Change but why?

An age undefinable,
A period unidentified,
Equations changed,
Without a clue, without being glorified.

Her ideals she wanted to wrap,
And throw them in the trash.
Her lessons she wanted to dump,
And term them ‘system crash’.

Maybe the world will never know the real reason,
But could she care less?
Maybe the world will mock on her actions,
But she had her own interests at the behest.

She was once proud of it all,
But now couldn’t detest the feeling more.
Once a champion of these situations,
Her heart now inconsistently wept like a drum roll.

Too much pain all around,
She chose what she had to.
Adorned a smile pretty to hide her tears,
The girl now determined THROUGH AND THROUGH.

-Stuti

The lady in red.

The road so dense,
The traffic harsh.
A rain so strong,
The wind hit hard.

Snow pure white,
Laced like cotton.
Wine so nice,
Waiting, not forgotten.

A room with a fire crackling loud,
Setting the temperature at peace.
A brown little cat in the corner,
Warm and nice and meek.

A baby cuddled in a blanket yellow,
Slowly falling to sleep.
Everything dull yet nice,
Tuning in like a melody.

She picked her coat and looked around,
Put out the light and left.
She set the tone right with the colour that winter night,
The young bright lady in RED.

-Stuti

Betrayed.

She opened her eyes,
And felt blessed to have been born.
She blinked only once,
And her misconceptions were gone.

 
Her breath she realized,
Was a pain to others.
Her freedom only stifled,
Was shown exaggerated to her brothers.

 
She did one thing,
Was interpreted as another.
Her effort always taken for granted,
She wondered why even bother!

 
Each passing day alternated for her,
One day fair, next two unfair.
She despised living in this world
Of unfair treatment and beastly despair.

 
When asked to summarize her position one day,
She was at loss for words.
Yet she picked up a pen and paper, only to write thus:
“I was born happy and bright, but now I feel BETRAYED”.

-Stuti

Ideas.

A speak of blue,
A silver speck,
A yellow blob,
A red freckle.

A mind in a maze,
The girl amazed,
Today a surprise,
Tomorrow a puzzle.

She walked towards it,
Or on its own it neared.
The problem cornered her,
Considering her dear.

Ideas million in her mind,
She always thought about them.
No time to do them any,
Time only a lame defense!!

One day all ideas disappeared,
And only a pool of abstract remained.
That day the ideas all ditched her,
No ideas now, NO PAIN?

-Stuti

An Adieu not easy..

Starting today I also try my hand at writing short stories, which used to my passion once too. Look forward to my readers’ support and feedback.

That early winter morning, the wind was very strong. She climbed down the stairs with a heavy heart, the cold brutal wind hitting her cheeks as if like a hurricane. But she didn’t and couldn’t have realised the cold of the wind, or as I would call it, the slap of the wind. Her mind was preoccupied with something else, her soul was crying and her heart overwhelmed with feelings sad. As she picked up her bag and started leaving the room, she tried very hard not to remember the happy times spent there, the old pink walls that were painted pale green now, the fights that were wrestled there, the gossips that were spun there. She tried to push away those exact memories of the lessons of life she had learnt there, she tried not to hear her own laughter ringing in her ears.

She started to take out the wind chime on the main door, but then decided to leave it there, as if attempting not to take absolutely all memories with her. She stood at the door, the bag getting heavier each minute, breaking her hand with the weight, but did not feel it even then, the pain of emotions crushing her body even more.

She wiped her tears as she walked, never once vowing to forget her past, and promising herself to make it give her strength. This girl was leaving the place where she had spent a good four years of her life, never once believing that she will leave all so suddenly. She hugged her friends bye, put her bag in the car waiting outside, and turned back to look at the building one last time- the reel of her life played a song, all happy as well as sad images swilling around her, her tears gave her peace and so this time she didn’t wipe them and let them flow. Then as if giving in, she turned around, and sat in the car, closed her eyes and left.

The walls of the house may not speak about her to anybody, but will always remember her stories, the wind chime will always ring and continue to spread the joy she desired, and her story will not ever end just here.

(I dedicate today’s post to a very dear friend, who made me comfortable where I am today, was a patient listener and an active speaker for me, to some extent, a reflection of my thoughts, a supporter and regular reader of my posts at the blog here and above all, a true friend. I’ll miss you here but I wish you luck in wherever your future takes you, for the road is long, and you’ll definitely find the best way around… <3)

– Stuti

Black Kohl.

Her eyes black kohl laden,
She dreamt but her dreams were black.
She tried to wipe the soot away,
But it stuck there, there in the deep black shack.

She didn’t know how to wipe the colour,
She didn’t know how to keep it,
She knew it had to go but,
The black too dense and bleak-ed.

Next day she did not apply the black,
She put some brown instead.
Surprising as this was,
At day ending, it turned black and dead.

She tried to understand the significance of this black,
A black blacker than black it was.
When finally she understood it (or so she thought),
The purpose of the black was to make the other colours SHOW.

-Stuti

The pink umbrella.

And as the rain peter panned on her window,
She picked up her pink umbrella and went for a stroll.
The rain slashing on her umbrella,
She felt uneasy.

Her choice of clothes, black that day,
Her choice of words, none that day.
The brown puddle of mud, gave her peace,
The wet roadside, as if made her tension release.

And then after she had walked down more miles than she realised,
Her yellow boots made some noise.
She paused, looked around,
And threw away her lovely umbrella in the air.

As the wind carried it away to she didn’t know where,
She said a silent prayer,
Not caring that her black mascara streamed down her face,
Making her black tee blacker.

It struck her why she must have chosen to wear this-
For neither tears, nor rain, nor the streaming mascara,
Could leave a mark on this colour,
And given her messy life now, she couldn’t ask for MORE.

-Stuti

Unsaid but love.

His smile brightened her day,
His message brought light in the night.
Her smile blessings in disguise for him,
She always thought this was just right.

The laughter, the discussion,
The tete-tet et al.
The trans, the understanding,
Was it love at all?

No points for guessing who realised it was not,
And yet there was spark.
No points for guessing why it did not work,
But they did not speak about it at all!!

She gave some hints,
He took them well.
He gave some hints,
But were they even there?

Some misunderstandings, some misfortunes,
Some fights some afternoons.
They did not know their friendly ranter,
Simulated love, hushed anger.

…

Some years later,
As she looks back in the past,
She cannot help but hold onto memories those,
He wondered why it didn’t work, it would work she had hoped.

And now as they spend their lives seperate from yesterday,
They try not to hold onto the past,
They see the future but time and again pause,
To recount the unsaid love, for now it was IMMORTAL.

-Stuti