To Whomsoever Concerned

poetry | To Whomsoever Concerned

(on the Unifrom Civil Code)

I loved a boy who prayed to no God
His bones made of curiosity and eyes rippling with awe
His blood celled of kindness and voice flesh of warmth
I loved this boy who lived not for long
His identity condensed to criminal, and mine, to traitor
For he loved me whole and all.

I hide behind a veil of blackness,
I abide by laws Absolute, not decided
And see the world tinted a little dark.
I hide behind the back of my man,
I hide, hoping a three-knotted rope of one word
Would not become my noose.

I shot a man who was a criminal of my sect,
Who spoke in poetry, words inflammable
And stained my orange kurta with his green blood.
I shot a man only supposedly my own,
His clean head the victim of my fire and bullet,
Punished merely for the bush on his cheeks.

I wander the streets for a corner to pray,
But when I face forward and upward,
I’m shot in the back with complaints.
I wander the streets for a temple of allowance,
For when I sit down and devote,
I see Him as All and All as Him.

I am the product of feel and of flesh,
Built of gratitude and some vanity,
Built as a human and as humane
I am the product of want and of wait,
Made of two more spheres and one more cave,
Made just as you were.

I am a victim of my law,
In a democracy that is not democratic.
I am a victim of your law,
Or lack thereof.

The Boy Who Counted Stars

poetry | The Boy Who Counted Stars

(inspired by Kakul Gautam)

There was once a little boy;
They who knew of him called him Death.
His hair unruly and eyes bright,
Beautiful so much, he could take away your breath.

His mother would spew him tales,
Look into his eyes, boring into those pales,
She would tell him of people old and anew,
Of how the world was brimming, people now not just a few.

Every night he would count the stars,
Wondering why the sky blinked and gleamed
Only in points so less and far.
For beautiful was the shadowed sky,
Illuminated, not by the single star;
But by the four flickers up above he could see.
And Death watched and thought alone,
Fascinated by the stars, few in the endless sea.

And so decided the boy
The night would shine brighter
He would hunt the world, pick those
That made the world happier, lighter.

He saw a boy, his face smiling,
Crinkled eyes, heart young,
Breezing through the day, his shine overflying;
And Death towards him drove his carriage
And took the boy
Far away from the world’s ravage.

He came across a family
One and all of them alight.
And the sky was gifted its first constellation
Togetherness granted even after the night.

Alone the boy, with the fascinated mind
Lived
Illuminating the entire world
Only with the most radiant stars.

 

 

 

 

White Blank Page

poetry | White Blank Page

(based on Legends by Rose North)

It is a jolting question,
And her reveries obliviate away:
‘Have you ever been in love?’
Her silver eyes breeze agape.

The leaves rustle with the cool wind,
The woods burn in the crisp air.
And Aryn blinks once and again;
To the Cold War they were both heirs.

Her voice is dazed while his is deep,
Drifting into the caves of her ears.
‘Have you ever been in love?’ he asks again,
And she disbelieves what she hears.

Tempted to question his stupidity,
Temtped to deceive him in her defence;
But foreseeing the failure of her attempt,
She draws a breath and says yes.

The thriving forest lullabies,
Gently cradling her to sleep,
Guiding her to a world of no limitiations,
Where impossible does not breathe.

He turns his head, she feels his eyes;
Her own eyes on the empyrean above.
That casts the golden bars on them,
The oak tree shading them with love.

‘Who?’ he whispers quietly,
His whisper rough as the wind.
And she is urged to snap at him,
Because in his love is Aryn ginned.

A tight grimace and much a thought later,
‘You know who,’ speaks she.
‘I don’t,’ he denies,
And she is left with much difficulty.

‘Catharyn,’ his voice whispers,
And Aryn’s heart twists and soars.
A sound she thought she’d never again hear,
Her heart drums a beat from long ago.

A beat of a song on the stars and the moon,
And of the darkness in between.
The song that to her her mother singed,
And she gazes back at his eyes so green.

‘Alexandrius,’ she enjoys the name on her tongue,
And his eyes widen just a fraction.
‘Have you ever been in love?’
He asks on the third occasion.

She turns to her side and ignores her pain,
He continues to stare at her.
His lips are parted and a soft expression,
One that she can never decipher.

‘Yes,’ Aryn answers again,
‘Who?’ Sander repeats.
‘You, I love you,’
Aryn grits her teeth.

Her gaze is defiant as she holds his,
No regret allowed space.
And Aryn’s heart hiddenly marvels,
At her new and brave admittance.

He breaks his eyes and his eyes wander,
Down the length of her body.
And she was exhausted and in so much pain,
Elles her cheeks had been ruby.

She drinks his dishelleved semblance,
His looks tattered and worn.
His face stained and bruised,
And he looked beautiful never more.

He turns to his side and edges closer,
His hand lifted and Aryn freezes.
He brushes away her black hair,
And gently wipes her bruises.

‘You’re bleeding,’ he tells her dully;
Aryn fights her urge to cry.
They are battered and bruised and she is scared,
And that is all he can recite?

His warmth presses against her lips,
And Aryn takes her sweet time.
Her eyes flutter close and lights explode,
And she’s never felt anymore sublime.

Her attention is undividedly on him,
On the feeling of midnight under turning galaxies.
Her heart is close to imploding in her chest,
And as they part, they are panting and dizzy.

And Sander laughs a musical laugh,
And it’s a sound she hasn’t heard in a thousand years.
But it’s also the sound she’ll wait another thousand years for;
Sander leans in close again.

‘Catharyn, I love you,’ he tells her,
And Aryn feels so lost.
Because soon they’ll have to stand and run,
And fight, no matter what the costs.

But then again, that is soon and this is now,
A rare moment of peace in the burning world.
And though soon death will resume its chase,
Aryn is content and so is Sander.

They are two in number and so are their options,
Run or burn in this world so new.
But they both know the trick and they’ll do it together,
It is to not let the fire catch you.

Red

poetry | Red

“All the world’s a merry stage, and I was looking around. Red streaked through to my rib cage, and you were handed the crown.”

It was in the midst of summer when you first held my hand.

The grass was greener than it’d ever seemed and the trees were shadier than they’d ever been, and there was this growth of little violet flowers beneath the tree that we were leaning on, and. You were fascinated. Your blue orbs were dazzling, reminding me of the time my father took me to the Walden beach and I watched the sunlight break into a dance on those roaring waves. I was fascinated. I’d never been to a beach since but looking into your eyes, I could easily see the boundless ocean. I could hear the waves rushing after another in their haste to reach the shore. Even under the cool of the tree, I could feel the sun boring warm holes in my arms, like it did the one time I visited it on the beach.

We were, quite literally, in the midst of summer.

Your hands graced through the bed of flowers as mine wanted to through your hair. I went ahead to pluck some of the violets for you and you swatted away my hand and I held my breath as your fingers curled around my fist. A wild thought entered my heart, and I was sure. I was sure if at that moment I would have closed my eyes for longer than a blink, I would have seen red instead of the ever present black. That if in the republic of my body there would’ve been a vote, my heart would’ve been king.

About Me

poetry | About Me

(with the core by Kelsey Danielle)

Each time I’m asked to introduce myself, I find myself starting the same way: “My name is Tanya and I’m eighteen..”

but what I’d really like to say is:

“I have been in love with the stars since the explosion they created me but my parents decided to name me sunrays, not sunshine but sunrays, like I reach but never alight you, and to this day, it’s the biggest irony of my life.”

A teacher once told me, “Your handwriting is the easiest way to know and recognise you,” but my handwriting changes with each person that holds my heart and I thought, nothing could define me better.

I keep looking for the places that will allow me to let myself be seen, for places where cars would stop and windows would roll down and people would make an attempt to know you, keep looking for the places where the rains would drench me anew. I keep looking for the stars that would shine unabashedly on my head, for the winds that would make the trees swing towards me. I keep looking for time to rush with, for my moment to tell you:

“I am the chatter of streets that prefer silence, the hum in hearts that doesn’t buzz. Often I prefer to sit in invisible corners, and I am more like me when I’m pretending to be someone else. My definition of love is family and there are few things in life I love as much as Harry Potter. My life has been one earth revolving around the sun of five boys, and I keep waiting for new explosions that would take me back to my first. Twirls of poetry make up the grounds I bounce upon and rain thuds are my favourite lullabies. The stars dot my eyes even under the sunlight and the cold of the snow on my nose is my happiest feeling. I have no corner of me that isn’t made up of some other person, so much that even this About Me is inspired by another.”

They’re Heavy

a shaky breath,

our ghosts collide;

the space between

crawling away:

I close my eyes

my heart stopping;

your own, beating:

elixir of mine.

 

and mine not

a piece of yours,

for it would’ve

beaten any way.

the touch of wind

that came and went

wouldn’t have taken

you away.

 

it was difficult,

for the longest time,

when even dreamland

wasn’t a place to go

to: I still carry

your bags under my eyes;

 

because dreams are

products of you,

and I think I

was made of ashes.