How many more afternoons spent perched on the corner of my bed
Surrounded by washed, wrinkled clothes that smell of soap and sun?
How many more baths with John Mayer’s voice for company, my hands
Scrubbing feverishly, hoping you’d dissolve with the foam that swims into the drain?
How many more nights where the snakes slither from my stomach to my chest
Till my words are choked out and a river is born out of my body?
I remember the smile the perfect teeth that spilled into my universe the happiness that your smile planted in me the happiness a shrub watered by your voice your voice which I loved more than any other’s which quietened my heart even when you were angry even when we fought just as long as I got to hear it your long thick arms that I thought would hold all the shaking parts of me without dropping a piece your face so big my palms couldn’t cover it yet I tried anyway to feel all of it while you laughed showing your perfect teeth and your voice resonated in my smiles my words my thoughts as your arms held me closer and tighter not breaking the pieces but marking them all
I remember I remember I remember I remember I remember
They say one day it’ll hurt a little less
When is one day?
Will it come as fast as the day
You gave away your arms your smile your eyes your voice
To someone new?
How much is a little less?
Enough for me to think of you with a smile
The same smile that you created, whose expanse
You first discovered?
This poem is a cliche,
Like all small revelations are.
Today I learned
You can love
And not be together.
It was nice to talk.
It is always nice to hear your voice,
Even though it hurts now.
Today, we smiled, and it felt good
These tiny steps we take
To navigate the terrains we leaped over.
And I learned to appreciate another shade of
All that matters is love.
Today, I knew I would love you, always
And that we would not be together
And that was okay. Today I smiled
I hope you did too.
Day#10 of IntrotoPoetry
I was supposed to complete this challenge days ago, but thinking about the future is something I just don’t do, or to be more accurate, something I avoid doing. But, a challenge is a challenge, and I am a woman of my word. So here goes.
Today I cooked under candlelight.
The tube light in the kitchen had gone off with a pop,
And we used candles saved up from a Diwali when we
Almost burned our house for light near the stove.
Under candlelight, everything softened. The onions glowed
Shyly, turning pink in a pool of yellow. The garlic seemed to melt
Like butter. And I thought, in the future, when life seems tough,
I should just light a candle to watch it turn softer.
Five minutes later, the curry burned to death.
Day#9 of IntrotoPoetry
I think of your room sometimes
The penthouse on the fourth floor.
I loved the balcony and the huge windows
You always covered them up though.
I liked the darkness also, and the lamp light
That threw shadows all around the room, and your face.
It was a kind room. Especially on that evening we lay
My hands tracing lines on your wall and pulling at your poster
You talking on and on. I listened, feeling happy
That we were friends. That we could talk, again.
Now when I think of you, I think of your room
And imagine you to be kind, like the soft lights
That kissed both of us, as we lay in a world of our own.
Day#8 of IntrotoPoetry
On a wintry morning, she wakes
Regretfully leaving behind layers of heavy quilts
And the welcoming, warm limbs of her sleeping roommates.
On a wintry morning, she turns the tap
The water is merciless in its icy gush
Her fingers turn numb as she gazes at the fog outside.
On a wintry morning, she changes
Goosebumps immediately cover her
An inadequate blanket against trembling skin.
On a wintry morning, she sips
The coffee shares its heat with her.
Dressed now, she’s ready to leave.
On a wintry morning, she lingers
The most peaceful of smiles tracing her face
This year, this January, her happiness surprises her.
Day#7 of IntrotoPoetry
My mother always said, “a little extra salt means the dish is made with a lot of love.”
When I come home, your gaze is so unbearable
My eyes fill with salt.
Away, now, in this cold city,
I lick a bit of salt off my finger
In the middle of cooking, and I
Think of you, in your kitchen,
Tapping a little gravy off the spoon
Into your palm, and smiling..
Day#6 of IntrotoPoetry
Black night. The cold screened
By two layers of blankets, inside which
It is darker still, but warm. Suddenly, a buzz.
A tiny screen lights up, a thin arm stretches
Out of the warmth, braving the cold
To see who it could be, thinking of her, in spite of
And the warmth of blanket cocoons.