tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33104499138607990542024-03-06T03:14:57.636+05:30Wistful Poetry for Heartaches and Summer DreamsI hope you leave my blog with some of my weight but feel lighter and are better for it.Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.comBlogger125125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-35163155864134273992017-06-24T15:18:00.001+05:302017-06-24T15:18:32.194+05:30One Witness<p dir="ltr">My wife tells me<br>
That I am especially<br>
Romantic when I am fast asleep.</p>
<p dir="ltr">She felt my fingers<br>
Start at her closed legs<br>
Tracing away at her head.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I remember nothing<br>
Of all of this cuddling<br>
And feel thoroughly cheated.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-6367830455404864172017-06-24T15:17:00.001+05:302017-06-24T15:17:46.848+05:30Waking Her Up<p dir="ltr">Her eyes are closed<br>
And hotly kohled,<br>
I kiss the oil on her face,<br>
Waking her up in parts.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I lift her kurti<br>
And close my lips<br>
On the soft fat<br>
Around her back.</p>
<p dir="ltr">She makes noises<br>
I can place as happy<br>
Despite the complaints<br>
From her body.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-9779881203383345992017-06-23T09:30:00.001+05:302017-06-23T09:30:35.522+05:30Motivations for Connecting<p dir="ltr">I look at you and know<br>
Exactly what we are capable of<br>
If I drop the matchstick<br>
On all that falls from you.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Pillow talk without sex,<br>
Stories that can perform,<br>
And lots of tea.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I look at you,<br>
Speak of your forests<br>
And leave without incident;<br>
I have enough fire for now.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-1680373731044911312017-06-23T01:57:00.001+05:302017-06-23T09:29:53.855+05:30Deep Sleeping<p dir="ltr">I am not as light a sleeper<br>
As I need to be, my father says,<br>
I sleep as if the sheep have returned,<br>
The pastures are empty,<br>
And my day is done.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Sometimes I wake up<br>
And a whole day has passed<br>
And I feel the truth of my<br>
Complete replaceability.</p>
<p dir="ltr"> .</p>
<p dir="ltr">I hug a waist in front of me<br>
Before I am wakeful enough<br>
To fear rejection --<br>
Perfume and sweat<br>
And I am content.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-5441862747244959392016-12-26T16:58:00.002+05:302016-12-26T16:58:20.989+05:30Getting Through<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Your smile is fake and beautiful</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Don't let people democratize</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Your right to stir yourself</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">When you can't move a muscle.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Deep breaths, deep breaths,</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">People around you can afford</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">To fight and break and make a mess,</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Energy is cheap and abundant.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Deep breaths.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Try to talk after the polite nod,</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">People can't see you busy</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Deep inside your chest,</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Servicing invisible demons.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Let yourself fall, love,</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">There is more to you</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Than what can fall</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">And break completely.</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-53713403827892293022016-07-21T23:25:00.001+05:302016-07-21T23:25:36.881+05:30Weak Love<p dir="ltr">My love is weak-shouldered, love,<br>
When the blades in their pits ache,<br>
I look for the sting of the cold<br>
And hurry my warmth around you.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My love is slow-cantering, love,<br>
When the sun rises in the bloom,<br>
Half of my legs create distance<br>
To better see your blush in pastels.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My love is closed-handed, love,<br>
Your smiles light up the coins<br>
Hidden on our valleys of frost,<br>
I spend my summers making walls.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My love is high-fevered, love,<br>
I contract contagions like a trader,<br>
All of me is a battle-field, waiting,<br>
You're my death-bed every time.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-58353461238657006612016-05-23T18:00:00.001+05:302016-05-23T18:37:22.260+05:30In My Hands - A Ghazal<p dir="ltr">Iron and fur brooked the cold in my hands,<br>
Long before there was gold in my hands.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Too many stories end with morals,<br>
But I write of the mould in my hands.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Dreams are won on fields outside dreams,<br>
That's where I met the bold in my hands.</p>
<p dir="ltr">In closed rooms inside my chest there lie<br>
Victims of what I sold in my hands.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I was worn where the dream was won,<br>
My story is the old in my hands.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It is this: my youth is my age lost<br>
Beneath every fold in my hands.</p>
<p dir="ltr">To survive ambition was to leave <br>
All that I could not hold in my hands.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-86186788128702684452016-04-14T22:07:00.001+05:302016-04-14T22:07:23.341+05:30Miss Me For I Am With You<p dir="ltr">You miss me and grow envy<br>
In the eyes set upon lovers<br>
that can see the space between<br>
Their toes.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Heart, you forget that love is inward,<br>
To miss me is to have me to miss,<br>
My hands and kisses are only<br>
Your skin.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-26566507613601876652015-12-11T12:18:00.001+05:302015-12-11T12:18:01.000+05:30Losing at Poker<p dir="ltr">Sometimes, when thoughts settle,<br>
I imagine dropping through city air,<br>
Waves buckle inside my chest,<br>
I fall into falling careers of cars,<br>
Sometimes when thoughts stay,<br>
I imagine myself imagining death,<br>
And it makes me sad to know myself,<br>
I pity the pity in me as if to <br>
leave my weight on the fast winds<br>
that lift others into solid mediocrity,<br>
I am a character in a musty book<br>
and happier readers air my sadness,<br>
Swirl it in cold glass to deepen flavours,<br>
Speak of sacrifices made into chasms<br>
with the abyss looking into me,<br>
Confused with what it was expected to do,<br>
Reminding me of the lawlessness<br>
That governs the heaven as we string it<br>
on numbers, to prophesy inert whims,<br>
I am failed prophecies and gambling,<br>
Poker games with a sleeping universe,<br>
I am the space between decimal digits<br>
That causes stars to collapse.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-91775343418072650672015-10-25T13:36:00.001+05:302015-10-25T13:36:32.171+05:30Carnal Knowledge <p dir="ltr">Your lower lip needs to be a book-cover,<br>
Dog-eared, pink-papered, full with knowing,<br>
My fingers will never stop with the preface,<br>
They will grab your jaw where it falls away,<br>
Pull your flesh down its slow cherry path,<br>
Fetch your eyes from their cloudy heights<br>
into cupped hands that wander your hair<br>
like lost snakes of Eden feeling their way<br>
into Paradise, one soft truth at a time,<br>
break the tresses where night undresses;<br>
Bend the stem of your neck into me,<br>
I shall wait for your hitched breath<br>
to learn your body in unfocused eyes<br>
and mark your skin with knowledge.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-54531880216681403672015-10-20T03:53:00.001+05:302015-10-20T03:53:27.553+05:30Balancing Act<p dir="ltr">Did you count how many kisses I gave,<br>
planted like clumsy hands in wet mud,<br>
eager to shape them before rains leave?<br>
How many did I hold behind my lips,<br>
inside the chest tongue calls home,<br>
afraid to spend the night over your ear,<br>
as if swallowing the cheer in your eye<br>
before it reaves the soft between us,<br>
tears everything into fluid forgetting,<br>
before we discover the taste for blood,<br>
and call carnivores to roam our flesh.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-315299838744096402015-10-15T13:41:00.001+05:302015-10-17T00:25:58.905+05:30Waking Up At Night<p dir="ltr">I breathe in the night and fall awake<br>
the way I fell into half-shut eyes that<br>
demand godless oceans into becoming,<br>
My lips play your wrists like flutes,<br>
woodwind songs race up your spine<br>
and spill hotly into your recesses,<br>
All of you is waiting, blind curiosity,<br>
My teeth mark the places you forgot<br>
to breathe like a cave of twilight stars,<br>
Your eyelids fold oceans to leave<br>
their angry weight on my breath --<br>
I am dry throat and slow industry.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-6227096634418575952015-10-03T21:47:00.001+05:302015-10-03T21:47:46.978+05:30Knowing Myself<p dir="ltr"><br>
I know myself in the after-noon morning,<br>
Curtains over windows to forget light, <br>
I woke up half a conversation ago,<br>
My hair is a sexy mess of whirls,<br>
My voice is all throat, no sound,<br>
I haven't spoken a word but I talk,<br>
Somewhere between turning in bed<br>
and staring at a cosmological ceiling,<br>
I know myself in the after-noon morning.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-72072292529691506252015-10-01T05:11:00.001+05:302015-10-01T05:11:03.601+05:30The Sound of my Breath<p dir="ltr">The sound of my breath is louder<br>
than the silence of the walls,<br>
I am lost between sighs that<br>
tell me I have no control, <br>
This is what free will looks like,<br>
My chest heaves without gaps<br>
between the black of my eyes <br>
where I held all my maps,<br>
The sweat on my nose<br>
is the past in my rest,<br>
where I trickle down my spine<br>
and dwell on my best,<br>
There is no tomorrow then<br>
inside these forgotten deaths<br>
but I remember my blood only<br>
in the sound of my breaths.<br>
The sound of my breath is louder<br>
than the silence of the walls,<br>
I am lost between sighs that<br>
tell me I have no control.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-586712604660107652015-09-27T03:21:00.001+05:302015-09-27T03:21:36.574+05:30Pretty, Little Stones<p dir="ltr">I sat in the library until closing time,<br>
Penning the sharp-edged rime<br>
Of pretty, little stones that shone,<br>
Pretty, little stones dull as bone,<br>
Igneous stones so light they float,<br>
Little clouds caught in a mote,<br>
I remember collecting the chips,<br>
Pressing their lines to my lips,<br>
Their names were all it took to seize<br>
the mineral design with solid ease,<br>
I always wrote things I couldn't hold<br>
Promises that keep growing cold.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-58577185238430426142015-09-27T03:20:00.001+05:302015-09-27T03:20:21.827+05:30Fires That Spread<p dir="ltr">There exists a fire born to spread,<br>
Find home in embers long dead,<br>
Pull apart the weight of dreams, <br>
Shake the hopes on hollow beams,<br>
There are walks in the park<br>
That you must take in the dark<br>
To see the full wonder of your face,<br>
Faintly lounging on the empty space,<br>
Make the threshold of night<br>
The balcony to relentless light,<br>
Find your rapture in new bones,<br>
See them breathe life into stones.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-62163344144087286832015-09-27T03:19:00.001+05:302015-09-27T03:19:20.819+05:30Confession Poem<p dir="ltr"><br>
If I wrote you a poem,<br>
Soft, but grand in expectation,<br>
You'd tell me I dream too much,<br>
You'd tell me I know you not,<br>
What scheme do I draw you on?<br>
What remains of "you" in me<br>
when there has not been "we"?<br>
This is the irony of poems-that-make,<br>
Of songs that bear themselves<br>
like a universe summoned into being<br>
out of nothing broken, nothing spent.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This is why it will not have roses,<br>
Roses are gentle and thorny,<br>
Any rough hand can take them<br>
with fingers careful to feel,<br>
No.<br>
I'd tell you of the sunflower instead,<br>
The blind seed grows to the Sun<br>
when it does not know what moves it,<br>
The ripe stalk bends backwards<br>
as if it heard the rapture of being<br>
inside the passing sunbeam,<br>
stroking its petals with the glow<br>
of fires that it does not see,<br>
of fires that it cannot see.</p>
<p dir="ltr">This, then, is a confession poem,<br>
I am blind and burning,<br>
I know nothing of you,<br>
But that is hardly the point,<br>
And you know it.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-6668247189113142372015-09-22T21:56:00.001+05:302015-09-22T21:56:35.135+05:30There are softer things than love confessions<p dir="ltr">There are softer things than love confessions<br>
stoppered in wine bottles left on stone,<br>
Drier promises feel crisp between palms<br>
and stay quiet across telephones.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Open my diary and run through the bark,<br>
You will find truth flickering upon liars,<br>
The territory knows the map's unbecoming,<br>
All of my cartography is forest fires.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There are softer things than love confessions,<br>
I wear their crooning beneath cold skin,<br>
There are promises I have never kept<br>
and my breaking is slow burning.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-19832859067626072602015-09-11T14:00:00.001+05:302015-09-11T14:00:20.947+05:30Loving Truth<p dir="ltr">There once was a man who loved the Truth, <br>
He had gold-nibbed pens in pearly inkwells<br>
and a sky-blue collection of recycled paper<br>
upon which every night he would labour<br>
to spill his research of the day's working<br>
so that tomorrow made more sense than today.<br>
One day, he swung his inventory on a shoulder<br>
and set out to survey where the day pooled,<br>
because the jagged shorelines held old names,<br>
and the streetside music was inherited secrets,<br>
These were names and secrets he needed to write down,<br>
you could see him sitting against a dropping sun,<br>
after a long day of hot bazaars and cold companies<br>
and wonder at the arcana inside harbor air,<br>
Every morning he would clean two squares of cloth,<br>
write the Truth on its uneven fabric,<br>
and paste them over his eyes as holy ritual<br>
Thus he wandered the world with blind justice in day;<br>
At night he would wax into his memoir<br>
that the world was strung of a single thread <br>
and that there is beauty to be found in its discovery.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-3038148296577097812015-09-11T13:55:00.001+05:302015-09-11T13:55:38.250+05:30Display Picture<p dir="ltr"><br>
I compliment your display picture<br>
and become a superficial spider<br>
strung on the world wide web,<br>
I don't tell you I want to trace you<br>
in my words like I know your lacework,<br>
like I know your baroque and grotesque,<br>
I know the cipher to the divine in them,<br>
I don't tell you I don't know you anymore,<br>
The furrow beneath your lip hides lies,<br>
I am not qualified to know them now,<br>
I skirt your inside with patchwork smiles<br>
and pretend that the gold was in your skin,<br>
that my temples were made to your beauty <br>
and all your divine was always in hiding.<br>
</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-60270862048824829852015-08-26T22:20:00.001+05:302015-09-04T19:34:53.085+05:30Holding Lanterns<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhoKsbV6IagiSW0epQ0aDM5gSx217cQjaTqwoEdEoqWBDJH0fLWGxEuWPRRjKycZJjAtCgGQPrGIDdiWB7A7nUl9-JE-oDdH4JVOmC6ajFVcaJGt1KX5T4L4vRTe5iAhPc4sMiHgnyUgo/s320/Holding+Lanterns.jpg" width="256" /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
If I don't find you in another decade<br />
I will leave my heart on my bedside table,<br />
You are dynamite in a forest-fire,<br />
I need to knock into you sooner than later,<br />
or watch you burn the world without me,<br />
No, I will leave my heart at home. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
You probably hold lanterns to faces today,<br />
drench flesh with the amber inside you<br />
and check for starched love-letters<br />
between a creased spine and chequered smile,<br />
(some people hold them in their teeth)<br />
You're learning to shake hands with them, <br />
because the only time they will open lips<br />
is when they read their broken to you,<br />
These are friends that will make me jealous one day,<br />
I want you to hurry up with the discovering;<br />
I sweep sunsets like dust on my window,<br />
I cannot afford the colours of pining today,<br />
I need to prepare myself for your amber --<br />
pluck the freedoms of men with my tongue,<br />
stroll unvisited alleys and spill hot poetry,<br />
work the shapes of wonder into my words,<br />
I need to become the storybook you will read,<br />
I know the way I need to make you laugh,<br />
I won't paste sweetness over your wounds,<br />
You hate it, I know,<br />
I will kiss the bells in your eyes,<br />
and I know how you will stare at me <br />
when you hear yourself ring in my hall,<br />
You will place the worn lantern on my doorstep,<br />
I will open the window and let the colors dry;<br />
When I tell you I have waited for you,<br />
you will not understand how I love,<br />
but that is precisely what you were looking for,<br />
I have waited for you since forever,<br />
I hold you with hands that know emptiness,<br />
you are the only song I will allow inside.</div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Image Source: Charles E. Waltensperger</i></div>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-73839414326779360032015-08-22T20:54:00.001+05:302015-08-22T20:54:09.533+05:30Receiving Mother at Airport<p dir="ltr">The second thing my mother did when we met<br>
was tell me that my t-shirt looked unclean and unironed,<br>
that I should clean my clothes myself -- <br>
I couldn't stop smiling;<br>
We would spend ten minutes in the cab talking about my face,<br>
how a new weather has dented my face with unsightly holes,<br>
She measured me like a stone-mason reviewing damage,<br>
she always seemed to know what I should look like<br>
as if she carried a photo-album inside her purse<br>
and was in the habit of obsessively checking it,<br>
My mother isn't fond of her smartphone yet.<br>
Oddly enough, her litanies make me feel better,<br>
which is weird because it was always me falling short<br>
but that is better than falling without direction,<br>
better to have her definition to rebel against <br>
than to grasp at meaninglessness every time I start sleeping,<br>
When I returned from the market I knocked on the door,<br>
After months I knew what is to wait for someone inside,<br>
after months I did not spent a minute opening my lock,<br>
and I realized that I'd much rather be impatient<br>
than know that nobody is home,<br>
The first thing my mother did when we met<br>
was hug me tight enough<br>
to compensate for forgetting love,<br>
tight enough to know <br>
I would sleep without nightmares tonight.</p>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-31025350337206601292015-08-19T08:18:00.001+05:302015-08-19T09:05:23.236+05:30Good Mood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am in a good mood today,<br />
I wear it like a birthday cap,<br />
a little tight around my chin,<br />
I will clap my hands a little harder,<br />
Sing my grocery list a little softer,<br />
Today, I will turn on music<br />
and it will not speak of art,<br />
it will not speak of auroras,<br />
It will have no words, actually,<br />
I will move my head like ribbons,<br />
but my smile will not tell you of lies,<br />
I will give you some chocolate,<br />
No, don't ask me why,<br />
I have enough lemonade today<br />
to give out glasses to everyone,<br />
I must be kind more often,<br />
the glass is completely empty sometimes,<br />
My head is not an orchestra today,<br />
Sit besides me, <br />
why don't you now?<br />
We will talk of your temple roofs,<br />
of olive oil salads and lazy winters,<br />
Ignore the confetti on my shoulder, <br />
I have had a crazy day,<br />
I am in a good mood today,<br />
and I feast on it like my last meal,<br />
That is why you know of my sadness,<br />
Thank you for not mentioning it.<br /><br /><i><br />Image Source: Daniel Perkowski</i></div>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-7168719920204890992015-08-16T22:06:00.002+05:302015-08-19T04:07:52.380+05:30First Times<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
The first time we held each other's hands,<br />
I was counting infinity backwards,<br />
making sure my brain doesn't explode,<br />
Your hands were so much cooler than I expected,<br />
but that's okay,<br />
my hands must have been warm to you;<br />
<br />
The first time I bought a rose for you, <br />
I asked myself "Now what?"<br />
as if the train ride between the florist and a bent-knee proposal<br />
was too unromantic to exist,<br />
I hoped I saved the rose<br />
from being squished enough to say "I love you",<br />
You didn't look like they do in movies,<br />
I was disappointed,<br />
You were just being yourself;<br />
<br />
The first time I wasn't single on Valentine's,<br />
I expected us to monopolise the day,<br />
Apparently, it is the most suspicious day to leave home<br />
and my parents still aren't sure about us,<br />
I guess cartoons on Valentine's don't hurt either.<br />
<br />
The first time we bought corner-seat tickets,<br />
I realized that I am pretty good at being unabashed<br />
I realized that courtesy comes easy when guilty,<br />
I realized that corner seats are not good ergonomics,<br />
but we did watch that movie twice<br />
and I still don't know what it was about;<br />
<br />
The first time you settled onto my lap,<br />
you looked at me as if I had a degree in this,<br />
I was surprised at how we pulled the stars into sparking,<br />
I bit more than I could chew,<br />
You looked like fruit-salad after, <br />
custard and papaya,<br />
You own a lot of scarves now;<br />
<br />
The first time I wrote a poem for you,<br />
I spent an hour trying to mix words into beakers,<br />
distilling, filtering, titrating, refilling,<br />
Your beauty was impossible to find,<br />
but it kept laughing from behind non-smiles,<br />
I revisited those evening walks like a homicide detective<br />
<div>
and found nothing,<br />
You were the one that got away.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br />
Image Source: Tender Moments by Kim Roberti</i></div>
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Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3310449913860799054.post-59598757587839764152015-08-16T21:50:00.000+05:302015-08-19T04:07:59.372+05:30Muse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It is August,<br />
I was supposed to have forgotten you by now,<br />
People tell me to leave you<br />
like rice grains outside my threshold,<br />
I tell them that you are my Muse now,<br />
See, nobody questions an artist's sanity,<br />
They are supposed to be bad for themselves,<br />
When I trace your laughter on paper for the ninth time,<br />
it is poetry, not an obsession,<br />
My sleep-cycles resemble an owl on coffee<br />
because the moon is my lampshade,<br />
It is not my darkness looking for company,<br />
It is not the chips of your bracelet on my ceiling<br />
It is not the ridges of your neck under my sheets,<br />
Poetry-writing is a montage of creative masterstrokes,<br />
it is not slumping into pillows until I remember I need to breathe,<br />
No, my metaphors were borrowed from the robins <br />
that learnt Shakespeare over thatched roofs, <br />
I did not brew these words between my teeth like a meth lab gone wrong,<br />
I am definitely not addicted to you,<br />
My smiles are poignant reminders of love,<br />
they are not crumpled tissue-papers around my room,<br />
It is all good art,<br />
Thanks for staying, Muse,<br />
I now know that art doesn't need to be pretty<br />
to be beautiful.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br />
Image Source: Kazuya Akimoto</i></div>
Siddharth Nisharhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896695761351012210noreply@blogger.com2