Cliche

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.

Death by Candlelight

Day#10 of IntrotoPoetry

Prompt: Future

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.

Your Room

Day#9 of IntrotoPoetry

Prompt: Landscape

Device: Apostrophe

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.

A New Year

Day#8 of IntrotoPoetry

Prompt: Pleasure

Device: Anaphora

 

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.

A Little Extra Salt

Day#7 of IntrotoPoetry

Prompt: Flavour

 

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..

 

 

Remembrance

Day#6 of IntrotoPoetry

Prompt: Screen

Device: Enjambment

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

The cold

And the warmth of blanket cocoons.