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]

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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

An old soul

Loneliness be their dole,

For they have an old soul.

Always the odd one out in a gathering,

The shy one, seen in the corner doodling.

Bags under eyes,

For they’ve cried all night.

They blame it on the writer’s block

To hid their insomnia behind locks.

The darkness of their pasts and their mind,

They use their poetry to leave this behind.

Yet to bleed on paper and to bleed true

They need to dig into their wounds anew.

They hurt themselves by tapping their hidden emotions,

But what can they do, for poetry is devotion.

To heal themselves by the magic of verses,

They must bear through an over emotional heart and its curses.

To take a word and create some magic,

They need to use their story tragic.

For they expose themselves and bare their hearts.

They need to let their demons consume them over and over,

Using their stories of an abusive childhood or a jilted lover.

They walk alone even in crowds,

Their hearts feel at peace in silences loud.

Yet, their poetry you can never forget,

For they gave it their soul, these poets.

© Sneha P [ Rights Reserved]

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

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