The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

 The way he broke into tears On the third day because life Felt empty without his lovely wife And three children to welcome him  At night even when he truly lived a life that his adventurous  heart desired by day. The way 18 year olds jump To new cities with a fierce idea Of freedom blooming in their lives Only to call their mother on  The second day just to hear  How home sounds like while  They reek of homesickness. The way people make homes In other people's hearts, making  Safe places to escape to when  Their own head becomes a cold mess Asking you the purpose of living every day When one day you would be forgotten. The way his wanderlust heart could Finally find shelter in four individuals Of his own blood when the whole World was at his disposal for migration Makes me believe that a home inside A heart could survive the longest. The way mothers are willing to  Help her little birds to fly away Even when the world could be An epitome of lurking evils is  Because of the heartfu

  All my life I have measured People's brokenness I have seen it in their tired faces Awaiting for the day to end Before the sun has risen. I have seen it in the way they smile How their eyes mourn death While their lips curl with effort. I have seen it in the way you look At me, so apologetic yet unable To show me the real you. I remember praying to go back To the time when broken was  Just a word, a poet's secret muse, a slight lining that kept art beautiful. But life tastes like poison when the  Emotions you have only felt through Look-through screens of other people  lives suddenly starts feeling you up, Letting you know it's real. With time, humans break with time, humans grow With time, we'll remain broken And with time, we'll learn to live again.

  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