Welcome back favourite reader,
After second year of college, I managed to publish a book. With all the help I could take from a dear friend, I got around to collect all poetry I had written until then. The plan was to then go ahead and keep publishing poetry books for a living like Lang Leav.
Not every dream like that comes true. But a few of these do happen — in ways you didn’t plan for. So firstly, thanks to yet another great friend who helped me edit the file, include cute illustrations are get it up and running on Kindle. And second, I’m glad I arrived at a place to write more poems but differently, like today.
Here’s a preview of my first ever book of poems 🌺
Every time
my
soul will rest
at the corner
of your lip —
so every time
you ache to smile,
you know I’m
there to help.
Also by the
corner of your eyes —
so every time
you feel like crying,
you know i’ll
help you stop.
Growth
Bloom little by little,
Only once at a time,
Little in the day,
Little by the night,
I’m willing to wait,
For all the years it shall take.
Days resemble one another,
Neither look the same though.
Everyday there’s one
Warm cup of tea made with
Giner, lemon,
and occasionally cinnamon.
Usually forgotten,
Left to cool with the breeze.
The mind hovers with the air,
Somewhere over a thick cloud
of an anxious self,
Battling intense wars known to none.
So picking up a pen and a book seems
to be a decent solution,
but hardly are there hacks to
Release all the clutter onto paper.
A line of two is sufficient to shut it
Back again and start wondering
Why the wall’s painted blue.
Sifting rigorously through the pages of ones’s mind,
Trying to articulate all like thesis
That no one wants to read
So now, ease back to the bed,
to grab the nearest book,
for how else will you tell yourself to read,
if you don’t leave it by your bed?
You cannot concentrate but you try,
Noise within the mind clashing
with the screech of a loud bird,
You search outside but find
Comfort back in the book immediately.
Beyond the smell of textured pages,
and the roughness of paper,
Usually right before the patience dies,
There’s a page which says -
”Dedicated to…”
That’s where I’m convinced
I’ve read enough.
Rainfall
Over and over again,
Just like the rain,
I fall for you,
Yet all into you.
Rains embrace the earth.
Rain and you,
Both bring life,
Rain to the earth,
And you to me.
Hunting for a heartbeat
Every time your fingers
trace my skin,
I look for the heartbeats that
go missing,
seemingly too fast,
skipping its rhythm,
But my frozen heart
does slowly warm.
When a poet cannot write, she bathes
I stood still for a minute, turned the shower on,
Wondered if the water was too cold to kill me.
“This can’t be as cold as what my heart has turned into,”
I paused, reassured that it is okay.
Just needed to stay still for a second.
The chills down my spine will leave the body
once it’s completely drenched.
“I’ll be free of the cold, I’ll be free of it.”
The first drop drips from the top,
I lift my face, it touches my nose,
A quiver runs through my body,
I find the trapped heat beneath battling me.
The heat released itself through the
dry weathered pores as the water flowed.
In a split second, I realised it was you.
Those were your skin cells that were clenched into mine,
from the random kisses,
from the nights that smelled like vanilla,
of the ice cream we spilled on the bed,
from the leftovers of desire,
of the sweat under my fingernails,
I failed to know that your skin had made a home in mine.
I had failed to know when it did.
I slowly moved my fingers in circles,
in gentle motions, rinsing everything away,
The residue of everything that we used to be.
I rinsed over and over again,
clearing myself off the toxicity
of emotions, I would never be to able to write about.
I would never know the right words,
to write about the pain you instilled in me,
I would never know the phrases to say,
to sketch the portion of you that’s stuck within me.
So every day from now, I tell myself,
Rinsing is important, it clears the body,
it clears the mind but most importantly,
just turn the shower on and stay still, because after
the first drop of chill down your spine,
it will clean away everything that weighs you down.
“You’ll be free of the cold, you’ll be free of it all.”
Scarlet sun and her
“Never go too long without watching a sunset,” they said.
There lay an ocean right in front of his eyes,
A beautiful scarlet sunset at the end of the earth,
Filling the skies with fading shades of orange,
The waves leaped to kiss the shore every now and then,
Yet he chose to look at the crimson that reflected in her eyes.
Ocean
Every wave has a story.
Probably the baby feet it tickled,
those toes of lovers,
the sore feet after a long trek,
those thighs saggy and old.
Probably the girl who held her heart in her hand,
it was just that little boy who lost his dog,
someone who couldn’t let go,
someone else, someone the same.
Every wave carries a story; it carries the heavy heart,
the innocence, the heartache and the silence.
The wave carries it back to the ocean,
stores it somewhere deep beneath, deep within.
We still wonder why the ocean is vast and endless.
Song-lyric poetry
Aise kyun (Hindi)
गिरता है गुलमोहर
ख्वाबों में रात भर
ऐसे खव्बों से बहार निकलना
ज़रूरी है क्या
Translates to:
Gulmohar withers at night,
Throughout in my dreams,
But is it necessary to ever
leave these dreams?
The Life of Ram (Tamil)
Netrin inbangal yaavum koodiye
Indrai ippothai artham aakuthe
Indrin ippodhin yaavume
Naalai oru artham kaatume
Translates to:
Yesterday’s moments collected
Make the moment that has formed today
Today’s moments that are collected
Will show you meaning tomorrow
Usuru Narumbula (Tamil)
En sirippu odanju setharikedakku eppo varuva eduthukka?
Translates to: My smile has shattered and fallen on the floor in pieces, when would you come to pick them up?
Lastly, A song that is fully a poem. Drop me a DM on my music handle with songs you think are poems, and let’s talk poetry.
Next week, we talk all about — breathing 🪴
See you soon,
Ammu