Judging it all..


She questioned the importance of everything,
People called her inquisitive,
He didn’t want to judge her.

She checked and cross checked everything twice,
People called her obsessively compulsively disordered,
He didn’t judge her.

She smiled when she danced,
People called her happy,
He didn’t want to judge her.

And then she fell in love one day,
People stopped judging her altogether,
And now he judges her the MOST 😉

-Stuti

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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

Hurt..


She wrote him a poem,
He bought her an erasor to rub the story.
She wrote him a prose,
To scratch it he chose.

Her feelings he scathed,
With just no regard.
Her steps never wrong,
He still forgot her like a song.

She’ll still love the times gone by,
With no word about it ever.
Those memories are special,
Will always remain dear.

The spite may grudge her soul,
But will fail to sour it.
She’ll never know the reason,
The reason may mar it.

So now with newfound failure,
And new hope for the future,
She chooses not to forget the past,
Still, re-create the present.

It may not be as bright as she had imagined,
But it will not be dull too.
Just one thing about this all mess
She will never build beautiful hopes ANYMORE.

-Stuti

Strength – Weakness


I may take time,
But I’ll reach there some day.
I may not understand your stand today,
But I’m bound to conquer it one day.

Your situation may be my weakness today,
But not for forever.
Your weakness may break my heart today,
But it will kill me never.

For the weakness gives me strength each day,
Breaking yet re-enforcing my faith in life.
For the weakness deflates my swollen my pride each day,
Pushes me back one step, still taking me ahead in time.

There, not probably at the pinnacle of my time,
I don’t see the twists and turns upcoming.
But his strength, today my weakness,
Shall one day be overcomed, before things become BECOMING.

-Stuti

A painting at the museum


Her inspiration inspired,
She gazed at a painting in the room.
Her imagination ignited,
She observed how the painting was groomed.

There in the painting sat a man with his arms folded,
His eyes at the onlooker, he as if stared at nobody,
She looked back at him and tried to understand the look in his eyes,
Which as if talked to everybody.

She asked him some questions,
None of them he replied.
She told him some stories,
Hoping that all of them he’ll memorize.

Next day she again went back to the museum
To look at the same painting,
Second painting from left it was,
And there it still sat, untouched, unrelenting.

She again told the man some stories,
Asked him questions more,
She stared at him for some time,
And he stared back some more.

This routine, it went on for some days,
And the manager started being amused,
He but chose to ignore the matter,
He started observing the girl bemused.

One day after a month,
A pretty lady in a red dress bought the painting.
That evening when she walked in and did not see the man,
She closed her eyes, prayed, walked away, ran.

The manager went behind to understand this all,
Went behind her and caught up with her around the mall.
She stared at him
Then told him her story at once-

She only hoped the man in the painting,
Would see a beautiful wall in a big drawing room,
And witness stories big and small,
For that she thought was his destiny, a reason for his gloom.
Her stories, she said, were just a practice for him,
For the world was big and scary,
Her questions to him were only a rehersal for him,
For the world was filled with queries.

Confused, the manager walked back to the store,
And saw a little boy talking to a lady in another painting.
He smiled, beemed, and winked at the lady,
For now he hoped he knew the story and the sequence WHOLE.

-Stuti