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Kintsugi Pot

This is a poem that is out of the schedule. It is about my best friend who is a constant inspiration for me.


Picture Courtesy: Style by Asia

Don’t worry about that pain in your head,
It’s the thoughts that are running wild.
Don’t worry about the bulge in your spine,
It proves the fact that you have one.

You may think that you have weak knees,
Cos, you don’t see what they carry.
You may feel like your shoulders droop,
Forgetting those who stood on them.

Don’t hate your hair when it gets frizzy,
Brainwaves are electric in nature.
Don’t hate your cheeks for being chubby,
They make the most heartwarming smile.

Sorry, I reduced you to parts,
Words fall short describing you whole.
Sorry I pointed out your flaws,
Though those were all your own comments.

Don’t bother about naysayers,
They can’t comprehend what you are.
Don’t bother about those heartbreaks,
You’re just like a kintsugi pot.

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A Wish

Day thirty of NaPoWriMo. For the last poem of the month the challenge is to translate a poem from a non-English language. I chose to attempt a famousĀ  Malayalam poem called Moham (wish) by O.N.V. Kuruppu.


I wish once more I could reach that courtyard where my memories still graze,
I wish I could once more shake that gooseberry tree in a corner of that courtyard,
I wish I could go and pick up a gooseberry and eat it.
I still wish to appreciate the pleasing sourness and bitterness.
I wish I could then drink water from the well and exclaim how sweet!

I wish once more I could sit idle by the shore of that river.
I wish while sitting idle I could listen to the cuckoo’s song and sing back.
I wish listening to that I could catch the cuckoo’s melody.
I wish I could say no when the deceived cuckoo finally flies away.

I wish to pointlessly keep wishing despite knowing that these wishes are pointless.
I wish to pointlessly keep wishing despite knowing that these wishes are pointless.

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A Little Injury

Day twenty nine of NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt is to write a poem in the style of I Remember by Joe Brainard. Another true story.


I remember, when I was about ten,
I remember, I was playing around,
I remember, being in the front yard,
I remember, I had a stick or twig,
I remember, it was clutched in my hand,
I remember, I did not run too fast,
I remember, I did not pay attention,
I remember, the ground was uneven.

I remember, my foot hit something hard,
I remember, how I lost my balance.
I remember, how I fell face first,
I remember, I landed on a step.
I remember, wound was between my eyes,
I remember, getting up to see blood
I remember, blood dripping from the wound,
I remember, it didn’t hurt like I thought.

I remember that Dad was not at home,
I remember, Mom was in the shower.
I remember, neighbors took care of me,
I remember, Mom took me to the Doc.
I remember, I was scared of stitches.
I remember, the Doc said it won’t hurt,
I remember, he said it’s an ant’s bite.
I remember, he wanted my eyes closed.

I remember, I did not flinch at all,
I remember, the Doc thought I was brave.
I remember, the bandage looked like ‘X’
I remember, getting the stitches out.
I remember, because I have the scar,

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The Mysterious Lady

Day twenty eight of NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt is to write a story in the form of a poem. Also the poem should start from the end and then work it’s way to the beginning. Thankfully I have had this story that I’ve been waiting to pen down. This is a true story.


I wonder if she continues to stay there.
I thought she might follow but she didn’t.
I was curious if I’ll see her again.
Woke up at dawn feeling slightly mellow.

I didn’t quite realise when I fell asleep.
I stayed there waiting to see her again.
On the bed, lying flat on my belly,
The warm day and heavy meal was tiring.

I mentioned about her to a close friend.
I didn’t share the tale except over phone,
She was in my  head, through most of the day.
Out of the room, roaming through my hometown.

I heaved a sigh of relief or regret.
She left the room as graceful as ever.
I felt proud of myself,  I’d stood my ground.
I was ecstatic,  I’d conquered my fear,

My gamble paid off, she felt defeated.
I had made up my mind to face my fears,
It can’t be undone, I have to hold fort.
What had I done did I just invite death?

I kept saying “you’re not real” “you’re not real”
Her rage appeared more intense than before.
Her breath was hotter, as if she breathed fire.

She came floating in, her eyes seemed bigger.
Turning around slowly, glaring at me,
To my horror she stopped right at the door.
As loud as I could I said “you’re not real”

This was the time for me to walk the talk.
I’m not superstitious, I’m a skeptic.
This cannot be real I must be dreaming.
This is not real, why should I be so scared.

She was starting to float towards the door,
Completely beaten by this unknown power.
I had surrendered, fighting was pointless.
Despite my attempts, I could hardly move.

Seemed to stun my muscles and vocal cords.
The constant blowing of hot air somehow,
Of what appeared to be like paralysis.
It seemed like her breathing was the true cause.

My whole body seemed to be paralysed,
She continued breathing on my shoulder.
Her eyes appeared intense like burning coal,
She looked like a witch from a fairytale.

More than her looks, t’was the presence she had.
She seemed old but by no means was she weak.
I could see her but not make much of it,
On the floor I could see her reflection.

With great difficulty I crawled to the edge.
I had to do something, I tried to crawl.
Starting to panic, trapped on a mattress
I couldn’t move a muscle, except to breathe.

Trying to figure out what was happening.
I wasn’t able to look up or see,
When I froze like I was in a coma.
It was quite a strong feeling that I had,

Clueless about the night that was to come.
I thought I would fall asleep pretty soon,
I got undressed and went to bed in briefs.
I was tired as hell when I checked in,

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Day twenty seven of NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt is to write a poem with long lines. Each line is to have seventeen syllables. This is an instance from today.


A gust of hot air, kept blowing across my face, my trip to the bank.
The most boring place, with plenty of processes, no one seems to know.
Reading notices, going from counter to counter, searching for answers.
Grave bunch of faces, infested with paperwork, doesn’t set a mood.
Cubicles, counters, joined seamlessly makes the beast, called a retail bank.
Despite few changes, through web, phones and ATMs, banking stays painful.
For once in a while, a trip to the bank just seems, quite inevitable.
The once is enough, it takes its toll on your mind, reinstating hatred.

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The need for Feminism

Day twenty six of NaPoWriMo. The prompt is to write a poem that’s like a sea shanty, but with a question and answer style. With the answer being the same for every question. I thought of a few recent political campaigns that used this. I thought I’ll dig up a campaign from the past which I was a part of. Think of this as sloganeering.T


A collage of misogyny

To stop all discrimination,
I need feminism.
For rights to be guaranteed,
I need feminism.
So all can travel freely,
I need feminism.
Access to public places,
I need feminism.
Freedom to be out at night,
I need feminism.
Make important decisions,
I need feminism.
To not be seen as lesser,
I need feminism.
To remove double standards,
I need feminism.
Against moral policing,
I need feminism.
For smashing patriarchy,
I need feminism.
To remove gender based roles,
I need feminism.
Not to be judged on my looks,
I need feminism.
To challenge the status quo,
I need feminism.
Not to play second fiddle,
I need feminism.
Face the world at equal terms,
I need feminism.
For equal representation,
I need feminism.
To fight domestic violence,
I need feminism.
To act against misogyny,
I need feminism.
To address social evils,
I need feminism.
To be let alone in peace,
I need feminism.

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The Glutton – A Biography

Day twenty five of NaPoWriMo. Today’s prompt is to write a poem taking a line from a different poem. I chose to take a line from ‘three little pigs’ by Roald Dahl.


I know how full my tummy’s bulging,
But that’s never stopped me from wanting,
To eat till I can’t eat anymore.
That’s the ideal time desserts are for.

Why do I have such an appetite?
Always looking forward for a bite.
It could be a high metabolic rate,
Even if I’m quite inactive of late.

Indulging myself in mead and meat,
This is one craving I cannot beat.
I don’t mind as long as I’m able,
In helping friends to clear the table.