The perfect couple

Pretty as a picture

Their life seems so rosy

To the world outside

They seem to be living warm and cozy.

For the music at their parties

Drowns out the screams

Their smiles are so perfect and dazzling

No one seems to guess

The reality so very troubling.

For they play the perfect couple

Of martial life, beautiful without a ripple.

But the storm underneath they manage to conceal

Their tired, swollen eyes, they give away how they really feel.

The scars on their body

Well hidden my seams

The scars on their heart

Well what of them?

For they follow the whims of their heart,

They had promised to stick together

Till death do them apart.

(C) Sneha Pathak

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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]

Love and its glory

Glorious

 

Crated carefully with stolen glances and shy smiles,

When every moment without them seems vile.

Brushing fingers that turns to warm embrace,

The definition of ultimate beauty becomes their face.

When a moment away from them seems like a decade,

When their little indifference cuts like a blade.

When nights of sweet nothings, turn to screaming and cries,

when words of romance are replaced with lies.

When tears and smiles alternate often,

When your strong heart finally softens.

When the pleasure and the pain both you have seen,

When you think of what it was, and what it could’ve been.

Regardless of the ending, the story is marvellous,

Cruel as it may be, love is glorious.

© Sneha P [Rights Reserved]

©

Memories that sting

Sting
Like a faded wound, that doesn’t bother you anymore,

I think about them no more.

Except when I stumble upon old letters,

I read them anyway, even though I know better.

Declarations of love, poetry for my beloved and sweet nothings

As my fingers trace the faded words, I have trouble breathing.

I move on to further musings, tear soaked papers, stories of pain

Promises to self to never love again, all in vain.

I find a box of heartache in every corner of my life,

Stories of people whose words hurt more than a knife.

Again and again, the same old misfortune and pain,

Just by people with different names.

Every time I look the dusty volume of my past,

I wonder what curse has been cast?

For even I though lock them away, memories of heartache still cling,

Every time I think of the past, it still stings.

© Sneha P [rights reserved 2017]