Thoughts to Words

You gift me chocolates, not always, it's only once in a month and sometimes twice. How humble are you? "May I?" You ask me and command chivalry, as if my consent really matters. The walls in the room have turned colourless, the bedsheet hasn't been changed for days, sleeping on dirt is a part of the business. I vomit the chocolate and wash off your sweat from my body. It has been a long day. The last man enters my room, he does not bother to pretend, he pulls my hair, throws himself upon my flesh, "Fucking whore. Be my slave." Biting every inch of my self-esteem, he smokes a cigarette after his erection is put to rest, he picks up his phone, "I'll be there in an hour darling." I talk no more, I hear no more, I see no more, the unfinished bottle of alcohol, a tip for my satisfactory service. ©songbriti

A beam of passion, shines through demure clouds between your lips, in a cherry blossom lusciously tied to spring. A petrichor of desires walk down my heart, resembling the sun blushing in his golden tuxedo, when the moon smiles on a crescent night. The aura of your touch owned by insatiable wanderlust, reaches the periphery of my eyelashes; in a blink it is at the centre of my being, making love to me in the mystic gravity. A thunder is heard, lust laughs hysterically on its throne, all moments undone, a paradox lives to surprise. ©songbriti

Dear Temporary, I see you standing on a pedestal with an hourglass covering the nudity of your inconsistency. The sand is smudged all over you with fine particles giving out miniature forms of what is apparently perceived to be in control and how it will dissolve into the sphere of nothingness as the Earth orbits the Sun complaining about the loss of equilibrium humans have in their lives due to their probable stupidity of leaning on expectations that will collapse sooner than a rainbow is lost to sight. I hate to admit that although you come with a cautionary tattoo on your forehead, I cannot accept you for who you are. Why do you have to be so despicable by reminding me of your iffy trait? Whenever I sense your touch upon my relationships I run away without giving closure to any of them. I run so fast that when I stop I do not even feel that anything ever existed in the first place. “Out of sight is out of mind.” Is it really so? The fear of loss terrifies me so bad that I push re

I tremble when I see you around me. How do I control my bodily reactions? The language it speaks is louder than any metaphor present in my poetry. I offer you a glass of juice with two cubes of ice melting like a glacier into an ocean where the setting sun consumes some transparency to fill in the spaces of deficiency. My palms need to stop fidgeting, but they continue to play some kind of a weird game with a fork. The fingers on my toes are seemingly mocking a parade by moving back and forth. Fifteen minutes later... I keep the fork back in its place and lift up a knife instead. Without a second thought, I thrust the knife through the Adam's apple in your neck and push it furthermore with the strength accumulated in my mind and my fist. A tributary of ichor spurts out of its redness all over the white shirt you are wearing. Bloodied and dead, your eyes are wide open and I see a creature with eight legs approaching towards your face. "Thank you for the juice." I sm

"Am I normal?" Mmmm..."Are you normal?" Validation, yeah? In a world where the number of fucks traded between two or more individuals is directly proportional to the profits obtained by them, what are you searching for again? Just a second, I have a burning sensation in my throat which is running a marathon till my gut. Munched on some homegrown chillies before I got here, a form of rawness and amateurish language flows out of my tongue and damn, I have not been taking those pills of euphemism. Anyway, you were asking… "Am I normal?" Mmmm…"Are you normal?" Fighting a battle in silence for years, switching between laughter in the daylight and sleeping on tear stained pillows with eyes staring at the ceiling blankly till the sun says "knock knock"… In a society where stigmatizing mental illness and chanting slogans of "Oh it is all in your mind" is not questioned and left to brew ignorance and insensitivity, You

Because you wipe the tears behind the jargon of my smile. Because you bring down the walls of detachment around me. Because you feed my soul with motivation when I have an emotional breakdown. Because you effortlessly join the pieces I have broken. Because you organically stand by my side even when the universe goes upside down. Because you are the eternity fireflies whisper about. Because I believe God lives in humans. Because I need not search for a 'because' to let you know I feel blessed to have you in my life. ©songbriti

The last drop of ink, nipped in the cliffhangers, moored is a barque, flummoxed by knots, longing to sail, and tap its feet, perform a ballet, on the rendezvous of winds and waves counting pearls of possibilities, cocooned in shells, counting stars nested on the seabed. ©songbriti

A static larval, dehydrated with arguments: heated and baseless, considering progress? not even under-construction. Period. A prude ornamented, with objections and opinions, leaning on dual standards, creeping out of a narrow sewage. Sewage: a tribute to intolerance, not a hyperbolic statement. Period. The clock of your intellect, missed out on great deals, shutting doors, of open-mindedness, experiences and experiments. Slamming you with poetry? your majesty (your imagination), how will I survive those brawny stares? did I offend you? I would offer you some tissue paper, to wipe the sweaty ego, gentle reminders: 'contribute to sustainable development.' In a democratic country, with a constitution, apparently guaranteeing:  “All citizens shall have the right to freedom of speech and expression." I plead not guilty. Period. ©songbriti

The cologne in the attic: a nugatory appeal it carries; nights of enchantment, work no more. I lie down on the torn couch, intending to mellow out, gruelling questions, rest, pause, rest: run no more. Composing the lost, must I not? collect, integrate, dislocate. A chimeric stream, pushes itself heavily, down the pulsating beats, involuntary much? shaping up to your expectations, by gones, infernal, breaking free. Vanity of rotten wishes, extracted, defeated, thrown: tamed no more. ©songbriti

Treat me not like a princess, who is held by her corset, struggling to let her hips dance freely, without being bothered about societal norms of a perfect body shape. Treat me not like an object of pleasure, eyeing my cleavage, and commenting on my legs; keep those hands to yourself, because you would not like it if I cut them without your consent. Treat me not like a feminazi, who is waiting to claim the "ladies seat", I can stand steadily on my feet by God's grace, I know when I carry a life within me, and years later when my feet turn frail and weak with freckles all over my cheeks, youngsters would offer me their seats, it could be a girl in a blue jeans or a boy in a pink shirt, the point is they would have values of love and generosity. Treat me not like a puppet, whose voice is unheard beyond the glass ceiling, suffocated in a cubicle of misogyny. Treat me not with respect because I am a woman, I will earn your respect without playing the trump

A broken promise, denuded of integrity, submerged in the inverted dome; two calloused palms, crestfallen underneath synaptic transmissions, obsessing over burnt bridges, giving credence to fallacies, pathetic as ever; attributing emotions to an indifferent body, drawing inferences, dipped in faulty syllogisms, where are you headed? towards a conclusion, a one with an end— you can die to conceal. ©songbriti