Looking for a piece of me

You look at strangers searching for a piece of you
To find any sense of home in this place that is so new
But did home ever feel like home?
Did the people back home feel like your own?
Or have you always felt like a boat searching for a shore
Trying to row hard, but without any oars
The city changes, the scene changes, the people change
But a piece of your heart feels amiss, isn’t that so strange?
You search for something that feels like a blanket
On a cold winter night
You search for something that feels like a hot cup of tea
In a world where even a conversation comes for a fee
You search for something that feels like a rock
Like the comfort of finding that missing pair of sock
You search for a person who speaks your tongue in a foreign land
But does it ever feel like you are looking for penny’s in sand?
So you look at strangers trying to find meaning in their eyes
You search for the truth in a land of lies.

A memory

Here is a small poem for today’s word – Gunita

 

When my ashes are one

with the earth I roam on in solitude

I shall be forgotten.

When these hands that are always wet

with the tears upon my cheek

are no longer around

asking to be held (in vain)

I shall be forgotten.

When these eyes won’t search

for comfort, for love anymore

I shall be forgotten.

When my heart will be safe,

from everyone I ever loved,

safe from horrors it sees everyday,

I shall be forgotten.

I shall be nothing but

a gunita

if I am lucky that is.

For people who didn’t see me in flesh,

will hardly remember me when I am bones.

 

Copyright © Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

 

 

Transformed

Transformation

Like an ignorant bird,

sitting in a cage,

counting its blessings,

on being so safe.

Unaware of the joy of flight,

of its pleasure rare.

I sit around in my tiny world,

Blissfully ignorant.

The sun never bothered me,

The shade was my abode.

I dared not step out

to explore the unknown.

The world is scary,

one must always be wary.

So they warned me to stay,

hidden forever, in the prison of haven.

Lies I once believed,

oh so quickly.

But today, I woke up.

The cocoon around me

has become a cage.

Engulfing me in a sea

of nothingness for eternity.

To break the shackles,

their and my own,

I push with all my might,

ready to even die,

but not without a fight.

When the world seems crumbling apart,

finally sink in, the horrors of a new start.

Retreating back felt right,

But I chose to stay back and fight..

Just when I felt I was completely torn,

A  happened,

And I transformed.

 

 

Copyright (c) Sneha P [ Rights Reserved

Devour

Before the sky devours us, our fears might.
We shall continue to breathe and exist, a corpse.
Once, capable of achieving wonders, only to be
confined, consumed, castrated by the silent darkness of fear within.
Fear of tomorrow,
Drowning us today
In a non existent sorrow.

Fear ravages the possibility
of once what could’ve been.

Picture – Self clicked.

Copyright ( c ) 2016.
[ Sneha P ] Rights reserved.

Idea of Love

Often we fall in love with the person we imagine someone can be, a possibility. 
In a way we fall in love with our imagination of someone. The character we want them to be. More considerate, more outgoing, more expressive maybe. We fall in love with the perfect story we want for ourselves.
Sadly, people aren’t designed to play a part in your story. Often,  the people that come into your life shape your story, they make it unique, different from everybody else’s.
Other wise we’d all be stuck with Prince Charmings and Perfect Princesses.
Wouldn’t that be a tad boring?
I mean not every girl is a damsel in distress. Not everyone wants to be saved by someone.
Sometimes, people just want someone to stand by their side in the journey of self discovery.
Not everyone sings and dances with birds and animals (as often princesses are portrayed to be). Nor does everyone have a sweet loving nature.
People are imperfect, that’s what makes them special.
People are filled with passion, a little madness, a little extra temper sometimes. They can be a little naive, a little persnickety, a little cold at times.
But if we were all perfect, we’d be easily replaceable. 
So if you can’t accept someone for who they are but want them to change because you see a world of possibilities with a changed version of them, I don’t think that is love.
Love is when you’ve seen what they can be, the good and the ugly, what they can and cannot give you and you still look at them the same way.
Love is when you know their flaws but you know how to handle them. Love when you miss those little things that annoy you at times. Love is when you know no one else can make you feel the way they do.
Love is when you can be anywhere but you’d rather be with them.

Copyright ( c ) Sneha P [ Rights Reserved ]

Hushed voices

Thousands of voices
quietly hushed.
Fear of mankind,
fear of being judged.

Smiling on the outside.
Imploding on the inside.

Monsters of the mind,
Hardest to slay.
Some clouds don’t part,
Some people, don’t live
To see the day.

If they could, they would
snap out if it
As you suggest.
But some thoughts haunt,
Despite trying your best.
Some scars, stay forever to taunt.

Several hearts in need of mending,
Several wounds that need love
And tending.

But they’d rather burn
In the hell of their mind.
Than listen to the jibes
Of the unsupportive and unkind.

On your little screens,
Everyone appears contented.
Suffering on the inside,
Silently tormented.

When they’re gone,
Some will cry and
writhe in deep pain.
Oh what’s the point? All in vain.

For when they were talking,
You wouldn’t listen. 
When they were crying,
You’d only cringe.
Maybe your indifference
Pushed them off the bridge.

Even today, some whisper
the woes of their heart.
Waiting to be saved,
Still some hope left.
Watch closely, 
They leave their trail.

Will it ever be fine?

Maybe someday it will hurt a little less. Maybe someday those memories won’t play on a loop in your mind.
Maybe one day, you won’t remember it so vividly. 
Maybe one day you will stop wondering what you could have done differently.
You will  stop blaming yourself. You won’t think if it/them everyday.

Then suddenly, one day when you might be walking down the street, or just having a meal with your friends, something might happen. Some tune playing some where,  some smell, some one’s smile, the color of some one’s shirt, or some old picture, and then you will think of it/them again.
And you will wonder if they think of you too. But you already know the answer to that don’t you?
Still you will convince yourself that it is in fact a good thing, that you can put the past behind you.
But a part of you always wonders if it’s a good thing or bad that you’ve forgotten what used to be an important part of your life.

Maybe it will never be fine.

Copyright ( c ) [ Sneha P ] Rights reserved.

Understand and Rescue.

“That is the thing about us, we are way too alike, you and I” she whispered. 

“Each of us wanting to be understood,  wanting someone to try and make sense of this beautiful, crazy, mess in our heads. To understand what makes us who we are.”

“Which is what makes us so perfect for each other” he exclaimed.

“But we also want to be rescued.” She reasoned.
” Rescued from this madness that engulfs our minds. This darkness that makes us feel powerful but alone.
Someone to make us see again how beautiful it is to step into the light.  To make us not feel so alone. So different.
Ironically, people who can understand what we are made of, are the ones that need rescuing too. ”

“So what do we want? To be rescued or to be understood?” He asked puzzled.

“I wish I knew” she sighed.

Search

When even the trees look like they form a heart

Don’t search for your name in my heart.
It’s been broken too many times at your hands, it can’t hold it anymore.
But If you look closely,  you might find your name in the song on my lips.
Don’t search for your mention in my words.
I dont utter it anymore, for I fear my sanity.
But you read closely, you will be able to find your name buried  in the verses of my poetry.
You wouldn’t hear confessions of love from my lips, I lack the courage to break myself again.
But if you see closely,  you will be able to find it in the way I look at you.
Like the sun that has the capacity to brighten up my day or burn my heart if it wants to.
Don’t search for your photograph in my possession, I can’t look at those cold eyes anymore.
But if you could watch my dreams, you’d see your face every night.

Copyright ( c ) [ Sneha P ] Rights reserved.

The moon

An impassive observer,

Looming overhead,

Floating ominously,

fills me with dread.

The distant moon glowing,

Wise, serene, all knowing.

The moon

Quiet as a grave,

Controlling the deadly waves.

Watching us be,

Our glory,our doom, it does see.

All the secrets it heard over the years,

It knows our desires, our deepest darkest fears.

Hidden away beneath its silvery soft silhouette.

Nothing concerns the godly ball of magic,

Except its loneliness, oh how tragic.

To have all these tales, and no one to share,

All this beauty, yet untouchable.

Oh! How unfair.

When solitude creeps in the middle of the night,

Look up and see the moon,

So alone, yet full of light.

Waiting to be saved,
From it’s plight.

Copyright ( c ) [ Sneha P ]
Image – clicked by me.