“Longing”

NaPoWriMo 2017. 1/04/2017

day one.

 

It’s not about how your hair bounces as
beads of sweat trickle down
your forehead while you dance,
or the way your rhythmic footwork seems like you’ve been tap dancing
on my heart the entire time,
crushing it with your heel,
then gently tip toeing, testing the waters,
suddenly bending down to rip it apart.

It’s not about how you’re always around
casually conversing as you sip coffee,
or the perfect smile that shows up,
lighting up your face, making
your eyes sparkle with delight.

It’s not about how your presence is
felt, in those you love, in their
chatter and mannerisms,
even in your absence.

It’s not about the happiness
felt at seeing you,
or hearing your voice
after a long, hard day;
and the slightly faster beating
of my heart at seeing
that sparkly, perfect smile.

Those feelings are just stuffed
to the bottom drawer of my heart,
desperately wanting to be ignored,
forgotten.

It’s about longing to be with you,
and knowing that’s its not
happening anytime soon.

It’s about promises to
clean out the bottom drawer,
a bit by bit,
just not now.

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Pukaar

I see you taking off your belt,
removing it from the shackles of your trousers
wearing a scary look on your face,
ready to lash at me with it.
Only because my words stung you, right?

But aren’t there too many of us?
So many, that even if your belts are torn and ripped,
we’ll stay, bleeding, but words unwavering.

You then take away my paper,
Make me work longer, harder.
Pointing empty drafts and bills at my head,
forcing me to survive on water,
stirring empty pots and drinking from empty pitchers.

You took away my land,
you have almost taken away my religion too.
You want me to follow you, don’t you?

When your bullets were piercing through the
bodies of my mates, children, wives,
where was your religion?
Was it not there, looming in the depths and shadows
of your dark, merciless eyes?

How could you not feel, the slightest bit of apprehension
when you so casually made slits into our uniformity;
dividing us, forming castes, breaking unity?

And while we are at it, let’s not forget
the inter-caste wars, love, marriages,
killings, when the father saw to it that
his daughter was burnt to death, along with her lover?

You also took away opportunities,
chances from my offspring, making them
redundant, unable to go out into the world,
stealing their pages, pens, ink.
What would they know of the world,
when they didn’t know how to read and write?

Your corrupted mind,
pulling money out of my pockets,
not admitting my child in your schools
and colleges without an opaque donation,
a transparent bribery.

I’m home, waiting for your call,
the acceptance letter in your hands,
lies unhanded to me,
your lame excuses, poor reasoning,
I’m fed up of it all.

And then you look into my eyes,
emotional against emotionless.
Which one’s are yours, which are mine?
After all you have done,
How do you expect sentiment to be in mine?