The Sun and the Moon

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At dawn, our lovelorn eyes meet;

Can you hear my raging heartbeat?

 

In a misty room, we pass each other,

And yet, as Fate would have it –

Miles apart from each other.

 

With Clouded emotions

And a heavy sense of duty,

We part, while the light

Masks your ethereal beauty.

 

Morning changes to noon

And noon to evening,

While I toy with the idea

Of a clandestine meeting.

 

The Children wouldn’t see

And Mother wouldn’t know;

Soft, pearly curtains shall be

The lone spectators to the show.

 

My heart hammers again,

And I let my heart fill with fascination

As I think of the scandalous contrast

Your calm’d be to my desperation.

 

You are the eternal glow

That melts the heart of many;

While I, the destroyer

Cannot look into the eyes of any.

 

And so I wait

As you appear at dusk again

Floating amongst the clouds

With your usual nightly brigade.

 

Your twinkling comrades

Surround you protectively;

And like an embarrassed lover,

Without a word, I flee.

 

Sleep eludes me

As I pace in frustration,

And stare at you longingly,

Battling an age-old sensation.

 

But Fate never meant

For us to be together;

So we can do little but lament –

Be star crossed forever.

 

And so at dawn again,

Our eyes shall meet;

And I shall wonder again

If you can hear my heartbeat.

 

In a misty room,

We’ll pass each other;

And yet, like always,

Miles apart from one another.

~Diskha

The Smoky Billows

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I like to watch the clouds.

And not just because of the shapes:

Cottony characters, creatures and the

Fancies of those lazy days.

Not because of the aura

Of the sun that peeks

From between the curtains

In lovely orange streaks.`

Not because they’re moving

Forever ahead;

Without a care in the world:

No joy, no dread.

And certainly not because

Their colossal aspect

Reminds me of my own triviality

And fills me with respect.

I watch the clouds because

They fill me with fascination

For sharing with so many others

The beauty of creation.

And because it reminds me of my part

In this beautiful manifestation

Of God’s divine art

And fills me with elation.

~Diksha

Tainted

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First glance.

Knee-jerk:

From his gaze, she must shirk.

Second exchange.

Still scared:

She would not be ensnared.

Third day.

Doubt grows:

To every stranger, a little trust she owes.

Fourth look.

Hesitant smile:

He seems like a friend for a while..

Fifth time.

Say hi:

He has to be a nice guy.

Sixth smile.

Tainted touch:

She flees from the hands that clutch.

Seventh hell.

Weapon ready:

She approaches their spot with resolve unsteady.

Eighth day.

No show:

Her attacker has left her to her woe.

Ninth year.

Undying plea:

Someone peel off the skin where he touched me.

Tenth time.

Opens mouth:

But still feels dirty and uncouth.

Eleventh stranger.

Unending distrust:

Every man is guided by lust.

Twelfth night.

Sleepless eyes:

I will not rest until he dies.

~Diksha

Dust to Dust: A Dreamy Visit to My Old School

The run down, black, metal gate stood broken on its hinges, allowing us only a narrow passage to pass through the premises of the deserted school campus. Right before us was an old marble sculpture, its detailed features were blunted in many places but the kindly visage of the woman was still clear in the stone.

Moving along the old corridor that ran to the left of the sculpture, we reached the very last room. The two windows with the broken fiber glass panes gave us a partial view of a dusty classroom through the metal grills with chipped black paint. Pushing open the wooden doors, we carefully stepped inside.

Old wooden armchairs crowded the place, termite eating at their shaky, squeaky legs. Some chairs lay overturned on the floor and some stood with broken armrests.

Numerous beams of the cheerful sunlight had lit up the depressing room with our entrance. The dust particles we had unsettled were floating about in the brightness. Coughing slightly, we examined the chamber.

The floor was barely visible beneath the thick layer of dirt that had accumulated over the centuries. Intricate cobwebs adorned the silent fans and bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Rotting boards hung askew along two of the walls, the green cloth covering almost entirely eaten by worms.

Along the front wall of the classroom were two wooden cupboards, one of which had a tiny, old lock hanging from its latch. Between the two cupboards hung a majestic green chalkboard, its slate rotting away like the rest of the furniture in the room. On the floor in front of the chalkboard, an old security camera lay with a withered old sock covering its glassy eye.

All around the clothed camera lay dusty, half decayed pieces of paper, all displaying a uniform message, ‘Adieu XII – B!’. All over the room, we found other papers full of doodles made during mindless chatter, silly drawings singing of the abandon of youth and emotionless goodbyes punctuated with a hope to keep in touch.

The room which stank of decay and time was enclosed by walls which were alive with memories.

As I looked around the broken chairs once again, dozens of carefree schoolgirls grinned at me, thrilled that they had been discovered at last.

~Diksha

A Fairytale Holi: A Sun-Kissed Dance

Colours.

Laughter.

Friendly banter.

Music.

More colours.

Mithai.

Bhaang.

Drunken giggles.

Colours still.

Fun.

Frolicking.

Freaking soap opera.

Arnav’s thoughts had reduced to tiny phrases against each other inside his head while the deafening sound of the dhol thumped against his ears.

The morning had just begun and he was already exhausted. Not only was his patience paper thin with having to put up with his family’s drunken antics but he was restless with frustration at the lingering feel of Khushi’s gulaal-covered fingertips on his cheeks. Every time he closed his eyes, her deep, unsettled hazel hazel stared back at him, seeming to question him, to plead with  him about something. In the crystal ocean of her eyes, he had seen reflected the memories of those days just before Payal and Akash’s wedding. THEIR wedding.

It was funny. How easily he could sometimes forget everything else when he looked at her. Times like those when she was smiling with abandon. Laughing like she had no care in the world. Dancing like she was now.

The sunlight seemed to kiss Khushi’s pearlescent skin. It seemed to make her eyes twinkle. Her smile glimmer. It made her hair appear brown in the glow.

Arnav staggered towards Khushi, his unwavering gaze fixed on her face. The hints of a smile danced on his lips when she turned around to look at him. She knew he was there. She always did. He vaguely wondered how.

His hesitant fingers found her trembling ones, the only part of her that wasn’t frozen with surprise. She lowered her startled gaze to their hands at the first featherlight touch of his fingertips. Then, slowly, tentatively, he grasped her hand in his and she allowed her fingers to wrap around his.

Breathless anticipation whispered anxiously at him through her eyes when she raised her head to meet his gaze again. And there it was again. Her unspoken question. Her silent plea. Can we go back to how it was before?

The sparks of a dance on a sangeet night almost a lifetime ago, brushed their lips against his ears. Arnav’s knees went weak but Khushi watched his eyes soften.

Two hearts thudded loud enough to hear each other.

In a surreal movement, Arnav raised their linked hands above her head.

And then, she was twirling.

~Diksha

It’s Not Okay

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Three simple words.

And yet, the effort to admit that they are true… Not so simple.

It’s not okay.

We’re afraid to say it. Afraid that saying it will give it that air of finality that we’re terrified of. Afraid that saying it will make us weak. Afraid that saying it, will make it real.

We build walls around us. Try to hide our true feelings. Try to hide our pain. Try to hide our troubles. And somewhere along the way… We end up hiding us from our own selves.

We put up a brave front. Tell anyone who messes with us, anyone who hurts us, to fuck themselves. Tell ourselves that we’re okay on our own.

We keep the truth deep down inside us. Because we don’t want to be a coward by saying that it hurts.

But you know what?

It takes a real hardcore to let it all out. To lay their pain, naked, for all the world to see. To admit that they’re not okay.

That it’s not okay.

And when they’ve done that, they’re already on the path of healing.

Because when they admit that, they are no longer cowards. They may not be okay.

But they sure as hell are freakin’ awesome!

 

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