Unlabeled Burdens

So I am giving slam poetry a shot, so this my first attempt. So it is based against the idea of Friends with Benefits relationship, where we usually know, one person falls emotionally weak for the other and brings 10 other complications. I am attempting to give it a shot from the girl’s perspective.

So, we didn’t kiss again tonight,
It’s okay, don’t worry, it doesn’t make you a jerk,
I know we are all busy caught up with work, and it’s not like you only call me,
when you have things to be done.
And at the end of the day, more than all the wild make out sessions,
I like it when you hold me tight, kiss my shoulders or hug just right,
for when I cry, with my tears leaving saline water marks on your shirt.

And though I have no rights to say,
it makes me uncomfortable when in the middle of the day,
I see you talk to other girls and wonder,
when, like for everyone else, I’ll stop being good enough for you;
That moment when the beam balance shifts all the weight on one side,
because my needs for you will outweigh your need for me,
And I’ll just be a last resort, when nothing else works out.

And I know you’ll tell me it’s your fault,
but trust me when I say that it’s not,
Because it’s my fear and insecurities,
that give rise to baseless and irrational thoughts.
Baseless…Or maybe not, because I’m just so scared,
You’ll be just another nightmare.
A repeat telecast.


And She’ll Dance Again

Unsteady feet, she is trying to get back up. She holds her hands out for support but there is no one around. Her breathing has paced up, her chest heaving in and out… Trying to gather all the strength she has and pull herself up again. There is a piercing pain shooting through her legs and the wound of betrayal is still fresh in her head. She was dancing, just a minute ago, a partner next to her, with grace and poise, but now she is on the floor. She was pushed and left to bleed. Blankets of darkness and silence surround her. She is hoping someone is going to pull her up, turn on the lights and play the music again. Bandage her wounds and help remove all old scars. She sits still… Hoping, praying, wondering when this will end, when the dance floor will be lit again, and laughter will ring out again. She is waiting… Her view is so blurred by tears, that what she doesn’t realise is that people are holding out their hands towards her. Waiting to pull her up again, waiting to help her dance again, waiting to dance with her again… Even if she notices them, she is scared, scared she’ll be pushed again, wounded again, left alone again. This is not new to her, this has happened before… They say it’s a part of life, but she is tired of it. It has drained her, left her exhausted… But… she misses her body swaying to the beats and her mind singing along with the music. She hates being on the floor, cold and alone… hates being surrounded by darkness and silence. So she’ll slowly pull herself, stronger than before, stronger than she was before she hit the ground… and she’ll move towards the lights and turn them on herself, and move towards the sound box and turn the volume up and it’ll hurt her feet to start over and she’ll be scared to fall again, but she’ll do it over, start it over… She’ll let go of all old wounds but remember the lessons they taught, and she learn to hold hands again and dance with people next to her… Pushing away the fear that they’ll push her down and leave her to bleed again… And this time, with every bit if strength she has, with every bit of hope she has, she sway to beats and her mind will sing along the words and she’ll go to the middle of her dance floor, where her heart belongs, and she’ll do what she loves, she won’t hold back… She’ll let herself go and she’ll dance again…

That Girl…

I am that girl, you see in the corridor, head bent, hair disheveled. That girl, who you think you know everything about, the one you think has nothing much about her, and yet… the one you know nothing about. That girl, the one whose name you are not completely sure about, the one who you associate with ‘nerd’, the one who, with your nose in the air, you call.. what’s that you say? ‘Teacher’s Pet’. Sometimes, she is too clingy, sometimes she is too zoned out, sometimes she is too emotional, sometimes she is too sensitive. She is always too much of something. You don’t really talk about her though, just when she is mentioned to you recall her, “Oh that girl… she is too…” Always too much of something. You don’t care for her, but you know her weakness, that girl… she cares too much. About everyone, about everything. You don’t remember her name, you don’t know her, but you know that girl… you can call her when you need her. Only when you need her…When your mornings reveal a tear stained pillow or your fast approaching deadlines are building up the pressure, that’s when you need her… That girl, she’ll stay up the night to complete your work, so you sleep your beauty sleep at night. That girl… she’ll not leave you till she has wiped your tears and fixed your broken story. That girl… what about her story? Who is going to fix that? Who is going to hear her out when you trample her heart and leave her vulnerable and lonely? When she looks at you, and slowly her trust in everything and everyone, fades away into nothing. And yet she’ll do it all over again, wipe fresh tears and meet new deadline, for you… all for you…while the same old tears decorate her lashes another night and the same old fears grip her fast and the same old loneliness leaves that girl broken, again…
That girl…the one in the corridor, head bent, hair disheveled. That girl…you don’t really remember her, till you need her to pick up the pieces that you leave behind…

Forced Fun

Shadowed nights, with dimly lit streets,
An eerie silence, slowly in it creeps,
Shady people with heads heads held low,
Eyes filled with malice, an evil glow.

Into rooms they go and out they walk,
Torturing the souls to the ticking if the clocks,
Force her, rape her, Alas! Choice she has none,
She is forced into this game of one sided fun.

She sits down quietly, she is young they say,
Where is her childhood to be happy and gay?
She is dressed and jeweled, waiting for her turn,
Under another man’s breath tonight she’ll burn.

She wipes her eyes, there is no place for tears,
Forced into this for her starving family’s fears,
A shadow walks in, into the room he creeps,
For family again, with a stranger she’ll sleep.


We had to give a speech at school about something which inspired us and I was really blank till I remembered the person who played a huge role in my life and shaping it. When I started working on the speech the words flowed almost automatically because they were from the bottom of my heart. So I decided to share it 🙂

Since we are supposed to talk about something which inspires us, I would like to talk about someone who has played a major role in the sixteen years of life, my sister. My sister was my first friend, my first role model and my first hero. My sister was 3 and half years old when I was born to become a part of her world. She was assigned with responsibility of being the ‘older sibling’ at the tender age of 4 and she accepted this responsibility gracefully. When she was 6 years old and needed someone to look after her when she went to play in the park, she was busy being the ‘older sibling’ and looking after me, her two year old sister. I have grown up seeing my sister sacrifice little joys of childhood, including getting pampered, the amount she played, and the amount she studied while constantly being reminded that she was the older sibling. She spent her time trying to set the perfect example, on whose foot-steps everyone hoped I would follow. My sister set the example of being the ideal daughter as well as an ideal student. She played a major role in my up-bringing and is majorly responsible for who I am today.
When I was 13, my sister left home to go to a boarding school. It was my first experience in being away from my sister was such a prolonged period of time, but even through the distances, my sister managed to be there for me in the hardest of my times. Within her first few months at boarding, after having faced quite a few issues, my sister was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I saw my sister go through one of the hardest phases in her life as she struggled to cope with all the stress around her. I can only imagine, what it was like for my sister to be so far away from family and battle the problem almost entirely on her own. My parents were more than supportive towards my sister, but the distances didn’t help. My sister never lost hope. Even in the hardest phases of her problem, where she has fallen down, ready to give up, I have seen my sister pull herself and move ahead. She has pushed through her problem, and while she still is on medication, she is truly one of the strongest people I have met. She is willing to put everyone she loves ahead of her and face all her difficulties alone just to keep all of us happy. In my sixteen years of my life, among the various things I have learnt from her, she has taught me how to take risks and live for the moment. She reminds me every day that no one is aware of what is to come tomorrow but we can’t let the fears of an unforeseen tomorrow hold us back from the joys of our today. She truly believes that the best opportunities are the ones we miss, all because we are held by the questions of ‘what ifs’. My sister has always been and will always be, my greatest friend, my role model and my hero.

Muddled Thoughts

Another poem by random inspiration, I see have been really inspired lately, making up for all the time I have not been writing I guess 😛

A void of thoughts running through your mind,
A suffocation in your breath.
A burning feeling up your throat,
With a throbbing in your head.

Cold sweat running down your face,
With a thick sheet of tension around.
Vision that has been blurred by tears,
And something unsteady about you steps.

Caught in a maze with no exit,
Caught in a spider’s sticky web.
Caught in the trap of your own mind,
And lips with no words to say.

The harder you try to escape from it,
The faster it seems to hold on.
And though everything on the surface seems clear,
There is a muddle of thoughts in your head.

Being Strong

Just another attempt at writing a poem form random inspiration. Plus I am trying to get back to writing on my blog because since I have come to boarding school I have not written anything. I was thinking for quite a while but I couldn’t because I wasn’t getting any inspiration first and then I got caught with school. So, here goes.

When the words you speak,
Don’t match your thoughts,
And You’re trying to be strong.
You’re building shields,
To protect yourself,
To protect yourself from the wrong.

And when darkness engulfs all around,
And leaves you fumbling for the switch,
With adjusting iris and stumbling about,
You realise,
There is a n electrical glitch.

Yet you adjust yourself,
With hope and pretense,
That everything will be alright.
And you make your way,
And push yourself,
Patiently waiting for the lights.

With silences giving you cruel hugs,
And the piercing winds leaving you cold,
You still move on and go forward,
Hoping to meet someone,
Whose trustworthy shoulders you can hold.

You tell yourself you’ll be alright,
You tell that even though you know,
It’s a lie.
But you prefer it this way,
We both know, you’ll never show your weaknesses,
Let alone cry.

You don’t want people to know you are scared,
You don’t want your weaknesses to show.
You don’t want the sympathy from hypocrites,
Or from fake back-stabbers,
Who in trouble, inevitably let you go.

So you fake your smile and what you feel,
No matter that you’re still cold,
And the silence is still piercing you,
And no one is keeping you,
In their protective hold.

When the words you speak,
Don’t match your thoughts,
And you’re trying to be strong.
You’re building shields to protect yourself,
Protect yourself from the wrong.

That’s what I wrote, it was just sudden surge of inspiration.
I hope you people like it. 🙂

Much More Than What Meets The Eye

Hindi serials are almost always associated with drama and what people normally call ‘unrealistic’. I mean let me admit, even though I enjoy watching and being on track with most serials, even I look at things going on sometimes and roll my eyes and say, “That does not happen in real life.” Of course, it is also me who had acknowledged in a previous post that one of my closest friends, who taught me a lot, was a Hindi Serial. When I used to think about this, I used to think that it was really stupid and irrational of me to call a serial my best friend (no matter what I say on the blog, we always have those few second thoughts moments) but over time I have realised that I am not the only one. I came across a post on Facebook today about a girl who had written in appreciation of a particular serial actor who I also adore. It struck me then that we normally show appreciation for those people who have made any sort of difference in our lives or have influenced us in a certain way. Which obviously means that this girl got really influenced for any reason what so ever by that particular actor’s acting which gave her the inspiration to write in his favour.

Of course nothing I say changes that Hindi Serials can have an awful lot of drama that in real life does not happen, not with all the melodramatic background music anyway. However, during every dramatic track there is some message or the other to learn. Speaking for myself, I have realised that when a track is shown to be hard for the lead actors, all the pieces of advice given by other characters in the serial can actually be applied in real life, no matter how over emotionally the line has been said. The fact is that no story is ever totally based on fiction and even though things are drastically changed and over dramatised. In the end, they do a have a little bit of reality and the person writing out the story or directing it or even acting in it, can relate, and so can the viewers. No wonder we say fact is greater than and a lot stranger than fiction.
Obviously in the end, all this inspiration, is credit to all the awesome actors and directors and story writers and basically everyone involved in making the serial and ‘over dramatising’ it, or whatever people want to call it, but at the end of the day, I know I am not the only one who feels like her life is changing or getting influenced in a good sort of way by watching these serials. I am not the only one who has watched an ‘over dramatic’ track on a serial and felt like it has helped me build a relation or save a relation from being shattered or even helped my self-esteem grow and make my overly-conscious nature fade away into nothingness. I know that all over India, those thousands of people  (probably mostly ladies but I do know quite a few boys too) who wait eagerly for the next episode of their serial, no matter what it may be or on what channel it may air, they all feel the difference in them and I think we would all agree that at the end of every episode, there is much more to learn and understand than what meets the eye.

She is Inside of me

She is inside of me,
Frustrated, annoyed, angry.
She is in front of you,
Calm, composed and happy.

She is inside of me,
Crying, screaming, upset.
She is in front of you,
Dancing, prancing,laughing.

She is inside of me,
Waiting, waiting to be released.
She is in front of you,
As normal as she can be.

She is inside of me,
Dying to show herself.
She is in front of you,
Being a fake someone else.

She is inside of me,
Scarring under the pressure.
She is in front of you,
Calmly taking it all in.

She is inside of me,
Dying bit by bit everyday,
(There she is fading away.)
She is in front of you,
Alive as she can be.

She is inside of me,
But not anymore, she has been suppressed way too far.
She is in front of you, you know her,
Yet she is left wondering, if she knows herself.


Fear, Departure, Insecure, Friends…..

People say that once in a while, a change is good. Well, after staying in one place for the last 12 years of my life, and spending most of my childhood in the same place and making my own small world here,I beg to differ. However, here I am, about to go through one of the hardest changes in my life, leaving behind everything this place has given me and taking with me only memories, and hopefully leaving some behind. When I look at a scene of a train station, it always gives me the goose-bumps of someone’s sad farewell, like someone is leaving everything they ever had, behind. Leaving behind friends, the small small details of the place that you knew at the back of your hand, leaving behind every story that you built in the last few years of your life. As far as the topic of friends is concerned, everyone would say, “What’s there in that, technology has evolved so much, can’t we keep in touch?” But I am sure, most of us would agree that there is a huge difference between reading someone’s mail, or even listening to their voice and actually having physical meeting. Seeing their faces and knowing that they are going to be there for you, like the walls of your house, that you don’t need to check on becauase you know, they are there around, always.
Then again, maybe the change that takes place will happen for the better because as one of the characters from my favourute TV shows says, “You must give up the life you have planned in order to have the life that is waiting for you.” So maybe something will good will come out of the change and if nothing else, at least I’ll know how much these friends who I have had here mean to me.

But then again with all this said, the fear of losing touch, the fearing of never meeting again, such questions always arise in my mind, and then again, I look at their faces and remember all the memories spent and feel that maybe they’ll never leave me behind no matter how much the distance and making friends as amazing as them again, would be impossible.