Stereotypes

I walk straight into stereotypes.
I cannot lift that heavy parcel.
I can’t parallel park too well, either.

I walk straight into stereotypes, for
my smartphone is no more than paperweight to me.
And speaking of weight, was that bread I just ate?
Late night Skype. Tears over my body type.

A literature student. I must hate Shakespeare, and I do.
Sue me. But first, why not have a conversation or two?
I walk straight into stereotypes, ghosts of reflections past.
A curse over my head, I was sleeping when this spell was cast.

I walk straight into stereotypes.
I live in a massive pink tent,
with teddy bears and pillows and a heart with a dent.
When I’m alone, I’m lonely; I want someone to hold me.
Only then do I think of you.

I walk straight into misunderstandings.
My humour is not a place where you want to thrive.
But my volatility is no excuse for you to hide.

I may walk into stereotypes,
but so do you, dear lover.
One thing that I should have done
is judge a book by its cover.

Silhouette

She admired it, that silhouette; 
she wanted it, that silhouette.
She thought she knew 
its tints and shades.
So she chased it, that silhouette.

Dark and still, 
it was what she wasn’t; 
from a land so far,
where she been hadn’t.

The closer she went,
closer she wanted to go;
the closer it came,
farther she wanted it to go.

Many attempts of
calling out to it later,
she found that it didn’t notice her;
she realised, much to her amusement,
that it may have seen her,
but as a silhouette.

Envelope

Under the weight of a glue stick, 
it played dead; 
stomaching someone else’s story, 
tears it bled.
But worry not, sir, 
for the tears no one could see; 
silent and invisible, 
they happened to be.

Soon, the poisonous ink
had maimed its face;
soon, the poisonous ink
had written its fate.

Unable to fly,
it waited to dive to the pits;
a futile exercise, for
back under the glue it now sits.

The Sniff-Proof-ness of Disloyalties

Dogs, I believe, are like women in that if you play, in their absence, with another of their kind, one sniff and they’ll know you’ve been infidel.

What they decide to do once they’ve learnt of the betrayal, cannot be said:

• They may choose to ignore it.
• They may not choose to ignore it, but still do.
• They may bark at you and THEN ignore it.
• They may bark at you and THEN ignore you.

All I’m trying to say is this- disloyalties can never be sniff-proof.

Cactus

She wore her red lipstick,
that particular day.
She walked in with a cactus,
that particular day.

Nothing remarkable had happened just then,
nothing remarkable at all;
it's a wonder how I remember so well,
the nothingness of it all.

This Week

This week has been quite an eventful one:

• I wrote a poem on that one topic on which I've wanted to write for a while now.

• I learnt that I can get back home, a hot Starbucks with whipped cream and the cream would not have melted.

• Hugo learnt the 'stay' command.

• I got a call from this really big firm, saying I could start interning there, the next day onward.

I like to evaluate, from time to time, where I stand in comparison to my desolate, ill days not very long ago. More often than not, the results of this evaluation leave me with a raging fit (which, I believe is an absolute entitlement of the once hospitalized). But then, there also come along weeks like this, with an assurance that the wait for a prettier horizon is not a long one.

Or, simply put, just like my darling Hugo, the happy days are about to learn the 'stay' command!

Fortitude

A broken bird, she came to me
gasping for the world that had betrayed her,
for a sky that never had room for her.

Her eyes twitched when I thought they wouldn’t;
they had me convinced that
her wings would follow suit, but they didn’t.
Perhaps they couldn’t.

The brains told me that her case was lost,
that she had gone like the many before her
to the land of the black waterfalls;
I told them that long before had she
visited this dreadful place, and liked it too,
for she is a wanderer and she had been wandering.

No, she did not test the waters like
the many before her;
she trusted them instead.
The impressed current which either swallows or blesses
did what it had not done to the many before her.
Back home, wriggling herself dry
she saw a plant near by suddenly grow
with astonishing poise and pace.

Gone now she was, to this same place,
her mind, and not her wings, helping her to soar.
She would be let to return once more,
unlike the many before her,
who could not be her and she, them.

And I was right for here she is come now,

with strength new and a purpose too.
She tells me that she heard the songs that I
sung as a last resort.
She tells me she will give me, and only me,
an account of the universe she has just been to.

With dignity, she props herself up;
soon she will fly back
to the same sky that never had room for her.
And I will be left, a woman wiser for
she taught me things and I saw for myself why
she was called Fortitude.