Shriyandhaa's space

  Have you felt that feeling  That feeling where  You have a lot to say, A lot to explain, A lot to justify,  A lot to argue over, And you do know how - But you don’t know how to? Or, what if, you did, But nobody cared, nobody  Stopped to listen? You don’t know - To feel angry, or sad? Frustrated, or depressed? Annoyed, or overwhelmed? At that moment  The moment of the flurry  Of emotions  You let it take over  And end up doing something  Stupid. Which  Lands you on more trouble  And at the end,  You give up.  See no purpose for everything, Want to run away,  Into the dark void.  But a few moments later,  The same in you  Awakes  And gives you a better idea - Think clearly?  And no matter how hard you try to, Your brain cannot function - Cannot process much more, And so it gives in To the sleep That engulfs it. And at the very end, when you  Wake up, from your whimsies, It’s lost, in...

  Behind the clouds  Is the hidden sky, so far, Behind the plasters, A nasty scar, Behind the curtains,  Are bright windows  But behind a mask - It is not for show. Not until you tumble into the trap,  Stay trapped there, in disguised gloom  Without realising it - And then go deeper and deeper  To discover what really looms. Then realisation strikes - How they behaved, how they feigned The hidden meaning behind every wave  You've found it. And the rage, You try to stifle it with much courage, But instead, burn down the page, And whoops - that leads you to your cage. But in the end, the mask is gone - To reveal an atrocity, so from it begone Don't explain, on its own will it dawn - Upon others, just the way it did on you - Ignore their every scorn. Just wait for their mask to be openly torn.

  As I open an unopened book, Waiting to be opened, To spill out a story  I move forward to read its pages -  But end up sniffing them first instead. Oh, the scent of untouched pages  The feel of the smooth but rough surface  Its colour - very white, but tinted in yellow  And I continue to intake its beautiful aroma  For a few minutes, letting it sink in  Then I gaze dreamily at the pages  The second  Before I lose myself, partly,  Dive deep into the world the pages house.

 A beautiful, wonderful feeling - After a long, exhausting day, Or even one that’s relaxed, Maybe even an average, Nothing can destroy that feeling You feel every night  Every time  You lie down on your bed Curl up under the blankets  As your eyelids give away  When your head sinks into the pillow. You uncoil, relax, close your eyes  Take a deep breath  And let yourself be pulled into an oblivion  First of darkness, Then of scattered thoughts, Then of whimsies and fantasies and dreams  Then of the sound of your father’s snores, Later the feel of your sister sleeping on top of you, Then your mother’s arm, softly tracing yours  And at the end your parents’ voices, Calling for you Waking you up. This is how I feel when I let myself sleep - How do you feel?

You know what they say, "Practice makes Perfect"?  You know how they say, "Let the past  Be the past"? You know how you feel Knowing something you're doing  Is not right, You know they're watching you ponder, You do, right? They stay around you, you meet them, see them Everyday, They can give glowing smiles, or uncanny looks Depending on the aura around you - Wherever you are, they are there  They are there everywhere. You might think you're alone, somewhere D eserted But you never are They're still there - And they are also probably the ones Who know you, better than you know  Yourself. They say confusing strings, There are lots of songs they sing, They have seen lots of things, There's something, which, to myself I'll always Think, It will either remain unanswered,  Or will be forgotten,  But I shall not think it will be addressed But nonetheless -  They cannot control  Everything you do  Even if the things they have said  Echo co...

Click.  Click. Click. As the subtle sounds of the phone's keyboard  Click away to form a silent rhythm, And as I write this very poem, My eyes droop further, with the unexpectedly  Melodic song played by the keyboard And as my mind strays to every corner  To look for better adjectives to write down, It gets more tired, preparing to throw in the  Towel And I now decide to cut it short  As my mom's voice sounds, calling me for sleep, And my eyes fall to their last, before which  One last peep, Good night, poem, incomplete, imperfect, yet  (in my opinion) Neat.

  I see, I hear, I smell, Long lost fragrants of a memory  Yielding wonderful spirits, that I wish still existed, Dreams that I wish were still alive, Endless laughter and love gone by. Yet, it provokes, a feeling of bitter loneliness, Sweetness left to crumble alone, Even if it was supposed to imply aged joy, Yes, I felt a tinge of nostalgic dejection nearby. Yes, it was not from the memory, but it was from me, Envying my younger self, who spent every moment with glee, Every echo of the past something that will last, Tears flowing down my cheeks. Still, I miss the mirth from years before  Even though I've found a new sort of happiness  Still I wish everything was as of past  Try so hard not to lose my self in reveries again. Nevertheless, I will always wonder Rather about how things changed than why Yet I never find a satisfactory answer and Definitely, I will always stop by my cherished, older memories.

  An echo from the past, that continues to echo, But is not heard, amidst the other conundrum, Conundrum it is; an array of diverse memories, Dressed up in assorted attires of spirits each. Even though it knows it's not heard, For long does that one memory continue to reverberate, Growing louder and louder until I found out, Heard that single ripple and dug deep. Inside, I found, a beautiful collection, Jarring, childish, but immaculate all the same, Kites that fly beneath my range of sight Long lost memories, waiting to be re-discovered. My, did I lose myself in the huge labyrinth Never did I feel like waking up from my reveries  Once I did, I found myself wishing, wishing  Pleading to myself to reinstate everything to the past. Quaint is what I am; I'm clingy about the past, Resting in aged laughter and love is what I do, So don't, don't judge me; True, it's just my way of showing I miss old times.

  The sun shone bright throughout the summer which Dreamt of the smiling faces of humans, lit By the sun As they rejoice under the bright sunlight As the echoes of their laughter tell tales of fun . But what does summer discover reality as, But people, struggling under the heavy heat  Faces of dread - not delight, How could summer have known that  The people took a different view of it all? The trees stood  gracefully, housing  Tiny critters and birds  But the axemen saw it of different use  And cut down the arboreal creatures' world. How could the trees have known That they'd be used to make wood  Wooden furnices, inside a home But not a home instead? Flowers, misapprehended by allergic people Heights, misunderstood by the afraid Spiders, mistaken by the non-insect-lovers, The dark, misinterpreted by the timid. Why not see the beauty in flowers from afar Rather than judge them for their sneeze-evoking Scent? Why not admire the beautiful views hei...