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

 

Advertisements

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

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]

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]

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

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]