Poetry

Words, always.

She was the kind of girl

Who didn’t blink when you told her

She was pretty.

She was the kind

Who became giddy when you told her

Her words were pretty.

That’s what made her ecstatic.

That’s what made her feel alive.

Words, hers and yours.

Always.

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Poetry

She is a Woman.

And as she

Walks to her

Future bright,

With shining

Possibilities

And decisions

Right,

She knows she

Is going to

Be okay.

She is a

Strong

One.

She is a

Woman.

Poetry

7 Years.

7 saal baad kisi ne pucha

“kyun laut-ti thi baar baar?

Apne aatm-sammaan ko bech diya jaise.”

“koi bhaari karz chukaana tha shayad.

Abhi bhi baaki sa lagta hai kuch.”

Crude translation:

Someone asked me after 7 years,

“Why did you go back again and again?

It’s as if you had no self-respect left.”

“I had to pay off a heavy debt, I guess.

I still feel like there’s some more left.”

Poetry

Heartbreak at 16.

Moonlight casts shadows.

Hides the wounds.

The vermilion invisible.

The cuts cloaked.

The pain peeks

From the cracks

In the armor

She’s been wearing

Since the first

Heartbreak at 16.

Poetry

Wanting to be whole again.

When he had promised me forever,

I knew he was lying.

I had wanted to believe him though.

I wasn’t naive.

It wasn’t my first love.

He wasn’t my teenage happily ever after.

I had had a broken heart for far too long.

I had just wanted it to be whole again.

Just for a little while.