Shriyandhaa's space

 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...

A delicious apple lay before me And as my eyes shone, my hands picked it up With greed My mouth took a bite, triggering a rush of  Taste  And the wonderful apple I devoured with haste. As I washed it down with thirst quenching water, I felt something hugging the back of my inner tooth, It seemed to tighten its grasp as time fell slacker, And I fumbled all along to get it out soon. My tongue turned in all ways As it tried to push the irritant out But at the end, my tongue turned in for the day As I bit it hard - releasing a raspy shout. I used my blunt fingers Nail-free, to pluck it out, But it became weaker As I dug my tooth more - no luck, a pout. I rummaged my house for one - just one toothpick, Or any sharp object that won't mind  Going in and out of my mouth to fetch the bit out quick But only that object I couldn't find. I stood in front of the mirror, Looking again and again  At that stuck apple crumb that seemed to have gotten Bigger  I kept fiddling with...

The sea, the sky and I  And the horizon, a distant beauty  As I sit on the seashore, staring at  The vast dark blue  Imagining gliding across its still surface  And slowly curving upwards  Up, and up, and up, Let the air whip through my hair, As I attempt to touch the limitless sky Soaring through a vast hue of pink and orange, Or, at times, a faded blue, And as I slowly turn to look around, I see that the sky meets the sea. A slight touch, a brush, that's all, A subtle moment with enormous beauty, And this is where we, The sky, the sea and me, This is the part where the three of us Join together and meet.

Life is like an escalator  You climb on, and it moves  You can't pause it, you can't hinder But the movement of your legs Shall become a catalyst  And when it's the end of the ride, It doesn't wait; you either climb off promptly, Or get your slippers stuck at the end of  The belt. Nothing can be decided by you, There's no slow motion here. Only your balance  Can keep you on the escalator of life. You can either skip steps, go through them Or let time transport you to the right places At the right pace But whichever decision you make cannot be Reversed, Because climbing up a descending escalator  Or descending an ascending escalator  Is a hopeless waste of time, in my opinion. There is no purpose fearing the end; No purpose going back to avoid climbing off The step depends on the way you see the edge; As a beastly, man-eating monster, Or a machine, that helps you out. There are many things you can understand  From the working of an escalator, Wheth...

  I sat on our living room sofa, quietly surfing through my English textbook, making sure I didn't miss any synonyms or word meanings to read for the next day's exam. Just as I was doing so, my mom shuffled over to the living room and switched on our TV. She started pressing a few buttons, and I decided to move on to biology, the bigger challenge. Biology has never caught my interest - and I won't say it's easy to read, either. Just as I grabbed my biology textbook, I heard my mom grumbling. I looked up and saw that she was still fiddling with the buttons of the remote. "What are you trying to do?" I asked her. She continued with her muttering, and after a few seconds of hopeless clicking she replied, "Your grandmother just called me over phone to tell me that Shankara TV is displaying an impressive dance program." "And you're having trouble navigating the app?" I asked, not needing to hear the answer, since I already knew what it was. ...