A Figment Of Ur Imagination

As AbOvE,sO bElOw…As WiThIn,So WiThOuT…

Category: life-lessons

A-Z

A, for the agendas you write on her skin

B, for the barbaric 

C, carcasses you want to make out of her

D, for her dwindling 

E, existence; she dreams of

F, freedom.

G, for the gates of her vagina that even the autocorrect refuses to mention

H, for the hell you’ve put her through and for the heaven she fights for 

I, for years of inequality that pinch on her thighs 

J, just below where your pleasure rests.

K, for the Kajal She

L, lures you in with so that you could 

M, murder her soul.

N, for the no that escapes her mouth

O, offering no respite to her.

P, for the places you felt her shivering under you

Q, for the queers that sing songs that sound like her death

R, for the reasons you should not have used her

S, soul and body alike.

T, to the hours she laboured to give you a child 

U, under the burden of her murder

V, for all the violence she was subjected to.

W, to the woman who produces men who slight her existence and reduce her identity to

XYZ

treat her like X,

Devour her soul like Y

And throw her away like Z.

.

|a big thank you to all those of you who attended the last slam poetry session!|

Polyglot’s Problems

Hindi runs in the veins of this लड़की

every द, ध, ढ, ढ़, ड़ slips off my tongue 

and I take great care to pronounce 

each right for it is indeed my mother’s

tongue and I wish to do justice to

her tireless pleads.

I speak English in phrases and metaphors,

a language in which I am soft spoken 

and delicate; where the crown of 

sophistication rests on my head, from

a बच्ची, I am a woman.

My toes wreathe in the sands of Punjabi,

a language that is happy and heartfelt,

but I’m also a कुड़ी, an object of male

attention, and gazes that constantly 

rest on my shoulders.

दीदी at home does not understand the three

other people that I can be so for her I am

a परोगी and in Marathi only I tell her that

मी तिची आभारी आहे.

I often read French aloud, a language où

je suis une femme of poise and sincerity,

where every word I speak with such

deliberation that you would not realise 

I am now five different people in one.

Now, no one dare say that I am difficult to

comprehend.

Curiosity is 

that slutty cousin of  anxiety 

who fucks up everytime

for a handful of candies.

Thunderstorms and Hurricanes 

We used our tongues 

like swords in a war.

Slicing through

the insecurities,

and exchanging 

breaths of revolutions.

We were hurricanes

curled up in a satin blanket.

We were the thunderstorms,

wrapped in mortal bodies.

_____________________

|excerpt from the poetry slam yesterday|

Playing The Lover’s Role

Those three little words I love you never meant much to me. I mean yeah of course in the beginning; how it feels so sweet to finally hear something you’ve yearned for is such a victory. But after a while, the thrill of hearing those words are an ending to a sorry conversation that lose its meaning .

It’s when I love you is said in such a tone as if forced. No one is asking you to love me darling. But if you’re going to play the lover’s role then make sure you’re saying those words to me on 2occasions:

  1. You’d rather claw your heart from your chest and feed it to the bears than to ever think about losing me.           (OR)
  2. I treat you as if you’re magic. I disappear into your body and dissolve myself into your veins making us one.

If it’s not intense, if it’s not skin ripping, soul bleeding, life shattering 
…then save that high infatuation you have masked as love. I want no parts in the mediocrity. 

Ramblings of A Delirious Mind.

See. I’m weird, awkward and stupid.

I always have been.

I’m not your quintessential beauty, atleast the definition that the society has, anyway. I don’t have the most perfect of skin or the skinniest of legs. 

I prefer spending my time reading in a cafe than a pub.

The times I do hit the pub, I’m not there for the alcohol as much as I’m there for the dancing and the vibe. 

The best gifts you could possibly give me are chocolates and books. Or just a handwritten note.

I prefer writing over superficial talk and calling over texting.

I would rather walk than drive.

I prefer travelling without plans over a planned itinerary. Nothing beats impromptu trips.

I laugh loud, very loud. Unabashedly. with inappropriate noises which wouldn’t seem very decent to most.

I’m in love with forts, I like ruins more than I’d like being in beautiful places.

I’m raw and unruly. 

I’m not an open book. I open layer by layer, revealing my notes and anecdotes, my fears , my happiness with time, story by story. So if after the fist time we meet, you think you’ve me figured out. Let me make it clear for you, you don’t. 

I like sunny days and French windows.

I live for deep kisses, strange adventures,midnight swims and rambling conversations.

I prefer winter to summers and spring over anything . 

I’m an impulsive, reckless chick who takes risks at the cost of losing her comfort n well being.

I’ll take my time opening up to you. My initial one sentence replies will turn to a paragraph. Provided, you take the time to know me.

I’m not up for any kind of human interaction before I’ve had my customary mug of cold coffee in the morning. I’m inhuman without it.

I do not give up on people easily. I’ll do everything possible if I see a chance .So if I’m not making an effort any longer, ask yourself why.

I am not the girl who ll suck up to you, agree to every word that comes out of your mouth just so you stay. I’m not a people pleaser. I’m an opinionated person who loves healthy discussions.

My playlist is varied . Some of my music makes me want to cuddle for seven hours and some of my music makes me wish I did drugs in a motel room while wearing lingerie. 

I respect a man who is vocal. Tell me why you’re into me. Tell me why I pissed you off and how I can fix it. Tell me everything. Talk.

My idea of partying isn’t just limited to clubs and liquor. Partying for me can be binge watching and good food too! 

I can’t do small talk. It eats me up. You wanna talk, let’s really talk.

Call me at 3am and vent. I’ll listen.

I ll fall in love with your flaws. Not your perfection so show me the parts of you , you’re busy hiding.

I have never cared about the society. Or it’s innumerable rules.

I prefer baggy boyfriend tees to jeans and tight tops.

I don’t believe in “what if’s”. I will send that message . I will make that call. I will do that task instead of wondering about whether I should or shouldn’t. After all, what’s the worse than can happen? 

I prefer long conversations and long walks over one night stands.

And then once we’re past the initial few hours of being strangers, of half a day of awkwardness, the next half of the day, I would speak my heart to you, probably overwhelming the fuck out of you. 

I have a bad habit of saying exactly what I feel. 

I absolutely hate crowds.  for my own reasons. They scare me. It’s where my anxiety takes root from. 

I love how a person’s eyes just light up when they talk about something they’re so passionate about. Such energy. I hate how they apologise for it later. Like why? Go on, tell me more! What lights your fire?

I truly believe that house is anything with four walls. While, home is a person(s).

I’m carefree.  But also cutthroat. I do peaceful shit like meditate, but if necessary, I could absolutely regulate. 

I like honesty over a shared plate of spaghetti. 

I believe winters should arrive with someone who’d read a book to you as you prepare two cups of hot chocolate.

I have an entire collection of (never published, never will be published) things I’ve written about,  and some day,  I’m actually going to gift them to whoever  is silly enough to actually fall in love with me.

And if I ever find you reading my favourite book at a bookstore, I’ll end up paying for it anonymously.