Poetry.


My thoughts have yet again slipped away,
sliding through the spaces of my fingers
staining poetry across the sheets.
Another night's gone,
and oh, I wonder:
Have the words fallen 
or made 'em all fall?
My poems make soft love,
floating gently across the pauses of yours breaths,
and the spaces in your curves. 
On chilled nights,
they're the winds binding you closer 
to the shrugs of actuality.
On the sober midnights,
they're the drunk dials to past loves,
taking guilt trips to confessions:
buried deep under forbidden sins.
On pleasant evenings,
they're the last sip of tea
that you wished lasted a little longer,
They're satisfying urges and your day-dream fantasies.
Like the sky shedding its shades,
my poems shift shelters:
seeking homes in people
or seeking people in homes.
Wanderers as they are, have yet again slipped away.
-J.

Comments

  1. Supreeth11/14/20, 10:04 PM

    💕💕

    ReplyDelete
  2. viswaraj11/14/20, 10:08 PM

    Shows your passion and true love.. Dont stop writing!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Sandy11/14/20, 10:47 PM

    Good One jojo! Keep writing :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Anonymous11/14/20, 11:50 PM

    "On pleasant evenings,
    they're the last sip of tea
    that you wished lasted a little longer" makes me wonder if we are all just living the same life.
    Your poetry makes me wonder about how a language can hold in it so many emotions. How do these words just make sense to me when they are anything but plain?

    I love reading what you have to say, bringing it out from within you and pouring it out for anyone that's looking for some solace.

    Clearly I don't have a way with words but just know that you are here, you are touching someone and you are existing.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Anonymous11/15/20, 1:58 AM

    My soul sees the anguish in yours. Every poetry you write, your beloved you long for, the thirst crying out to be quenched, I hope you will find it someday querida.

    As for likes of you and I till then, basking in this musical love between the strokes of ink and the sheet is all we got.
    Tragic it may seem, if not seen truly. For this journey, is none like any other.

    For this journey, is just your own to be written and told.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Nani11/15/20, 10:03 AM

    Nenu 9th or 8th lo unnapudu oka poem chadivinde aa style lo cheppali ante
    Many May Come
    Many May Go
    But meeru and mee love for poems and passion for them will live forever
    SUPERRRR

    ReplyDelete
  7. Rituja11/15/20, 6:22 PM

    Itss sooo lovely ❤️❤️

    ReplyDelete
  8. Nandini11/15/20, 8:09 PM

    Reading Each and every word is connecting the bottom of my heart.
    It's so pleasant to read.All the best!!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Feel free to share your thoughts and ideas if any! :)

Popular posts from this blog

To My Younger Self,

Image
You are a girl. Know how you will never be told  Of Cinderella who killed her step mother later when she was the Queen. Or how Ariel, the mermaid, almost killed the prince  soon after he married someone else. They're all afraid you'd know how a stranger  made love with the sleeping beauty,  all without her consent. You are a girl. You are never told the tales of the strong, of the women with imperfections. They won't tell how adorable your dreams And scars on your wrists are, And how they need not be hidden anymore. You are a girl. You are more than just geometry, or failed attempts at symmetry. You are more than your curved lines and edges and body angles. You are more than your body. You are to grow up to be the woman, With real flaws and issues of your own. Grow up, not to be a princess in wait of her prince charming, to get rescued. Grow up to be the Queen of your kingdom.       ...
Read more

Everyday Little Things.

Image
[10] Numbers now are more than just mathematics They're lives and deaths. They're survivors. [9] It's watching the sky steadily spill out  a salmon spread,  seems like setting the sun asleep after another awful day. [8] Now that we wake up to no alarms, but to nothingness. Monday morning blues on a break or are they prolonged until long. [7] How home isn't just bricks and walls, It's the people within.  Baking cakes and family dining, counting numbers, jointly. [6] For how the screens hold us  wholly exhausted and agitated. Many parted from loved ones, longing for their warmest hugs. [5] It's walks not across the streets. But cherishing old Polaroids Gloomy songs on loop, The scents of beloved still afresh. [3] SKIP is all we wish for now. Unaware if the nations Are holding diplomatic debates or plotting strategies to end it all. [2] It's //We are all in this, togethe...
Read more

Growing Up.

Image
A t the age of 10, The earth for me, was all flat. Disputes often put off/In exchange  of a toffee or two. Watching clouds move  Hunting rainbow tails for gold  And witty stories of the hare, were daily doses of joy. By the age of 15, I knew it all, i thought. Broken vases/forgotten friendships Wishing over fallen eyelashes and shooting stars. Keeping diaries was an art. Love was the boy, With a cute smile and blushed cheeks. I'll be 19 in a month. Is the skin bruised or my heart I'm perplexed. I go on long walks, all alone. One down the memory lane. I knew, Growing up is all magical. It's growing out of cradles and uniforms, Of fancy habits/foolish fantasies, And growing out of toxic men. It's much like  the autumn that sees its leaves  wither and die. For the newborns to gleam all green Under the radiant sky.                       ...
Read more