Bad Poetry

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Oh damn.
We just laughed and we laughed.
Until we were bored of typing 😀 smileys,
and we started to fight.
Things started going down the drain
and my brain too started walking drunk,
you know going left and right.
I know this is bad poetry.
But haha, I hope,
at least if you would’ve seen it,
it would’ve made you laugh.
I am laughing, too.
But you have me blocked.
Things really shut down
between all those laughter riots
and our amateur jamming sessions,
didn’t they?
Why then, don’t I still have the heart
to erase those .wmv’s we recorded?
Maybe because, like day after night
and night after day,
after you left,
my beautiful mind has gone just haywire.
Stuck there, and my day still dawns at dusk.
So extreme, they were,
our insane sciencey discussions,
the earth stopped upon its axis,
that glazed winter froze,
the minute you were gone,
and life is like a glass ball,
filled with gel and glitters,inside which
the Princess now dances alone
amongst twirling magnificent snow flakes.
All night long.

Random verses all written in a day.

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When separate eyes meet in a crowded city square,

Over exploits of their humanity, and time, once and again–

They know they were meant to stay together,

Because they were met by a chance of eternity,

To be lost again, and again.

***

I walk through a dark corridor,

The air hungover with muck and gloom.

The door of the forbidden room stands tall

Like the brooding death of innocence.

I’ve arrived the point where it appears clear,

I’m just trying to kill a love I’ve given up believing.

But the stark darkness stuns the virginity in me,

Which is eager, very eager to take me,

Someplace else…

***

Those roads will be difficult to walk on, now alone.

The sand pebbles and germs, and the whirlpools of air

Which like separate worlds, have flourished to life

From the touch of our feet last trodden.

Preserving our childhoods, and pearls of sweet labor lost-

How dare I violate the sacred order of the worlds,

Which, if, might be conspiring to bring our feet together?

Which, if not, how can I disturb the ghost world,

Where in spirals of dust, our ghost selves would dance?

You will apologize to me, I know, you will. One day.

You know, I deserve one, for what I will have to go through…

The trauma of never being at home, while at home.

 

Strangle Me Softly

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Resting on his shoulder, listening to the sound of our strange hearts beating softly, I exhaled my worries out for the last time. I tried to recall the words he’d spoken before and a few other things, but eventually I found that I couldn’t keep up with the side of me that was insulting me with the humongous issues that I’d so violated by thus lying there with him like that. I was aware, wholly aware of all of them, and yet there was no guilt.

I looked at his sleeping face, feeling his strange breath on my mouth. Only now I was finally getting to understand how very different we were physically. He’d warned me about it many times and yet neither of us seemed to have paid any heed to it. Our closeness now attested to the choice that we’d both made, a decision that we were meant for each other and neither of us would have it in any other way. I knew the future of this would be a difficult one, but we would have each other to take care of together. One last breath and I would wake him up and we’d pick up on what we’d left off before, and that I was sure of.

He would kill me. I knew it, that very first time I laid my eyes on him. I also knew I wanted him to. If I can’t have him, I’d rather be his memory, a delicious thought, a fantasy he would live with forever. But now I have him and he has me. It wasn’t just any situation, it was a simple, satisfying love that brought us together, in a way that I knew there was no other I would rather be happy with, than with him, in this way.

He was once my best friend, and I loved him then. I love him now, in a different way, which is all the same. Falling for him had always been easy. It could be explained to be as simple as a child’s stubbornness of not parting with her favorite toy even though it’s broken. She keeps trying to fix it, often failing, never caring that it doesn’t quite work in the same way. She just learns to love it in her own new ways, and it doesn’t matter to her – because for her, it never broke. She loves it, she’ll love it.

It was the same with Dusk. His internal world was just as complicated as mine, and maybe that’s why it makes it all too easy to just love him. He isn’t my prize, I didn’t win him. Again it was just love, the plain old kind that brought us together. Watching him sleep now, I can’t help letting go of any remnant guilt, and just breathe, and feel like suddenly we were just two kids finally happy of having won their prize.

Finite Hearts

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The stars were once plucked from the ashen grey skies.

They shine on lips now, and in eyes which cannot cry.

The sheen of all the silken dresses was extracted, and torn apart.

Making the poison that flows in the waters to mix in the dirt.

Every heart has slept, every bedside lamp extinguished.

It’ll be just one last time, that we would get to dance…

The paper fire’s shriveling up in the dusty grate,

We’re burning up our old love letters to warm us tonight.

Come on, baby, dance with me, this’s that one last time,

When it’s time to bid goodbyes for good and smile.

History ends tonight, civilization will die with the ghost of us,

Tonight there will be no words, just two couples of teary eyes.

And we dance, silently, until we fall, of exhaustion.

Two finite hearts finally, slowly dying in each other’s arms.

Six Months Ago

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Running around,
Screaming around <in my head>
With no questions to ask,
And all pain and guilt.

<Six months ago> You made me wipe away my tears,
<Six months ago> You had me smiling again,
<Six months ago> You had me listening to metal!
<Six months ago> You taught me to love…oo oo ooooo….

Love, love, love, <love, love, love, love, love>
Some mystery it is. <How it happened>
You’d know it all better. <Sure you do>
It’s easy to mistake,
But then it never is.

<Six months ago> It all changed.
<Six months ago> You changed it for me.
<Six months ago> You, you, you happened.
<Six months ago> And your cycle became my eternity.

Words, little words, ran out of mind. <my my, my, my, my>
Some mystery that is. <How it happened>
You’d know it all better. <Sure you do>
It’s easy to mistake.
But then is it?

I plead guilty, <I am I know>
But like all crimes, punish me. <Oh, don’t leave me alone>
You cut me off, like I’m made of paper.
You turned away, like it’ll undo the last six months.

<Six months ago> You spoke a spell, <or something like that>
<Six months ago> If you’d remember, we had something to fight for.
<Six months ago> Six months have passed, and it’s just hurting now.
<Six months ago> You killed us but then there’s the ghost of our laughter…

Taunting through the day and haunting the nights,
You’re out there, soaring up on sunny beaches,
With the tides and the sun, while in silence life leaks outta me,
Caught in the perpetual ice storm, you and life conspired to put me in.

<Six months ago> I wished to die, and fade,
<Six months ago> What I feel now.
<Six months ago> You came in and that changed.
<Six months ago> Now you’re gone and won’t come back again.

All I wanna apologize for is,
I really do miss you.
Baby, you were all the good things,
I believe life ever had to offer me, that I will miss.

College

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"Dreams come true, just we are just too blind to see them do."

“Dreams come true, just we are just too blind to see them do.”

It’s been almost three years, since the first time my feet touched these peripheries, and it came to own me, even though to be bluntly honest, that first time, I didn’t dream I would be spending all this time here, in Kamala Nehru College. First off, I was so far off from home, and all this while I’ve had just so much going on, on my mind, that inadvertently I ended up not wholly appreciating the privilege I had been goaded with, to be forever, a part of and be one with all the past of KNC, my college, and its future as well.

To the common man or woman it’s just a college, another building in a lush sub-urban neighborhood, but for me, it’s my identity, my bridge towards reality. Every morning, walking through the front gate, out of time and breath, I step in and rush around the front porch and conveniently dash up the stairs in the search for my class. Well, it’s my fault, that I lead two very disjointed lives, that I appear like a lost lampoon at the beginning of every class, but then, that’s my story, and it’s entirely irrelevant here. This is the story of my college. So breathe, I’m almost there.

But I am an observer, I am at one with the human spirit as well as the spirit of all things on the earth and over my time at KNC, I’ve grown closer to nature than to my classmates. The lush campus of my college provided a very good setting for me to explore the minute things of life. The bustle that thrived all around the big college building, always instilled a kind of unusual feeling in my heart, that first year, that coming home for the vacations, I learnt was “homesickness” and my own house, seeming to feel smaller because unknowingly the place had come to own me, made me acknowledge it as my home. I knew I could never be at peace for the months I was away from college.

I am not a very studious person, but I read, oh I read…and reading I’ve spent hours reading, just curling up under the big willowy trees in the fields with yellowed collections of old, very old poetry, and lose track of time entirely. I, who’s usually very concerned about a low battery on my phone, could forget about my dead phone, and let it stay dead for forever, while I lay down on the soft greens of our playground and feel the sun warm my closed lids on a wintry afternoon. I admit it, I am lazy, and I love to waste time – specially, when I am witnessing, or while being a part of, something that with my soul, I wouldn’t hesitate calling beautiful.

The college grounds proved to be a great place for me to practise photography as well, since it was very convenient to carry along my camera for beginners. It was just ridiculous thought that I was found by people to be looking into every crevice, searching for treasure. Haha, that’s just me saying, because with every good shot, I’d be up there, beaming like Napoleon Bonaparte, as if I’d conquered a nation, bursting with glee. Even though I wasn’t really expecting a round of applause from people around, me, I was still a small town girl. But it didn’t take me long to realize there was no one with me in my bubble and I walk around, learning more with every step that took me away…

The canteen was where I always went in search for comfort. People have this strong notion that I eat a lot, and why shouldn’t that notion exist, I am a foodie, and I love good food. And especially it was the aroma circulating around our college canteen that drew me on like a moonstruck vagabond follows the moon goddess. My classmates would testify to the fact that I’m wholly addicted to our canteen, my favourite momos with the red sauce with the lemon iced tea, the chicken tikka rolls of the Coke Studio, the rajma rice, and the perfect combo of the samosa and coffee from the Nescafe stall, that we get after we exact it with the coins – those twelve, well spent rupees, are all the fuel we need to sit through the tiresome back-to-back classes on the late autumn afternoons when the rest of the world is cosily taking a nap in their warm beds…

Now my college days are drawing to a close, and it’s like a cold, harsh gust of wind whipping across my face. I would miss my college and I will miss the people of my class. But then life goes on…like time and tide waits for none. KNC will forever be the longest chapter in my life, my hard earned prized that I forgot to cherish while I had it… But then that’s my story, which is an entirely different one. KNC, will always stand, and I’ve loved it in so many other ways, it’ll always make me speechless; like right now, I don’t know how to conclude this…since the story hasn’t ended, nor, it ever will…

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First Book Published

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It’s been great, after all these months of painstaking juggling between college life and the hassles of getting published, that finally it’s all over and I’m past the phase I used to be a closet poet and novelist. The journey though has been filled with difficulties, I have no regrets, and it adds a little more credit to my patience that I didn’t give up halfway and back out of the deal I signed when I had dared to dream of reaching out to the masses with my thoughts, ideals, dreams and words in print. It makes me immensely happy that finally I’m almost there where I had envisioned myself to be, and exactly at the right time I had wished it to be.

It had always been a cherished childhood desire to be like my grandfather, Tarini Kanta Bhattacharya, one of the most revered men in my life, a noted figure in the literary scene in Assam, where I come from. In my teenage and late adolescence I took up the pen to experiment with poetry, and failed a lot many times. And this year, 2013 being his 100th birth anniversary, I’m overjoyed to dedicate my book to the beloved legend, who never got to see the garden he had planted so long ago, flourishing so late, as me, a granddaughter he never got to lay eyes on, lives her life on principles he had once taught to his little children, which he himself believed in.

My wish to have a successful career in the world of science was in shatters, when I realized more than anything I’m an artist at heart. I was born to write, and I don’t know from where it just came to me, the desire to write about beauty, and love and anything that draws the soul to question monotony. Dreams, that’s where it all began. And harshness of the world, and still beauty that tore through all that. The complexities of human life, and the organism, that can think and yet with unthinking brutality, like just an animal indulges in savagery in the name of civility and all things holy.

By the time I reached my teenage, I’d seen enough, even at my home, the presence of a different kind of love other than the kind commercial Indian movies portray, but quite understandable by now, and petty squabbles. Even reading different story books and observing fellow friends in my school, made this desire grow, and gave me a silent voice that could be recorded only on paper. I wasn’t very good in my English lessons in school, and used to be despised by my teachers for tormenting them with my dullness and non-responsive behavior, and as you probably guessed, I was never a bright student; always average, at the corner, like a spectator than a participant.

In the romance department, I was worse than the advanced kind of disappointing. My fellow friends would be talking of their boyfriends and I would be pathetically eavesdropping on their chatter, creating in my mind, judging, contrasting, modifying on the basis of the existing kind, a new kind human being, who, as a lover would make up for anything anyone has suffered in their lives, the lack of adventure, the monotony of always doing the same thing, and following the same roads that lead to the grave, having no newness to the institution, and that guy, that kind of guy, I had in my mind, that I wanted for myself, actually never existed.

Then there’s a very famous writer, my idol, Joanne K. Rowling, who spoke through the fictitious Professor Albus Dumbledore, in her book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” and that just changed my life towards the path I finally decided to take. This moment that I took up writing seriously, the year, 2007 also being very significantly important in my life.

Fanciful were those days, and also so memorable!!! Naive as I was, and pure of my unadulterated heart, foolishly I happened to stumble into the student activity room in my new school, my eyes opened to a sight like I’d never seen in my life so far… In the far corner of the room there sat this young boy with funny hair and the most carefree laughter scribbling on a desk with a couple of his friends and that sight, and with a glimpse of his eyes and smile, and my heart hasn’t been whole ever since. He fitted the mental image of my perfect lover, that I’d had so early in my head, with whom I’d begun writing my first story…the image of Dusk, and ever since I’ve never seen any other sight lovelier than that stranger boy sitting there laughing off with his friends, his entire guard down.

I wished to know him better, but then I wan’t very good at making friends, and retaining them. Especially people, I’m drawn to so fatally. IT didn’t last, but over these past six years, I’d had enough, to know he wasn’t at all that much the hero I had in mind, because I wasn’t that image, he had in his. Nevertheless, that love in return blossomed me into a woman, enabling me to write of my passions, and desires, and of love, to the closest degree I can mimic. My book is complete, the first one that I wrote to describe that ideal boy and introduce the chief character of my very first story, that is still under construction.

I wished to do a lot of things, and I’ve tried a little bit of everything. And I have no regrets. I’ve got a life ahead and I will live it as long as my time permits, and will do everything that I’ve ever had a wish in my mind (well, not everything…specially not those which are illegal, haha) to do. Beauty has always been my companion and my strong belief is that it’ll always continue to be for me who is one Libra born, and I believe in myself above all else, that I’ll never change for me, for the world, maybe yes, I might seem, but for me, it’ll be just choices that I made, which in my heart I’ll always remember, what I went through to decide standing on a crossroad.

Dreams of a Dessicated soul

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Over that hill, there is a meadow,

It’s a dream, and that, I do know.

You’re here, and I’m here, holding hands,

Faraway from the world, this strange land.

.

Riding on horseback, in the sunset,

Through the tall grass wavering,

Lightly in the breeze…

.

It’s a dream, it’s a dream,

To whom do I tell this?

My life woven around it…

Like and intricate sculpture of art.

 

It was once a memory too,

You and me, riding together,

Through those summer fields of wheat.

Running and falling, climbing the hills;

Destiny had woven us with its eternal magic

On the loom of time, to be together forever…

.

Then you were gone, and gone, and gone,

A hundred and twice centuries have passed,

And my abyss has been cold as death,

Life’s a distant memory – my sun hasn’t dawned.

.

It’s just these dreams, subconscious,

Filtering through ice-cold water,

Like little bubbles of hope escaping,

Broadens up the light overhead.

.

In this dream, today, I dream of you,

You’re here, and I’m here, holding hands…

And we’re here this moment and till eternity,

When you’ll come back, will I wake up.

.

Otherwise I’ll never have let you go.

Moving Nowhere

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Chaos it is when I give it a thought,

As to where we’re headed, that fate has wrought.

Peace that I feel in they words’ embrace,

To think, it grieves me, our love for thee is just thy vehemence!

 

Delirious, moonstruck, blinded by desire,

I feel sacrilegious, accompanying thee,on this godless voyage.

Damned we are, condemned by fate to live in doom forever,

Infernal is the wait, to find that horizon, to bring us back to mortal age.
But the sun is not setting and the endless main of waters, ceaseless ahead–

What scares me is that, I don’t see a wish either, a wish strong enough,

Since the wheel is in thy hands and I’m just a guest on thy anchored barge.

But the sun is not setting and the sea is dead, no winds for the lifeless sails don’t bluff.

 

Moving nowhere, standing still in the ocean of utter desolation, scares me.

We’re trapped in this nightmarish reality, I have no luxury of waking up.

Maybe I don’t want to wake up, I love thee for all I know.

I can’t shatter all those cherished dreams for this one nightmare.

 

Knowing I have nothing to wake up to, except the fact,

To learn which, will shatter me across the ocean.

Knowing our love was just my imagination I indulged in,

Wishing and crying for slumber to murder my obsession.

It will rain and it will rain ♥

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The air simmers, blisters. Induced hallucinations.

The cracked open mouth of wounded earth,

Seeped with blood red and covered with rust.

Centuries and eons of memories clouded by dust.

 

The fragile lines were breached once long ago,

The tempest had once rushed into my shore.

It’s been long and time has swept away the resort

The floods and waves of tide haunted me to drown.

 

Then the sea is just a embittered memory,

And it was a heap of sand I’d leapt into. Not death.

See, the passion had been sung well to drone.

To arise and laugh back, when mirages mock.

 

It’s been long I’ve lived scared to scraps and bolts.

It, the post traumatic stress disorder in me craving blood.

But I’m ready to go all out again, for surfing in the sea of love.

And she has to come out too, the madwoman locked in my head…

 

The fighter in me. The rebel. The poet. The lover.

The unchained philosopher, her storm unleashed.

Night has finally settled bets with daylight

There right there, fate’s let my midnight sun dawn.

 

Now again the tempest blows ashore, from the east.

The distant roars of the hungry cranky clouds resound

After flashes of desire reflecting his heart and mine.

After a long time I know, it will rain and it will rain.

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The Seeker

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Here is my latest piece of verse I wrote,

“Hopes will never die, as long as my heart remembers the graces you did to me.

When, in the dreamless sea of dreariness I’ll find myself sinking,

I’ll delve deeper under to visit your underwater palace of the seeking.

There in your mysterious ways, and will, and there will I find myself again.”

A Moment

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Here I tried writing something…so here it goes :-

My eyes wish to behold, again and yet again, the grace with which, thee, my sweet lordship, unfold thy deepest, most wondrous mysteries. My fingers wish to trace your fair skin, under which the blue veins snake their way through your flesh, more fragrant than all of Persephone’s grove, by far worth more than Hades’ treasure trove…

And it’s thy heart, made of the densest gold, harder than the hardest diamond, but it’s just that I wish to win. Thy lips, that speak so much, thy eyes, express. I wish to smoothe out that delicate tensed brow. I wish to sort through your beautiful long lashes and to fill thy sweet mouth with gentle kisses. And there lying around in some far away meadow, shall we have our sweet recess. We will share little sweet promises, sweet little breaths exchanged. How, lying there on the warm, moist grass we would make wagers on our lives.

It’s a sport of young lovers, such as ourselves to let Passion, Love’s hot headed brother override our sane rational minds. Take oblique decisions, the orders, our hearts fail to obey. I know this will someday end, the rat race of passion and morals clashing will end one day. Like thee, ever so gentle, so noble, may someday just walk away, for my goodness’ sake. But it’ll be me here, rooted to the scent of this meadow, and the lingering aftertaste of your kiss on my tongue.

I’ve really attempted to write prose after a really long time. Could use an opinion if anyone could offer any regarding the progress of the piece. Thanks.

I will Remember Everything

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Drip with all your stock of sweet golden honey,

Pour on me with some more of the hopeful bliss…

Lace me up with the bittersweet memory,

Of how we were together, at one, and twice.

 

Month, year, era, life will passes by,

Twigs, roots and time will intertwine.

We may part, and never meet again,

But this moment, on, will surely live forever.

If not Anything, You Make me FEEL Young…

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Feels like suddenly I’m helpless,

In the wake of the minute hand of the clock,

One evening not talking, not laughing with you…

Feels like heaven’s broke and rained rocks.

Why is it that so suddenly in just seven days,

You’ve become so important to me?

Why hadn’t we met before?

Now you make me think.

Is that what soul mates are like?

Like one meets the other half,

And then, suddenly, they’re one.

So much has changed since the hour we met.

And ever since then, I haven’t been myself–

But a stronger, bolder and wiser me.

Then can I call us soul mates?

I don’t know of that, as of yet.

But it was exactly a crowd that we first met,

So, maybe my epiphany still counts…

And we just happened to stumble upon each other.

I had a hundred reasons ready,

Excuses that spare me from going that day.

I overslept, and then my dress too wasn’t ready.

My hair wasn’t washed and poor me,

Instead of a petty-coat, I wore pajamas under my saree.

But still it worked, until it rained bullets.

My heels raised on five inched blocks,

I was forced to hunt for three wheelers on foot.

Windblown hair and dancing stupid unskilled bihu.

I don’t know how it started, but the way you guarded my heels,

Letting me dance as much as I wish, sure did touch my heart.

That you weren’t much that into the stoner den, like I was,

But kept experimenting with your camera, like I do with mine.

And now three weeks have passed,

But that memory’s still alive.

Like a little sixteen year old, you make,

My heart go out, on a roller coaster ride.

Little, little jokes, and secrets, planetary homes,

Like a game of snakes & ladders increasing in progression.

With your little innocent smile, you made me grow past

The pains I have endured in my battle-worn life.

Maybe that’s what soul mates are made for,

To stitch each other’s sore wounds up.