When Silence Roars

(Inspired by the movie Lootera [2013])

———————-

The snow-clad tree stood tall braving the blizzard,

for it had promised its last leaf to me, and you.

Silence has always been the bridge between us – me,

the princess and you, her knight in shining armour.

I chirped like a true Pakhi, the myna or magpie,

while you listened draped in a shawl of intent.

Now, my voice is miffed by blood and dread,

while you rant away chasing to hold the life in me.

Ours is a story of pain and love, where I

bare myself in words, and you express

When you say nothing at all.

—————————

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Dewfall

I want to be love,
caressing them like snowflakes
on a new year eve.

I want to be
the darkish blood, gushing
on a smooth plateau of skin.
I want to be
the pure white of surf, rushing
back and forth my soul.
I want to be
the shimmering wall of rain,
tap-dancing on our terrace.
I want to be
the linger of lemon leaves,
after they’re crushed and deserted.

I want to be love,
and every other thing
that could be love.

Us and Them

I was happy, walking down
the fall-clad roads.Alone.
Then came he, walking behind me.
Slow and steady, caught my pace, and
started strolling with me.

I was happier, holding hands.

Stormed then, a bad winter.
Covered us with snow, and suddenly
people came all over. Familiar
silhouettes, smudged with concern,
heaped us with warm wrappers.

We were lost. Our hands got parted.

And we’re walking again. Together.
Our hands crave to touch each other. But,
the barriers between, don’t let us.

Will they, ever? Again?

*This poem was published in VoicesNet.com*

It’s snowing

It’s snowing inside.

Unlike nature, it started with a blizzard.
Blinded every corner of my heart,
the sharp spangles of snow pierced it through,
made me gape at the sight of fresh blood,
my own blood, fresh and rosy, bloomed on snow.
The harsh winds scratched and bruised the
walls of my heart, moved its foundation.

Now, the blizzard has stopped.
Smooth petals of snow keep falling,
trying to heal the bruises with their flowery softness.
But they wouldn’t know.
They wouldn’t know how it felt to watch blood,
oozing out like a life-saving river,
only taking out life from me.
Flakes of snow accumulate, and become heavier
than the weathering earth.

The snow, even if it ever melts,
has successfully petrified me.

*This poem won the Poetry Third prize in the Wordweavers Contest 2012*