Not a writer-

Not a writer-

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To the one who reads my poems and praises them behind my back. I heard all about you today. No names were mentioned, but, it had to be you. We haven’t spoken in forever, we used to talk everyday, remember?  I hear you want to know how, I’m sorry but there Is no how… I just read and write. I know, it might not make much sense to you, it doesn’t make much sense to me either. I’m not a writer… I just write.

You made my day, and through this blabbering, that’s all I really want to say. I know you didn’t say it to my face, maybe you couldn’t. Why? Is a question for another day. For now, all I have to say is thank you.

You may not read this… I hope you do.

Only a moment-

Only a moment-

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And I know
You’re a disaster,
Waiting to occur;
A volcano,
Waiting to erupt;
But for a brief moment
I give in to delusions-
Hoping maybe,
It’ll be roses
‘Stead of molten;
And you’ll be my charming
‘Stead of the reality
I know, you are.

The brief moment-
Was all it took,
To smear your molten,
And burn wounds;
But honey,
It was only a moment-
It hurt,
It burns,
I’ll survive.
You deluded
Me with words;
But you can be charming
For only so long,
Before reality,
Deals you
An unwelcoming knock.
I won’t stick around
To soothe or numb;
I hoped you were charming,
I was wrong…

My top 9 Talents you won’t want!

My top 9 Talents you won’t want!

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After reading JoyRoses Monday post on top 9 talents you won’t want, I got motivated to write down mine. I mean, it’s about time we embrace wholeheartedly our quirks. So here goes:

1) I have a predisposition to breaking things including cups, plates, buckets and my latest, our glass dining table which after paying 100 dollars for repair, my brain sent a message to my body to settle down a bit.

2) I can forget like it is nobody’s business. I went to the supermarket a few days ago and when I got to the counter (with all of my goodies) and It was time to pay, I opened my purse and realized I left my money at home. It was not a funny scene.

3) My brain (yes I’m blaming it again) doesn’t interpret sarcasm. You could say a sarcastic comment to me and in all seriousness, I’ld ask you to kindly elaborate.

4) The only animal that doesn’t petrify me is probably a goldfish and that too because I don’t have to touch it. I dislocated my hip-joint while running away from a cockroach which in my defense (okay, I have no defense here!).

5) I am an embarrassingly morbid procrastinator. I would pay anyone to take this talent (if I may call it that). P.s If you have any tips on getting rid of it, I’m all ears. Tried the to-do list method, didn’t work.

6) periods! Yup, it’s been a while since it’s made an appearance on my posts. One of my biggest talent is getting my period at the most inappropriate time. Like while wearing a white skirt outside, or In the middle of lectures… The list goes on.

7) I am worrible at reading in-between the lines. Dear future husband, in case you are reading this. Don’t tell me things like- you make my heart have irregular ventricular contractions. Seriously.

8) I have a talent of catching the flu. As long as I make contact with someone who has the flu, chances are I am going to get sick too. It doesn’t help there are over 100 serotypes. Which means if I get infected and resistant to one strain, there are 99 others waiting.

9) I once drew what I thought was a beautiful replica of the Nigerian map for my geography class and I was told it looked like a yam. That’s how good my drawing is.

…..and that’s it. My top nine talents you won’t want (which may or may not indicate that there are more). Now it is your turn, what are your top nine talents that we won’t want. I would love to nominate everyone reading this to share their top 9, come on guys, let’s embrace our quirks.

Behind a mask-

Behind a mask-

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She was…
The mirror
Of self destruction;
An epitome of imperfection;
To him… She was-
A rainbow
In a stormy weather;
An oasis
In a desert.

To her… He was-
The world
On carefree shoulders;
A reminder
Of all she wasn’t.
He was…
A time bomb
Hiding in plain view;
Tormented
Masked and caped up.

She grew…
She Learnt-
To embrace her
broken pieces;
And tear up
To show emotions;
She lived.
He grew…
Still hiding
From his reflection;
Pretending
He was all but broken;
He didn’t….

Mask over tears

Mask over tears

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The moist in her eyes,
Told a different story,
The grin on her lips-
A perfect disguise.
The sass in her walk,
As she strode the hallways;
A perfect cover-
She hid all her life.

Now where was the girl,
Who wept till morning;
Afraid of the silence,
That comes on with dusk.
When dawn goes to day,
So does her real self-
A blinding spotlight
The pretense begins.

A mask over tears-
appealing to the universe;
At the cost of herself-
And on the story goes.
Yet a loophole it has,
If you were to look deeper;
A broken girl you’ll find-
A bird awaiting to fly.
If only we did look deeper-
Past the facade, past the smile.

The above image courtesy of The dynamic turnaround 

You broke me not-

You broke me not-

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You broke me not,
I broke my heart;
In loving you,
I fell apart;
I chose to love,
It wasn’t force;
A sane decision,
Of insane love.

You loved me not,
I loved you so;
A choice I made,
Conscientiously;
You owe me not,
I owe my soul;
For taking the road-
Mostly followed.

You’ll save me not,
I’ll make my own
Decisions as-
I’ve always done.
I chose to go,
You begged me not;
A sane decision-
Of a broken heart.

You broke me not,
I broke my heart;
Your words, you lied
But I, obliged.
I’ll take my blame,
And pave new path;
Mend back the pieces-
And bloom a new flower.

Unwanted

Unwanted

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“They were wrong”, didi thought.
“Hey, heyy”, she spun around to a circle of kids giggling, and jumping all about.
“Alright, just one picture and that’s it” she declared jokingly.

It was hemani, Anshal and Preeti’s birthdays. They wanted an artistic themed party, she couldn’t say no. Didi took the picture and let the kids be, watching them from a safe distance. Her heart swelled up in Joy knowing and realizing she had made the right decision. These were the kids who were “unwanted”. Rejected by their parents, left to the mercy of Mother Earth.

When she started the foundation, people thought she couldn’t do it. Some said it to her face. If even the parents don’t want the kids, why should she bother. But she did bother about them. Seeing the smiles on their faces, the purity in their laughter, Didi knew she had made the right decision. There was no greater blessing than watching a toddler grow up and rise in front your eyes.

She fought to blink back tears. Ah, her kids. Her kids who might never know their real birthdays or who their real parents are for that matter. She sighed as she thought about her own doting parent.

“We’ll make it”, Didi reassured herself as she walked to get some more coloring. “We’ll make it”.


This story is in response to a photo prompt challenge hosted by The rattling bones. And ooh, what a beautiful picture given by him (I mean the photo above) ;).

Short story: 2 am Conversations

Short story: 2 am Conversations

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“I don’t want that,” “I don’t want it,” she says again. The second time, it is only a whisper. “Don’t want what?” I ask, sitting up straight and looking towards her direction. But it’s too late, a gentle snore signals to me that sleep has overtaken her yet again. Her sleep talking is back though she doesn’t believe it.

I shake my head a bit and let a slight smile form on my face. For someone who speaks counted words during the day, she sure speaks a lot at night in her sleep. She wouldn’t believe me. “Don’t be silly” she’d say, “I do not talk in my sleep” and with that, she’d shrug her shoulders and storm off.

It’s funny, how different people can be at certain hours of the day. For some, who they are between 12-6 am and 6-12 pm can be as different as North and South poles. The other night, Carla awoke sobbing. The tears trickled down her face though she was still In her fetal sleeping position. She just- shivered and let the tears flow. It was all I could do to convince her everything was going to be okay. By morning, it never even happened; at least to Carla.

Speaking about that night’s event would be a mistake on my part- Carla would never believe it. She wasn’t one to cry, still isn’t. A gun would have to be placed on the temporal part of her skull for her to squeeze out a little tear. And even then, all that might be gotten from her would be a “you gotta be kidding me” smirk.

I’m starting to think this is more than a simple case of sleep talking. She’s like a bottle of coke, filled to the brim and just waiting to be opened at night In order for the gas to flow out. The things she’s told me; I mean, said In her sleep, somedays, I just want to cry with her as she shivers in fear and speaks with a hurtful tone. And yet, her eyes are still always closed.

One more night, that’s all I’m giving her. After which, willingly or unwillingly, I’m taking her to to see someone- running, walking or crawling. I don’t care if I have to drag her all the way there, but she needs to talk to someone. Enough of the 2 am conversations. Now I’m starting to think, maybe choosing psychology as a major wasn’t such a great idea. The sight of Carla alone is breaking me. Heaven help my soul.

IMAGE CREDIT

Picture perfect-

Picture perfect-

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A phenomenon-
Of the twenty first century;
One of the many- innovations,
Cant wrap my head around it;
Picture perfect they say-
To certain things,
Of certain shape,
In the presence- of certain people;
A word-
Held to great esteem,
In the ears of the “perfect”;
And the rest- standing, fading
Grazed over, barely sighted
The “imperfect”-
Listening to pretty perfect
Words,
Proclaimed to others;
With none directed at them.

But oh the cliché-
“Picture perfect” they say;
If only the knew,
Is nothing but a vague word-
All letters, little meaning.

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Poem- Richard Cory

Poem- Richard Cory

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Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
                   By- Edwin Arlington Robinson

April A-Z challenge is over even though I am three letters (x,y,z) behind which I will get back to. I’m back to my usual Unalphabetic blogging. The above poem by Edwin A. Robinson is my favorite ballad poem. The first day I read it, it struck a chord with me. I even copied it down and pasted the poem on my wall- that’s how much I love it.

It is sad how we keep extending our gaze to the possession of others and we think that they have everything going for them- all glitters and gold, but that’s not the reality. Some truths aren’t written on the collar of clothes and some battles aren’t matched with the wealth a person owns. Richard Cory shows the story of a man who was envied by all when in reality he was just a tormented being. Looks aren’t everything and wealth doesn’t guarantee peace. 

This is one of those poems that “got to me”. If you know of another Ballad, please feel free to share. Have you read this poem before?