

When I see her every day

When I wonder why do people like her get their way?

I say you haven’t felt the crushing weight

of someone’s lips as they part with a final kiss.

I say, your heart has no one to long for, no one to miss.

I say that you have not felt the burning flames of love

Of a feeling so intense that it consumes your being.

Neither have you felt the pain of an indifferent lover

Because you are the first to walk out, even before it’s over.

© Sneha Pathak [Rights Reserved]

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