Caught in a web of illusion

What is the difference between you and I?

You smile for pictures, and I, at passerbys.

You swipe through filters finding the perfect one, ah the pain.

I enjoy the dusk sky, sepia like your filters, sitting by the window pane.

You seek picturesque spots for your latest #weekend posts,

Small book cafes, with 4 chairs, chai and poetry is where you will find me the most.

You flaunt your latest dress and await comments and praises,

I share it with my loved ones, and soak in the warmth of joy on their faces.

Your snaps may last for 10 seconds and then poof, they’ll vanish,

My memories will last forever, in my heart they’ll flourish.

Your vacation was spent looking for perfect angles for pictures each,

I spent mine listening to waves on the beach.

Your thoughts are limited by 140 characters

Mine flow like a river, as I spill my heart out on a paper.

Your conversations are restricted to pleasantries,

My midnight chats hover around life, love and poetry.

Your joy is out there for the world to see, but sorrow is confined to your heart

For in your friend list of 1000, to find a real friend, where do you start?

People may shower you with their likes,

Will they show up when you walk through life’s spikes?

You get entangled in this web of trying to live for the netizens,

While I, seek ideas and people that broaden my horizons.

(C) Sneha Pathak

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A rainy evening

Slow soft drizzle of first showers,

As the water slides down the towers.

Kids on the street rejoice in rain,

For some, the raindrops help hide the tears of pain.

A couple walks hand in hand, recreating a romantic scene

Someone sits by the window, wondering what could have been.

Some enjoy the fresh smell of petrichor

Some sigh and worry how this will hamper their chores.

Some go for a drive to feel the wind on their face

Some push through crowded platforms, with an umbrella that has seen better days.

Some enjoy the lighting as the skies get dark

Others wonder, next day how to get to work?

Indifferent to them all, the raindrops continue to fall

For nature doesn’t distinguish amongst them all.

(C) Sneha Pathak

The cruel side of beauty

As I walked through the maze of wealth and power,

Glancing through screams trapped in glass cases.

Ivory, they called it.

Cruelty, I knew it.

My eyes marveled at the beauty of the sculptures

My mind, however, questioned this culture.

One where we take something

That in its nature is beautiful without interference

And destroy it to create something of relevance.

This ivory from those creatures innocent,

Stolen from them for our merriment.

They took Gods gift, in its form primal

And hit it repeatedly to make a stone idol.

An idol of worship, nevertheless

But humanity was lost in the process.

Now when I see these works of art,

I will see the creatures, at the very  start

When people hear prayers and hymns,

I will hear the pain and screams.

 

© Sneha P [Rights Reserved 2019]

 

 

 

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

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.

Subtle signs

Inkling

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]