Smooth as glass.


There she sits,
In a state of confusion, and suppressed panic.
There she sits,
Ruffled, shaken, jolted, broken.

She sulks for a day or two,
Then takes to crying.
Her vision blurred with pain and tears,
What remains it seemed, was only dying.

They wonder what it is,
But can only wonder.
They probe a little further, and then a little more,
Getting but no answers, only bemused parents, sisters, brothers.

All’s well, she assures them,
And that is that, and all that she will say.
They aren’t convinced, but they leave her to herself,
Trying to retreat to the normal, trusting now only their prayers.

Time, as they say, heals fast and plays its cards,
Her smile is now back- wide, and pretty, beating the pricks.
They say no lie, when they call her a warrior, fighting the odds, battling the evens,
Falling, but rising later nonetheless- smooth as glass, sure as a PHOENIX.

– Stuti

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All at once.


All at once,
Too many things on her mind,
Myriad thoughts not in a pattern in particular?

All at once,
She couldn’t separate one thought from another,
She was confused so much wow?!

All at once,
There was too much happening,
One after another, next one even before the previous?

All at once,
There were simultaneous smiles and tears,
Both for happy, both for sad?!

All at once,
There were people, and there weren’t any,
Was she losing track of the counting?

All at once,
There were too many questions,
Why couldn’t she answer them, when she knew the answers really?

All at once,
There were too many voices,
Or could she now hear the whispers too?

All at once.
All at once.
ALL AT ONCE.

– Stuti

All at the same time.


Sitting by the roadside,
She saw the many city lights stare at her.
Funny as it was, but instead of making her twitch,
They gave her comfort.

For the city had made her comfortable with the noise,
And the havoc no longer made her panic.
For the city had dried her tears,
And the pain seemed just a dramatic gimmick.

What was paradoxical rather,
Was that she had learnt to find her peace in the loud noise.
She now knew how to lose herself in one moment and come back in the next,
Smiling, frowning, struggling to make sense, ALL AT THE SAME TIME!

– Stuti

Jinxed.


It meant a lot to her,
Almost everything maybe,
Or just a little less,
But definitely more that just tiny little.

She was so sure of it,
In varied proportions even knew how to make it again!!
Yet she didn’t want to venture doing it herself,
And wanted to take this one as it was.

She could swear by its beauty,
So much prettiness did it bear.
She was sure she hadn’t seen anything better,
This was it, she was there.

So she approached it with confidence brimming,
So happy, very convinced.
But just when she thought nothing could go wrong,
Somebody pricked it, maybe because it was JINXED!!

-Stuti

White pages..


One day she felt the need,
To write on white pages.
About her life, her stories, her nothings,
Her delights, her all, her musings.

She did not wish to exaggerate,
Nor did she under tone it.
She wanted it to be a happy book,
No parallels, the work was going to be her spirit.

And yet when she began to scribble,
Only mysteries flowed endlessly.
She did not know where to stop,
Surprised she knew so little of some of her own stories!

It started happy, then going slow,
It translated into a story of sorrow.
She went on and on, and wrote some more,
Hoping it’d transpire into something with more highs, less lows.

The purpose of her book,
Was not to inspire anybody.
She only wished to reduce to ink,
Her life, her medley, her parody.

She decided not to read it again,
Because too much pain it had given her in the first place.
Once she had lived it, second she wrote it,
And now reading it will only ruin the compromise her life had made her MAKE.

-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

Kept her busy.


That paper she read everyday,
She re-read it again each day,
But still couldn’t remember the contents.

That photo she saw every morning,
She dreamt of it every night,
But still needed to physically see it to put to rest her plight.

Her ideas- she stringed them together,
Put them to test,
And decided to challenge the best with them.

Her memories- she made a story of them,
Put them in words, weaved them together,
And told it to all in the rem.

Her life- she wanted to document it in a book,
Put it out for all to read,
And re- read it herself so learn lessons from it.

The paper, the dream, the idea, the memories,
She wished were more organised, she hoped did not have crease.
And yet she knew that it all put together,
Alone made the life a challenge, alone kept her BUSY.

-Stuti

When she was sad.


She thought she was the one,
The chosen one.
Her world was filled with expectations immeasurable
She smiled to mean the world to someone,
She cried for the same reason too.
But one day she realised she was not the reason to be a reason,
The things she imagined were too good to be true.
Her eyes moist, her smile gone,
She stared at the wall as if looking for an answer.
The thing she thought was hers, was maybe never meant for her.
Her life a mystery to her, she strived to decode it.
Her life a code to her, she strived to solve it.
And there under the bright afternoon sun as she felt the night go dark,
Her teary eyes spake a story breaking her heart.
She opened her mouth as if to say something
Then shut herself up as she stuttered
Something was pinching her in her own self
Something was bothering her and she knew it so she was bothered.
Her hopes which were soaring by the minute,
Were as if stung by a prick.
She walked a mile, but hardly managed to reach anywhere,
She danced all night, but could not manage to let go of this nightmare.
And as the next morning began to approach,
She closed her eyes and fell asleep,
Only to be waken up by a streak of sunlight peeping into her room,
That stung her eyes,
As if to snatch away all the GLOOM.

-Stuti