Two of my poems did not find a home in any online magazine. They were not considered “poems” but a jumble of words. Well, what can I say, most of my work is a jumble of words. I’ve been away from blogging for more than one reason but thought of sharing them with you. Maybe one of you will be able to unscramble these words.
1.
Somewhere in the thick of the night between sleep and wakefulness I suddenly found myself furiously typing away on my mobile. It continued till I got exhausted and then I cut pasted it an email draft before turning the device off. In the morning I read what my possessed fingers wrote, rearranged the words and decided it was a decent poem. The poetry experts thought otherwise so here it is.
NIGHT THOUGHTS
In my search for a home
All I wanted
was two arms
that would hold me in love,
a quiet lap for my head,
fingers stroking my hair
a shoulder to lean on
when my heart was heavy
But that was asking too much
all they gave me
was four walls and a roof
A window to see the world
and a door that kept me in
Often
i would stretch my arms
out through the window,
close my eyes and free myself
of everything that held me,
often
i would try to fly
but would fall instead
my injuries seldom showed
Once
i found the door open and fled
as if my life depended on it
No,
my life did depend on it
I had no experience of freedom
there were arms, laps,
shoulders everywhere
luring as a spider lures a fly
to make the kill
With sinking heart
i searched for those four walls,
a roof, a door
that would keep me in,
a window that was closed
unless i wished it otherwise
I wanted to hide away in the dark
Away from prying eyes
but they found me…
Every single time
I wanted to bury myself in a hole
but they would only dig me out
Instead
I was a forever drifting
between what was
and what might have been
The only constants
were the walls and the roof
enclosing me,
morphing into arms, laps, shoulders
that pushed and groped and pressed
Till i was like a palimpsest
Absent yet strangely there
Sometimes
everything was a black expanse
Even in the searing daylight
from that blackness
They would pull me in
Deeper
deeper
Until my breathing failed
until my heart exploded
yet still i stretched my arms
Trying to find freedom
from all that held me
Sometimes
hands would pull me out
only to abandon me as i held tight
then i would fall again
invisible injuries hurting so much
Sitting in this black hole
desperately
i stare at a patch of sky
I feel the sides for hand and footholds
I find a few
but my legs
Have forgotten how to climb
I stretch my fingers
Press them hard against the cold
Hoping they’ll grow into vines
Vines climb upwards
Follow the light
Snip
Snip
Snip
A sound echoes
………………..
2.
An autobiographical sort of poem written in moments of deep anguish. Sometimes this is the only way to release the stress, the emotional burden and the anxiety. My search for a place I can call my home continues, the struggle with my emotional, physical health continues and so does the constant effort to keep my finances stable. Many times I reach a breaking point and then pick myself up. Sometimes writing it out helps. A lot of people question my public writing of my personal struggles. Why do I write and share? Do they serve any purpose? Well, perhaps not to the readers but to me they do. They help me with many things and that I will keep to myself. On practical grounds writing may not helps, it may not get me a house or improve my monetary situation but it is a a stepping out of blocks that choke my mind.
There have been betrayals and backstabbing, abuse and gaslighting, there have been people who snatched what was truly mine but then one learns. It is all about moving on. Writing helps.
LONELINESS
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for being born when no one wanted me
not even me nor the womb that carried me
as I wrapped the placenta around my neck
as I tried to end what should not have begun
a son was enough to continue the family name
a son was enough for a mother to love
who needs a daughter
conceived perhaps to spite the mother
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for shuffling between life and death
a cause of utmost bother to caregivers
forced to revive a child
in almost vegetable like state
it snapped their backs and their feelings
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for abandoning that little pup
on a side street many years ago
a pup who had cried with me
when mother was taken to the hospital
her heart weary
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for that is all I had to call my own
as I wandered the streets after school
not wanting to go back to a loveless home
whose key hung around my neck like a noose
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for witnessing what I shouldn’t have seen
someone close and her lover
a man who played uncle
his hands reaching for places
that I was beginning to discover
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for trying to wash away
that dreadful touch
which scarred my innocence
which made me flinch away from men
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for giving it all
sometimes at will at other times forced
for retreating within my adolescent heart
as I was forced to atone for sins I didn’t commit
punished by my father every other day
the gaze of the neighbourhood scalding my skin
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
because that is all I had to call my own
my mother too busy
my father mostly absent
my brother indifferent
not much has changed
except my father is dead
he doesn’t come home every season
to replace his clothes.
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for marrying a man I thought loved me
as I wanted to love him
tied to his mother’s apron strings
he could never give enough
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for clenching my tongue between my teeth
so that no words escaped
for drinking the bitter taste of agony
as they fought for breath then gave up
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for crossing a line women in India
are not supposed to cross
better to die in the marital bed
than return to the childhood home
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for abandoning my sons
for leaving them in a toxic house
that I could never call a home
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for craving love either non-existent or forbidden
years of carrying a curse has turned me into one
though when I raise my voice in protest
I’m labelled with the choicest of names
reserved for women of my kind
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
things go full circle
a placenta wrapped around my neck
slowly and steadily tightening its grip
what begins has to end
loneliness is a curse I’m tired of carrying
Loneliness is a curse I carry—
for it is still all I have to call my own
