Woven Lines

 Hey you all,

I decided to post something different from the usual this time. These are four fictional pieces I've written and all four poems surround the same theme - of feeling frustrated, wanting out and trying to get back to yourself. Some are old pieces and ideas to which I weaved in some new lines.

 The comments and messages I received on the previous blog 'Self Care, An alien concept' were overwhelming so I also want to thank everyone who reads my blogs, shares them and leave heart warming comments. I hope you like this one too. 

 

 Objects in the mirror 

They say objects in the mirror appear closer than they are               

But I'm standing here
In front of a mirror
And what I see does not feel closer to me

They say objects in the mirror appear closer than they are
But I feel a million miles away from myself
So far away that I no longer think that
What I see is me

They say objects in the mirror appear closer than they are
Yet I find myself so far away
Feeling unrecognizable, so foreign
I don't know me

They say objects in the mirror appear closer than they are
But are they really
Or is it just me  

Spiral

 

I'm tired
I'm tired of spending all my time trying to be just okay
I'm tired of losing myself in this spiral
                                    This spiral that never seems to end
This spiral that seems to exist only in my head

They tell me I'm weak, fragile, sensitive
They tell me I won't make it
Make it?
How will I make it when they say all that
And that is what is what I end up seeing in myself too

I'm tired
I'm tired of trying to find myself
Myself, a word I find so unfamiliar
Unfamiliar as the reflection in my mirror
I find myself right where I started
Like the sun does every twenty four hours
Hours go by while I try to unravel the muddle that are my thoughts
My thoughts that drag me under
Under to the depths of the netherworld

 

 

Break Free

I want to break free
Like the sun from behind the clouds after a storm
Like the butterfly from its cocoon
Like like the aerial roots of the mangrove trees in the Sundarbans

I want to break free
From the invisible claws                                                                   

Which grip me tight
As tight as my mother did
When we visited the town fair
And I was but a little girl of five
For the fear of losing me

For the fear of losing me?
Little did she know
That the little girl she gripped so tight
Would still get lost
But as a girl not so little
And as a girl of 18
Lost to herself

Lost to herself
To a point where
Getting back seems inconceivable
Like the sun rising in the west 

 

 

 

Cut up sky

 

I ran to the forest
   As dawn shattered the night
Ran until my legs gave away

When I finally stopped and looked up
The sky was cut up into a hundred pieces
By the ever reaching branches of the redwood trees

And as I stood there
All I felt was emptiness and anger
And frustration and hate
And hurt and suffering

I opened my mouth wide and screamed
Nothing but silence came out
My throat hurt
It felt like pebbles were lodged in
And I clawed at my neck hoping it'd stop

I stood there feeling like my ears were going to pop
The waterlines of my eyes
Which were but two dams on the verge of collapsing and when it did
I felt the tears roll down my cheek like cool, black pearls

- T Kinjala