Naazima

It felt heavy. A year and a half older but still quite heavy. The small folds were too difficult to open. I almost kept it away. Too scared to peak at the darkness buried deep inside the folds of my memories. But then I did open it, Read two lines. Memories started pouring in, I folded it hurriedly, And twisted off the tap.

I kept it at another corner of my cupboard, Very well knowing that I will find it again sometime soon. But till then, I am safe.

I think that is the perfect poem to be written. I am breathing. Oh, how poetic! Especially for someone who had tried not to be. So, a day before my next birthday, I declare this as a poem. Because I am alive.

Do I need to say more?

Do I need to write it in a fancy, poetic way, for it to be heard?

Do I need to replace the ink with my blood, and my blood with some pearls, for me to finally be a thing worthy of being heard?

Do I need to cogulate my insides and suffocate my veins, for it to be seen how much I am going insane?

Do I need to go back to the dark and, again, fall apart, for me to finally realise that I am not worthy of being heard?

(right side is me & left side is her)

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Gliding through my pain Like a surfer surfing through waves

Although skilled, through years of practice I am found drowning some days

I try to find my way to the shore But the ocean is a never ending blue maze

Unyeilding and unrelenting It is hard enough to get out of, without my mind in a haze

Just rising and falling along with the tide Is this my end? Is it already the last page?

Fact is, every story has an end But, is this really my last stage?

My consciousness is slipping Is there really no key, for this cage?

I stay still, as the weight of life engulfs me Despair, agony and childhood rage

(Questions I imagine would have been asked if everyone's life was a stage show and the main character 'committed suicide' as in got off that stage too early)

Yet I find none. Then I remember I can make one. I am a poet.

So should I unravel the naked emotions and mix them with the blood to make use of it as the ink?

Or should I pierce down my throat And pull out the unsaid words which were buried within?

Should I take a dive into the pool made out of the threads of memories and untangle the ones to be woven in?

Or should I break down the dungeons where the darkest demons reside and free the ones who will do the enhancing?

Which one should I choose?

How dare you question my sanity? Pretending that you, yourself, are sane. As if the world isn't going through a tragedy, of every nook brimming with hatred. As if people have not started showing apathy, towards children drowning in dark red. As if the man-raged wars are not a reality, at every hand drawn line. As if most of us are not going through agony, due to the 'leaders' paying no mind. As if we live on an earth with no calamity, caused by our very own hands. As if we haven't started forgetting our humanity, and pretend not to be insane.

I woke up, and I was a shadow, Just the silhouette of an object. So, I decided to travel, And jumped from one grey to another. Sometimes, I became the darkness beneath a droplet from a plant, and other times, I strolled with a cat through the streets in the afternoon.

I fell with a leaf till it almost touched the ground, And then flew away with the wind, trailing a crumpled advertisement. As the clouds started covering the sky, I decided to be an uncalled visitor and slipped into a random house. Concealed behind a flickering candle, I eavesdropped on the ramblings of a kid.

The mother sipped her coffee, unaware of my presence, as I camouflaged with the shadows behind her sofa. I watched a family gathering from underneath the chandelier. The laughter, cries, and the TV's noise, Clashing with the loud voice of someone's uncle— I witnessed it all from afar.

Gliding through the clatter of utensils and hiding behind the glowing bulb, I became one with chaos. And when the sun started to descend, I knew it was time to return to my mundane life. So, for one last time, I ran alongside a train as the sun settled, And then the night fell.

No water left to fill the bucket to the brim. Not enough tea leaves to make a good drink. Insufficient salt, so the dish was really bland. (like me) Limited time, so the day didn't go as planned. Pathetic tune, so the song was displeasing. (like me) Dimmed bulb, so the darkness wasn't leaving. Broken promises, so the dreams were diminished. (like me) Ripped pages, so the stories were unfinished. Forgotten language, so the book was worthless. (like me) Empty hearts, so the smile remained mirthless. Soulless lives, so the ground often weeped. (like me) Faded ink, so the love never reached. Dull colours, so the painting was an eye sore. (like me) I am laced with inadequacy yet I wish I was something more.

My dog is looking at the down pour, while sitting at the door. My daadi is sleeping very soundly, I can hear her snores.

Oh! Everything turned black. The electricity went away. It might not be back soon.. Afterall, it is a rainy day.

Soon my parents will be back home, And it will be a rainy night. I will sit and spin my pen around, And will think for something to write.

~ Naazima K. (Me)

Atrocious thoughts wrapped around the dark brown trunk, Spike like emotions piercing through the skin of the one hugging it.

Red coloured sap coming out from the broken branch, It looked like a pool of blood of the one hugging it.

Something is hanging from the rope like vines of the highest branch, It looked like the lifeless corpse of the one hugging it.