Some Nights

Some nights, my heart

Gives me no rest.

It hammers through my body

Till I can feel its beat

Throbbing at my fingertips.

.

I fool myself into believing

I can be happy, always.

But then my heart beats through my body

Pulsing at my head, reminding, relentless—

.

They seem so far away, the people I love

I look at them smiling with their eyes,

Their hearts beating quiet, their minds at peace,

And I feel that no amount of love

Can save me from the hands

That keep me up at night

Crawling from between my legs

To my neck, refusing to choke me so that I can finally forget—

.

My heart

Gives me no rest,

It keeps me awake to remind me

That love is so far away,

And sometimes, I seem to have so little of it.

.

But can someone who refuses to look into her eyes in the mirror

Ever really understand what love is?

Can she?

A Terrible Poem, Really

It’s been so long since I’ve written

Anything, really—

Anything that was just mine.

This pen feels strange in my hand.

I bought it today, daring to venture out

After three days—a year?

I thought the newness would do the trick

Spark something new, maybe?

There’s so much to say, really—

So much inside me that just has to

Be put in words, in order.

.

But it’s been so ling since I’ve written

It seems like a stranger’s hobby,

The pass-time of someone

I no longer spend time with.

.

It rained today, and I spent the evening

On my own.

There’s so much of poetry

In the dripping water, the dark trees

The cool breeze, at home—

I recognize it everywhere,

But there’s none in me.

Blue

In my dreams

I am alone and underwater

I can swim for hours without coming up

For air.

I have never been happier.

.

I think of the rain

More than I think of people.

Sometimes I sit in air conditioned rooms

And see the sky break out into purple and blue.

.

When was it that I last danced

In the clear, soft-grass puddles in my backyard

As the rain fell hard enough

To drown everything it touched?

I can see the mango tree shining,

Dogs barking in the distance

And the water rising in grey whirls.

.

One day the water will come to me

And I will wait with open arms

As it takes me to its womb.

.

I’d almost drowned when I was a child.

If my life is to end,

Let water take it, dear God.

Raindrops

I sit in cabs, drinking in

The raindrops that slide

On the windowpanes—

Unable to touch, the cold

Blocked by glass.

.

The last time I went home

Winds sang and branches shook

And I quivered and laughed

Water dripping from every pore.

.

My mother shouts at me,

‘Get in! What will the neighbours think?’

Too soon, my body is warm.

.

A week later, away from home

My phone beeps.

It’s a photo of a woman in the rain.

My mother—that wicked woman—

Thoughtless about neigbours now,

Her smile mocking my warmth.

Two Poems on Nothing, Really

1

It was just three weeks, I try to reassure

Myself.

But I’ve stretched it on for so long

That now, five years later,

Every place I go to, every new person who smiles

Reminds me of you,

And I grow old at the thought

Of new friendships.

 

 

….

2

The laundry bag is empty

Today I washed the clothes I wore

Last Thursday, and changed my sheets

From black to a bright yellow

Desperate to clean, to be clean.

.

But the trenches around my eyes deepen

No amount of frantic scrubbing

Removes memories of yet another pair

Of probing fingers.

.

A new bout of insomnia, a fresh dose of sadness

When will these cycles stop turning?

When I am so wrinkled that

Hands turn helpful to guide my step?

 

The First Rains of Monsoon

When the first rains of monsoons

Stir up the sand this year

I will smile, and remember you.

.

Do you smile now

When you see the plantain and jack fruit

You planted, shining under the blue grey sky?

.

You were a man of love.

I almost forgot how rare

Kindness is in this world,

How easily boys can break hearts,

When you smiled.

.

The land is dry now

A month later, the rains will arrive,

And I will be home.

A home without you.

 

Death of a Language

Your death was the last breath of a language

Our language.

Now when we laugh, it is

In a foreign tongue.

Many of us have been rendered

Mute

Some of us hunt for words

To capture your peace.

But the script has changed;

We cannot read these signs yet,

And we’ve already forgotten

The way our mouths used to move.

.

We know we have lost our language

We sit on your green bamboo chair

Stare at the trees you had planned

And squint to see your smile

Dancing with the swaying branches

.

Sometimes we remember

A stray phrase

The edge of a word

Or a whole syllable.

And for a flash your face lights up

Again.

.

But who can we tell, of

Our flashes of happiness

When you took its language

Away with you, smiling

All the way?

 

Remembering You

How many more afternoons spent perched on the corner of my bed

Surrounded by washed, wrinkled clothes that smell of soap and sun?

How many more baths with John Mayer’s voice for company, my hands

Scrubbing feverishly, hoping you’d dissolve with the foam that swims into the drain?

How many more nights where the snakes slither from my stomach to my chest

Till my words are choked out and a river is born out of my body?

.

I remember the smile the perfect teeth that spilled into my universe the happiness that your smile planted in me the happiness a shrub watered by your voice your voice which I loved more than any other’s which quietened my heart even when you were angry even when we fought just as long as I got to hear it your long thick arms that I thought would hold all the shaking parts of me without dropping a piece your face so big my palms couldn’t cover it yet I tried anyway to feel all of it while you laughed showing your perfect teeth and your voice resonated in my smiles my words my thoughts as your arms held me closer and tighter not breaking the pieces but marking them all

.

I remember I remember I remember I remember I remember

They say one day it’ll hurt a little less

When is one day?

Will it come as fast as the day

You gave away your arms your smile your eyes your voice

To someone new?

How much is a little less?

Enough for me to think of you with a smile

The same smile that you created, whose expanse

You first discovered?

Cliche

This poem is a cliche,

Like all small revelations are.

.

Today I learned

You can love

And not be together.

.

It was nice to talk.

It is always nice to hear your voice,

Even though it hurts now.

.

Today, we smiled, and it felt good

These tiny steps we take

To navigate the terrains we leaped over.

And I learned to appreciate another shade of

All that matters is love.

.

Today, I knew I would love you, always

And that we would not be together

And that was okay. Today I smiled

I hope you did too.

Death by Candlelight

Day#10 of IntrotoPoetry

Prompt: Future

I was supposed to complete this challenge days ago, but thinking about the future is something I just don’t do, or to be more accurate, something I avoid doing. But, a challenge is a challenge, and I am a woman of my word. So here goes. 

Today I cooked under candlelight.

The tube light in the kitchen had gone off with a pop,

And we used candles saved up from a Diwali when we

Almost burned our house for light near the stove.

.

Under candlelight, everything softened. The onions glowed

Shyly, turning pink in a pool of yellow. The garlic seemed to melt

Like butter. And I thought, in the future, when life seems tough,

I should just light a candle to watch it turn softer.

.

Five minutes later, the curry burned to death.