The girl distressed.


She didn’t mean to cry,
But she did.
Each tear, symbolic.

Her emotion soaked tears,
Spake stories of bravery.
Bravery, unprecedented.

She was a mess of confusion,
Her tears fell in a landscape for dilution,
And for reasons beyond understanding.

She wore heavy makeup,
She was dressed uptight,
Only in an effort to hide her plight.

She failed miserably,
For her eyes deflected pain nonetheless.
An effort to hide wasted, the girl distressed.

So all went well, in fact without a crease.
Yet every time wind blew,
Her mind lost its PEACE!!

-Stuti

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Life, a cheater.


It was as if life was cheating on her
And so she was cheating back.
Life was laughing at her,
It scared her to laugh back.

She was battling against odds,
Or so she thought at least.
She was fighting for clarity of thoughts,
Life a tough master, difficult to please.

She had made her own rules in life,
Life refused to accept them.
She resisted norms, increased her own plight,
Life smirked at her attempts.

One day then she broke away, shattering into pieces,
The shatter was big, loud and disturbing.
Life picked her up and put her back in the mould,
Ever so kind, ever so COMFORTING.

-Stuti

Satire..


No dearth of ideas,
She desires to create yet more.
No dearth of rejections,
She desires to reject the stall.

Life, a panoramic reel of events,
She desires to chain hers to herself.
She wishes not to share herself with others,
And yet is treaded upon as easily.

No, she doesn’t shout,
But she can!
No, she doesn’t throw tantrums,
But she can!

She wants to keep to herself,
But she cannot be a case study in a vacuum.
She wants to raise a toast to life,
But she can’t find that glass in the room.

Without the ideas, the glass, the toast,
It seems all bleak, much too mist.
She craves for clarity, not beauty she desires,
Some jealousy also mixed, her life’s a SATIRE!!

-Stuti

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

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

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