Unmade

 

With an unexpected little tug
I’m becoming unglued
All the patches that I’d sewn
Will now expose the feuds

And the echoes will escape me
As the heart becomes unmade
The scraps of makeshift fabric
Just rags of skin and red

Giving the world back its void
I’ll be an unplugged amplifier
Motionless like Roman ruins
Theatres that blared desire

Empty of fulfilling emptiness
As the stitches are coming off
Resurfacing are the unhealed
Where needles had made it rough

With an unexpected little tug
I have become irrevocably unglued
The wind blows the infected threads
I’m gone, left with nothing to conclude.

________

 

5.56am and this is what I’m doing. Yikes, mum’s up gotta wrap up tonight’s writing ventures and go to sleep.

 

— Pratty

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Why~ (poem)

Yes, I’m a fortress of full stops.
You, the surrounding river of question marks
Your arrival was an exclamation
Putting a comma in my comatose
Your words, the forgotten use of semicolons
Like the quote marks in the songs you hum
Inserting memories encased in brackets
With a nightly ellipsis of misunderstandings
Unprovided spaces misquoting truths
Not the possessive case of apostrophes
But curved like your guiltless smile
A question mark, why?

____

A li’l something I just wrote.

 

— Pratty

Unafraid

Often I’m afraid of drawing things I want to draw

And write of emotions freshly cut and raw

I want to attack the canvas

With gentle impatient strokes

Till my eyes are red from chemical fumes

I want to stand by my easel

Till my shoulders hurt

And stare at the naked image of my mind

That has often teetered on the verge of shipwreck

I want people to look at my works

And wonder if I’ve lost it all

I want them to read the thoughts I engrave

And judge my societal decency

I want them to try and solve me but fail

I just want to be unafraid.

 

_____________

 

5 am thoughts. Free verse.

 

— Pratty

Loud

 

Quieten your eyes, they speak too much
Saying things you hide and clutch
All the thoughts you told me not
Hollering answers I never got

Quieten your eyes, too much they smile
Languid and hypnotic, they beguile
Innocence etched, emotions stretched
They shout, they shun, bluntly edged

Deafened by your unspoken feelings
And sudden outbursts of dealings
Quieten your eyes, for they deceive
All the words and lies, I received.

Quieten your eyes, they speak too much
Piercing the silence you imposed
Quieten your eyes, they weaken my senses
Collapsing my carefully laid pretenses.

_______

 

Woohoo! Wrote something after ages. While currently I’m not sure about doing NaPoWriMo (National Poem Writing Month), this could definitely count as some warming up.

— Pratty

 

Why.

Why does it always¬†happen that when you come across someone who’s somewhat/pretty much like you… They’re either taken or already into someone else?

It’s as if people are objects and them liking someone makes their interest/attention out of stock but sometimes there’s a limited edition of their affection but by then you’re broke.

Surely there are people out there who can relate.

So many broken hearts, and to mend them – none.

— Pratty

Anaesthetics

My dreams are my anaesthetics. They partially numb me from reality’s double-edged swords. The myriad possibilities they present me with help me fight my battles.

The partial pain keeps me going no matter what. And reminds me that, “No, I can’t stop. I’m not there yet.”

My dreams, they give me hope, hope that becomes a mental crutch to this veteran warrior.

They help me recuperate while my wounds heal.

They make me look forward… To living. To being alive.

And for that, I’ll forever be in debt of my dreams.

— Pratty

At peace

“You beautiful, beautiful rain. Thanks for letting me breathe under your fluffy wings, and get drenched in your soul-soothing showers.

I haven’t felt this happy, and liberated since the day I gave myself a haircut.”

— My Facebook status yesterday.

I swear, I cannot put into words what an incredible day it was yesterday. It was an hour from sunset, sis and I, we were sitting on our terrace and a very light rain started pouring, we didn’t move. We high-fived each other, laughed, sat in silence feeling the raindrops caress our soul, and smiled toward the sky.

Peace at its utmost.

It started pelting harder and sis went to stand by the terrace door, sheltered from the intensifying rain. Can’t blame her, anything too cold results in throat pain.

I stayed under the open sky, the sun was about to set somewhere behind the clouds. The clouds gazed back, swirling in and out of innumerous recognizable shapes. I kept pointing and yelling over the downpour what I saw – a little princess riding a horse, a mid-leap Cocker Spaniel, a stingray and a school of fishes, a rodeo, and so on.

I hummed to my own tune, swayed, danced, urged my sister to step out and dance with me, held out my arms to the wind – embraced it in my mind. It was all like something from a lovely dream, like¬†being in a poem someone’s writing.

It felt as if all my sorrows had been washed away. For some reason these four words kept repeating themselves in my head like a whisper – “The moment is now.” The moment for what, I know not. Maybe to live in the moment. But what I do know is that I am now at peace.

PRIYASHA-PANGARI-PHOTOGRAPHY-allthingszeudon.wordpress.com

Me. Posing. For sis.

I hope everyone’s been having a wonderful week as well!

Much love,

Pratty