Sober when I drink

Under those lousy drowsy lids

A couple of eyes drowned in wine

I see reality of so called life that I live

And degree of un-fine when I say fine

And those hiccups that you hear

Are not too much of drinking act

But smirks coming from within

When I get face to face with the facts

But you say I am so 'cause I am drunk

Just cause I am not the normal me?

Not so composed, posed and straight

But  for once try believing in what you do not see

So trust me on this one please

When I say 'am sober when I drink

Its like unbuttoning the brain's tuxedo

And unhiding what I really think

So, I am sober when I drink

As the reality comes to face off the hope

And saying 'check' to over-inflated optimism

Running strict test on any dope

It bites and injects me with truth

And I would know of any hood wink

So I consciously speak, blurt and sort it out then

I am, as you now know, sober when I drink

(this poem does not promote drinking, it is just the feeling, as per writer, going through when trying to submerge into numbness of being drunk that is being tried to be painted here)

The sin of Within

Balloons of those hopes

Taped at every inch

Thrusted by its own air

Now blowing itself away

And the hammock of expectations

Tied with dozen knots

Now tangled in themselves

Unused, untouched yet swaying

Tsunami of thoughts

The wreckage of patience

Flooding of blames 

Prescribing depression pills

Curdling of fate

Frozen movements 

Pile ups of guilt

Then camping of regrets

Orchestra of  frustrations

Screeching with angry lyrics

Breaking the dam of tolerance

Drowning sanity within

Then those embroidery of dreams

Sewn together anyhow

A quilt of escape route - a fantasy

Battered with rational thinking

The maths of senses 

The physics of heart

Chemistry of harmones

From the theory by few pounds brain

And you say, struggle!!

But how to struggle with what is within

With volcano of the very existence

Burning the very alive, as if it were a sin

An unspeakable, unthinkable sin

In-despicable, unforgivable sin

Emotion!

He learned a new language today
A new tongue to speak

But how will I teach him 

To understand what my heart speaks

He learned to dance a new move

A new step to groove

But how will I teach him

To understand how my heart moves

And a new song that he sings now

Its wonderful for his ears

But how will I teach him

To hear what my heart hears

The new tune in his guitar to play

Making you humm along

But how will I teach him

The chords and tab of my song

You can teach a world to someone

How to talk, sing and dance

But how will I teach someone

Emotions for him to understand

How will I teach him

The promises are to be kept

The words are to be valued

And debts are to be paid

How will I teach him

You cry not to show you are weak

But it takes lot in you to shed tears

And show the extent of the break

Sarcasm is another chapter

And many mockings for him to avoid

Its easy to die physically

Then to live when your soul died

There are few things I can teach him

But how will I teach the sensitivity

To understand how a heart beats

And ensuring its longevity

The clot of wound!

It laid, just above the scratch
A darkened film covering naked flesh
Red and sore from the friction with soil
And a desperate try to cover up the mess

"It hurts" was all flesh could say
Crying the tears so so so red
Pulse was speaking high and fast
And warmth spread underneath

But the clot hardened and stayed there
Unknown of its coming fate
The day it healed with pinky flesh
It would then be scratched away

Or better it will go on its own
Even before you think to peel
Coming back when you trip again
Hardening itself to let you heal

I wish I was an open book

Sometimes there r no thoughts to fill the lines 
Sometimes, just thoughts but pen refuses to move
Some lines are dedicated to someone who never reads
And some lines simply go misunderstood

I wish I was an open book
And there I was in your hand
So that you will read me sometimes
And then you will understand

Would you turn the pages
And read them till the end?
Or close it after some pages
And put it up for the rent?

I wish I knew these lines
Before I fill them with my doubts
Or will you answer them with your hugs
Letting emotions speak out loud??? 

Wen its my courtyard that has snow

I was buried and I asked for hand
You said wait i will warm mine n lend
I was frozen, but yes I waited
But the helping hand was never sent

You wont be expected
No por favors now
Y bother u to clean up my pathway
Wen its my courtyard that has snow

The blindness

New day u promised, but same old darkness
Same capsules of truth, same bitter-sour taste
I wonder if it was me or it was my heart all the same
To trust that I would see the light in my blindness

No lights,  I know, the bulbs mock at me
Televisions they sneer
And radios laugh at what they see
A cracked bowl of hope, that is bound to leak

I tried to weave dreams, when you described me the lights
When you moved some feathers and flew some kites
Yeah, but now in this pitch dark I stare at vacuum
And try rubbing out the blindness, the pitch black doom

And now I lay, in same old corner
With same old stick near that smelly burner
Yet I am like a shadow beneath it,
It lights the room, but never do we meet

But who are you? The burner or the stick
Burner I guess, because it is not me that you miss
You search for the dancer, who would dance with your flames
And meet with your rhythms, play in your games

I would settle for the stick, you can now cease to light
Either way you may burn, with all your might
The darkness would cover me as quilt
With many pains and some guilts

So leave now me to this blindness
Leave and go join her in her dance
I will lay and try to sing along
Though it may be my swan song!!

The jigsaw

The pieces I join, no not of the jigsaw
Some big chunks, some tit bits here and there
I search each of them, for making a bigger picture
What are they I wonder, so badly torn to bits
With shredded and scratched parts
So badly beaten and torn apart

Some places I could feel the pulses
Some places had been smeared with tears
What could have gone so bad for these bits
To be so badly hurt and in pain
As if it was speaking my heart
And reflecting my inner self

Then, when I was mid way to joining
I realised what it was
Then I knew why it reflected me
My pain and wound so beautifully
I was joining together my own heart, torn in 1000 pieces
And trying to sew it together without knowing how badly torn I was!!!!

Poetic journal- a camouflage of emotions

Poems are in fact, the camouflage to feelings, where you can hide behind the rhymes and symbols, creating maze of words and entertaining yourself as well as the one who reads in puzzles of wordy illustrations. This is what I usually do, I write and hide behind it. It is more easier to express when it is not obvious, when you do not have to utter exactly the words that you want to communicate and yet you can get the message conveyed. 

But then, they are even symbol of confusion, depicting your nervousness and anxiety, your happiness and when you find it hard to believe it is happening. It is just like invisibility cloak of Harry Potter- smooth, silky and of exclusive quality and so intelligently woven that you can completely hide yourself yet be there. It is, in short, escape route, a vent to your raging emotions- good or bad. 

I have noticed myself, instead of filling pages of diaries that I previously did, I rather opted for rhyming my thought and coordinating my emotions with the words I typed, in short and abstract sentences shapes bluntly filling the lines of this blog. I wrote when I was heart broken or extremely happy, when I dreamed and when I thought I was falling short of one. It was sometimes very dark and blue and sometimes as vibrant and jovial to my readers, but for me it was the colour of shades that I wore in my heart and bore in my mind that very moment. Some poems are infact kiddish, some too abstract but each and every one of them are like daily journals of my life. 

I tried to keep them simple yet I filled them with symbols, you can imagine snowy day but it would be hard to depict the chill running through my thoughts when I scribbled every words. It is not just about me I write, I write about every freaking stupid stuff that moves me, makes me pensive or insure a giggle out of my throat. The words I write are my vision, my emotions are my sight and things I write- the final ones are my painting. I am yet to be Picasso, no I am not even near by him but I never wanted to be him. All I wanted was to share- either by poems or by scribbling of thoughts, writing the dimensions of complexities that I tangle myself with every day and I wish to continue it, forever. 

Leaving home!

I shall leave with memories behind
No footprints so that you can look
My images will then rush in your heart
But be never printed in any book

I am leaving a place called home
Not for it was warm with a roof
But for few hearts that brought me back
When I was running wild and aloof

Not that I am not glad to leave
Some shadows and some lurking souls
But more than that I am sad to lose
Few hands that I willingly hold

These strings that pull my heart
These feelings that move some tears
May be I made more friends than I thought
And more of those loving dears!!

As I pack my suitcase and tie my lace
I turn back to see what I left
But before you make me promise
I won't try paying back your debt!