poetry
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I walk past a restaurantMy feet pause as my eyes snagOn a pale-yellow 3D triangleWith a crusty base andA soft looking cake.
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This is for the strong onesWho are standing with a sword and shield held aloftDressed in armourWaiting for a fight that has long been over.
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It is night.The utensils are clean, and the kitchen has been put to right.The phone is silentEven the city beyond her windows is silent…There is no sound of drill, or horns, or the bustle of people going here, going there.The only sound in the room is the soft whirring of the AC and the distant
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If you wish to hear the poem, please scroll down. Aao sunao mein tumheAlu ki ek prem kahaniWaha tha aluAur yaha thi meinHum mile jab hum dono theEkdum chote seNahin jante the ki sabjiya kya hoti haiNahin jante the ki ye exotic veggies kis hoor ka naam haiBroccoli, zucchini, bell peppersKuch nahin pata tha.Sirf ek
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One of my favourite memories from when I was 4-5 years old. I have wanted to talk about it since forever so it’s unsurprising that it came out as a poem. What was surprising was it came out in Hindi. If you don’t want to read, I have recited the poem too. You can scroll
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The cashmere sweater sitsWhere you left it, in a cornerI haven’t touched the folds…The way one sleeve wraps aroundThe torso – in a pantomime of a hugOr how the left side is slightly raisedTo allow you room to scratch an itch.
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I could write a sonnet for her That would wax lyricalOn how she smells like home.
tales of Suchita 