There was this one girl
who was too bright.
I liked her a lot.
She was a little more loud, little more caring,
laughed a little more longer.
As if that ‘little more’ was her essence,
was a rule she couldn’t break.
I liked how I could see
what she was without that ‘little more’,
that all of them would never know her like me.
I wonder at what point they will get to know,
that she is drifting away.
Would they would find her too plain,
once she stopped trying?
Would they also feel betrayed?
By then, would they have learnt
all the cruel words
that can break her,
words that she already knows.
I hope not.
I hope they are too young
to recognize the masks they see
or the masks they wear.
Tag Archives: childhood
There was this one girl
I always thought
that I could be happy,
if only I could make myself love happiness.
Though I approached this strange kid,
though I pretended to be good
and as holy as humans can be,
I had nothing to say this ever smiling child.
All the standard stories
I had prepared for this heavy chore
of presenting myself to this world,
were not for her ears.
I could never make myself fill her head with such darkness.
Why should she know of the categories of suffering and where I fit,
about the worth that every person has to earn.
This kid looked at rainbow and reflections with marvel,
prayed before every meal, believed in every story told.
There was nothing I could say to her.
I could not make her see me, befriend me, understand me
without changing her into me.
Only my love for this happiness
stands in my way
of the heaven I have dreamt in futile.
all the folded boats
spill out of my empty books.
the trees are on fire again.
my mind is on a another wild chase.
my hands light some more branches.
“the world is too cold for me”,
is all that i can say.
today, i am less sad than yesterday,
which makes everything that much more difficult.
today my sorrows have become facts.
my childhood reduced to folded boats in a trash can.
is there any other way to live than this?
i do not want to be a child
who thinks that the world is this window
where i wait for you to return.
but i am.
and you are also the one
who has promised to never return.
but you have made many promises
and you have broken so many of it.
i guess i am counting on you
to stay true to who you are
and break another one.
i have done well on all my exams.
i have cleaned my room.
i have eaten all the greens.
you will be able to love me now.
they say you found love late
and the ones in love never return
to the loveless families
they want to forget.
have we been forgotten?
are we your embarrassing childhood photo?
mother cries a lot these days
and so i can’t cry anymore.
i can’t cry anymore
and i hate you for taking away my tears.
We will build a palace
from the bygone days,
from fading rainbows of love,
from our name sweetened
with mother’s love,
from our days without schedules,
and the sleep that never left our eye.
Let’s find beautiful smiles
to fill our hearts.
Let’s build a city,
A world with
with melting galciers of poems
and trees ladden with childhood dreams.
Let’s build places to hide
from what our lives have become.
My mother was not always my mother
She was someone else before I was her child.
Can we ever admit to our self
that our parents are also still children,
who have to act as adults.
Cause there is no other option
and they are stuck in their roles
and we want them to remain stuck.
We want them to be responsible for us,
we want our childhood to continue
even at the cost of theirs.
No matter how they suffocate.
I guess, it’s easier to believe
that my mother has always been my mother
and I am always her child.
And that’s how it will always be.
But sometimes I want to be friends
with that girl,
the girl that she was.
As a child, they were, a wonder,
The brown stone bridge and the blue flowing under,
The green withering away on reaching the path,
The fiery red flames spitting everywhere its wrath,
The yellow sun, or orange maybe,
The pink that clouded the hands of babies,
The black cold night and the white snowflakes,
When colors had life, that was ours to take.
And today on the bridge I stand,
With withered white dissolving the pink of my hand.
Where went the colors? the wonder?
Now red is just love or danger.
The yellow just a hideous bright color,
The blue is for rain: for eyes or weather,
The green has, now, no space to grow,
Other colors, with time, come and go.
The people too are colored now
In their cheerful oranges,
Or gloomy blue nights.
In the black ashen hearts,
Or in the red gore fights.
In the yellow sunny smiles,
Or the lifeless aged white.
In the carefree green lives,
And colorful soaring kites.
But you my friend,
You my love,
Are very hard to define.
I look hard,
And guess I might,
But I’ll never get it right.
For you are where my judgment fails,
With your color having neither meaning nor shade.
As I stand at this rationality’s edge,
You are, where all my colors merge.