The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

  When the evening sets in, the smell of Her wet hair and worn out saree blends So perfectly with the handful of jasmines In her lap, skillfully preparing a small garland  For me and a bigger one for my sister. She would adorn our neatly combed hair With the fragrance of intertwined dreams And a memory that could survive until eternity. When the flower dies she takes them off  A little sad for everything that once bloomed Must die a lonely death one day. Years later, we laugh out loud as the night changes Engulfing us in nostalgia and uncertain futures I, with my messy buns still love the fragrance That finds its away through the window From her garden of love, and her with Her wrinkled smiles never stopped  Blooming inside my heart so gracefully.

 You stand among the stars  As his most loyal friend, While he masquerades as a hero in daylight  He falls to his knees  Before you as a fallen soul. He can witness you slowly Rotting away into the darkness Like the ordeals of existence Gnawing away his insides. He has a chat with the stars When you leave both  Him and the sky lonely. When you arrive again He talks to you like You never left, just two old  Friends meeting for a drink But he sheds a tear or two In secret because he realises  How much you love him When you created waves in him Even when you took sometime  away from his world.

  My papa likes to have someone to talk to  In the evening with a drink in his hand, My amma likes sudden trips, being surprised With food and me doing the dishes on time. My brother likes it when I listen to him talk  About his interests and dreams. My sister likes being appreciated in groups And sharing secrets in our tiny room. My grandpa likes being listened to when he sings And us welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek. My grandma likes when I recite poems, speak in a fake accent and also being called 'Cici' My friend likes it when I constantly remind her That I love her even though it gets a bit annoying. It feels astonishing to know we hold  The instruction manuals  to make someone happy Without even knowing it, That when the sun finds it difficult  To shine through on days, We appear like magicians Knowing just what to do.

 We lose pieces of ourselves  All along the way we walk, We exchange thoughts with people That are kind enough to guide us, We leave memories in photographs and  Scribblings to show that we exist, We write diaries to remind ourselves Of who we used to be on a different day, We don't hesitate to hand out the  Leftovers of our heart when someone asks, We have seen ourselves whole Yet find ourselves beautiful Lost in kisses, memories and the rain, At the end of the journey We'll carry each other's lost pieces And become an incomplete puzzle Or an unfinished song, So full of mystery and hope.

 I don't remember the last time  I wrote something in my bucket list. I heard stories about how people Found themselves in the peaceful  mountains or the bustling cities And I knew I was lost. I read how The Alchemist changed  People's lives but the world looked Different for me after reading  Sylvia Plath's The bell jar.  I was told that saving up for  The future will be worth it But on a sad day, going on A small trip with my savings Made me feel alive again. I saw people in love and wrote  It down blushing but the paper Looked tired of being erased Everytime someone leaves. I wrote new ones just to strike  Them off while the old ones Stood stiffly as contradictions. My travel lists felt so lifeless When compared to a beach  Visit with you. The books that held me together Were never there in any of my  Reading lists. When I realised I could have  Lived all the time I spent planning I suddenly craved for more time. Love wrote itself into my life so gracefully that it felt

 The world wakes up to the sound  of ambulances, slowly gaining  consciousness with silent prayers Murmured under the blankets  Hoping for a day where we can wake   Up to horoscope predictions and  Not the impending doom that awaits us. Meanwhile, I lie here reminiscing how life Used to be so simple, sweet and carefree. I wonder hasn't life become even more Simpler yet so tragic. In the comfort of our homes We are saving people but locked inside  our minds, we are slowly dying.

 The burden of humans lie deep Within their enchanting souls. The art of remembering another  With bursts of glitter and gold, Words of praise and a heart  That expresses fondness always Yet we in a lifetime could never Fully spell out why we kept feeling Like we stumbled upon a treasure When it was really just you  Walking towards me on a stormy day. We hold our memories of people So close and secured in us It never gathers the settling dust Because of how frequently it gets Visited and remembered about. The spiral of gold dust slowly dancing In the rays of sunlight that  Playfully passed through and  Hid in the comforts of the Rooms in our hearts. Each particle so magnificently  Beautiful to the eyes of the beholder Like being invited to a sorcerer's world For the world could be magic If it had miracles like you in it. We could hide them in our poems Or write novels about them, But for souls as special as yours The words always fall short  For the world to really know you.