‘Let’s recollect’- Divinia Mercy Mynsong

A desire to rewind old days

Gloomier-shabbier little Me,

Has nothing to do with actuality

The only time tears

Flows down ponderously,

Is being beaten up for not having enough milk and cookies.

Playing out unawarely

Wish I to re-live ancient days,

When school bag was the only burden,

And not being introduced to life’s dilemma and traumatising situations.

Those days, when the little Me,

Wakes up cheerfully every morning,

When dancing, loving and laughing was free of cost,

That I barely had times to worry.

Wistfully, those merry days

Have got their own limits

And thus, one only can cherish them,

As wonderful and indelible memories.

Fever - Suguna Mandev

I felt feverish once again,

when I heard your name out again.

I’ve to stop this hurricane that's storming in me

to destroy what I treasured after you left me.

They rain your name to create a flood in me,

to make my fertile land to become barren ground.

It’s been what? A decade?

But you never decayed in my mind as you should.

Instead, you lived like a parasite.

Walking through all the hidden tunnels

that I paid no attention to lock after your exile.

Now you’ve grown without making a sound,

welcoming yourself home,

like I’m the land you own.

You mistake my patience

to reason your disappearance.

But the girl you know has disappeared,

just like you disappeared on me.

If you think redemption is still on the table,

then you probably read me wrong.

I will stop this hurricane with all my might

than choose you again just because I heard your name.

Unheard echoes- Aatika Sartaj

Unheard echoes

She got hurt,

yet refuses to show

Craves for love ,

hard to find one though

Surrounded by evils

with pretty good faces

Feigning sympathy,

in it who were aces

She wants to be heard ,

no one barely know

Wishes to put words

to those unheard echoes

She acts hard rock

yet tender to the inside

Once touched to core,

feelings tougher to hide

Hiding her tears,

putting all her ache aside

Does ever got to know

what's on her mind

They broke her heart ,

She left out unheard

Figure of generosity

she holds yet cursed

Why good ones can't get

the glory they hope

It's always that rogue

who owns the damn show

Countless being sold

for the bribe they've got

For the fame that's hollow

the sanity they've lost

They'll praise her warmth

pious heart someday

She'll never stop being good ,

come what may.

Name - Aatika Sartaj

Instagram username - s_a_r_t_a_j_0110

Bio - Myself Aatika Sartaj I am an undergraduate medical student in SNMC, Agra and I am a writer too who believes that words if molded in a perfect way can change someone's life and I am to here to share my very thoughts.

Death is Green- Ashima Binny

A green witch in your fables

Always escaped

Brought nothing but death

I remember going to bed

Before it struck ten

"One, two, three and green

I would turn into a devil"

It's midnight,

Time for my potion, a concoction

For my health

"One, two, three and green

I would turn into a devil"

What is green?

It is grassy

It is mossy

It is muddy

It is slippery

It's the earth and my body

It shines

It devours

"One, two, three and green

I would turn into a devil"

Am I sleeping? Am I dead?

It is withering

It is lost

Green to brown, to black, to dust

An aching lullaby, ebbing away

From my skin to my bones

It's your fables versus my yearning

Like leaves in autumn

A devil and a creature

A death, turning green

I always behaved, I hope I was a good prot

"One, two, three and green

Ph! Take me to the devil "

This green

Is creeper

It is a poisoned wound

A dart left to kill

It's midnight,

Time for my potion, a concoction

For my health

Green, witch and death

Old Soul- Shweta Arora

These souls are thousands of years old

Feel things differently,

Live life slow,

At night, see stars glow

Being trapped in this soulless world

They hold a heart of gold

Among the new people of a new era

Only few are left

That like deep conversations

From sun to the sand

Being beautiful from inside

Their love can't be measured

From a naked eye

Their old soul and mind

Prefer silence to the wayside shrines

To express gratitude

For the divine grace in their lives

As everyone is so fake around

They lack connection to one another

That hold depth to life

They seek out old-world spot

Far from the madding crowd

They tend to stay alone

As don't fit in with people's timeline

In the ebb and flow

Of day-to-day life

They don't limit themselves

To the values of old school

Nor do they care about the image,

About the talks

People says one after the another

But love to remain grounded

By trying to make sense of the stars inside

To twin with another old soul of their times!

Pangs of Death- Shwetha Harsha

Alone and lonely, I tread my path solemnly swearing that I would live a life of happiness

Brazen I stand, after all the blows in life, bold yet cowardly my demeanor is

Company I have I think , two is a company they say yet thoughts do not merge

Dark and Dainty my days , it was sunny with you, my love, Now it is nightly

Effervescent it should have been with you, without you, I am in incomplete , life indolent

Fallen and failed I respect , I concur to views on life, on success, on happiness

Grateful I stand, I stand corrected, my world is expanded

Heavy and haggard, my heart is, can't carry my heart's mass

Indolent I feel with no fuzziness , with no energy , no sunshine

Jaded , I go forward with Time, time is the ultimate I now know

Kicked and knocked , I fall repeatedly to learn lessons

Lucky are those, who do not understand death, who live like there’s tomorrow

Miraculous is their approach, maverick , carelessly dangling opinions on time

Necklace of pain beads, nerves of steel , nuggets of memories, threads sewn into needles

Obvious moments of tenderness lost , only solace is nostalgia

Pain of death lurking , cries of help , cries of helplessness

Quarantine thoughts of quizzical nature, of not quantum are the hope , the efforts

Risk, reflection, frail body with strong conviction is what I remember

Sassy , sacred , smart , sharp , sweet; adjectives feel small in front of you

Tumultuous was your health , life, yet you went stedfast , forward, reminding me often that

Unrelated circumstances are best left unattended

Vague descriptions are to be filled with established patterns, faces with colors , with life , with fervor

Wages come and go , memories are here to stay, form them like a potter who gives shape

Xeric canvas , must be filled with colors of the rainbow, dash of different hues with saturation , red , green and blue and the new

Yacht, we are sailing in , between yawns and yaps

Zilch is this precious life in the grand scheme of the Universe but we need to travel with zest and zeal

The demeanor of death makes time slow yet swift action is taken , taking away all the pizzazz

Pain shoots up in a second, seconds seem like infinite agony

Peace far in this desert, Not a moment to relax

Can we wait a second, a minute , a lifetime, ask Him to start anew

This life is a theatre where we are actors, but all this is an improv

On the go , inventing moments as we live , Mixed portmanteau of instants , to at least bid adieu

As the dark night grows in expanse, the knight gets up to orbit

The onset of Time , strutting and trusting to be out of the chaos

Eager to cheer life , yet too famished to even utter

Words of encouragement to self , you retreat in mind , but not in spirit , mixing with Nature's cinq

Your courage to fight , your soft nature , I will tell these tales till I live and then pass on up

Knowing I led a life you wanted to live , your aficionado

Black obscurity still remains , death remains a quiz , we mourn , groan

Fools we are , axioms we believe to be true , which ends in gloom

Death is an inevitable current or a cruel devil

Frankly , I am all blank

It's all about ruling self , swa-raj

against constant loss of hope or sheer Ennui

Of life itself , and the pain and anguish

One day , I will leave behind , a legacy just like you did , people cling to the bling

They still do , we two know that stings of lessons, of motif

Taught us that grief is the abode

That we go to constantly with death looking at us , baked yet fresh we should go proud

We should sing a lyric or two , dance to the tune of magic

Of sheer patterns , of hearts that throb

For us , that's all there is between birth and death - a dogma?

The Girl in the Picture - Vidula Power

The music starts to play again,

this time for the crowd to step onto the floor.

I step aside, to make way for the ones

who don't carry four pens, two pencils, three types of rulers and pro-circles to a mock test.

The ones who don't quicken their pace while walking by a mirror,

the ones who don't wear a full coverage track pant for a sprint...

Soon I find myself glaring at a slide-show;

the memories of the passing out class of the year, all lined up.

I use zero to count the number of pictures I was in.

Well, that wasn't a surprise.

I pace around an emotional void, at the sight of sobbing teenagers.

None cry for me and I cry for none.

I guess a person with no evidence of their existence could use a breath of fresh air.

I stride outwards with the mania of feeling things;

my hair flows with the breeze in fits and starts,

only until Google Photos decides to take me seriously.

I land upon a picture of a little girl in an oversized faded blue uniform.

The girl who carried four pens, two pencils, three types of rulers and pro-circles to a mock test.

The girl who tried, and tried again to fit in,

but they stared at her.

Perhaps the same way natural numbers stare at zero.

I reduce to tears,

for the girl I lost somewhere between the loud giggles targeted right at her and lack of claps after her arrival.

I try to bring her back, if only for a little while,

even though a pale emulation of the true conscience.

We laugh, and cry and feast upon a series of flashbacks as the winds start to play along.

I feel her in my veins, filling up the emptiness with a sense of belonging.

I make my way through the bumpy road we willingly chose; not daring to give up on the dreams we fantasized together in our neck of the woods.

My hair flows with the breeze in fits and starts.

Oh mighty winds, while you are travelling the hemispheres, accompanying the clouds,

assisting the leaves and clapping the rocks till they become tender,

grant me a tiny little favour.

If you ever encounter the girl in the picture,

all grown up,

staring into emptiness with strong cups of coffee and dim lights,

flow through her hair in fits and starts, and tell her that I believe in her.

Moment Of Pride - Amit Anand

A buzzing carnival...a magnificent painting,

As I negotiated with this woman looking naïve,

She smiled at me...Sir with this amount,

How will I feed a family of five?

As I listened to her side of the story...the apathy within me died,

And this was a moment of pride.

I came across someone in a cafe,

A guy who bullied me in school,

He talked to me and rendered an apology,

Said back then I was a fool,

As I forgave him...the vengeance within me died,

And this was a moment of pride.

Met a long lost friend after years,

We hadn’t seen each other in a while,

I was mad at him for not staying in touch,

Then he talked about his life turning hostile,

As I expressed my empathy...the rage within me died,

And this was a moment of pride.

I would like to tell you something,

Said my grandpa on his deathbed,

You will leave everything behind here,

So don’t let the riches...get into your head,

As I came to this realization...the greed within me died,

And this was a moment of pride.

A colleague opened up to me,

Said she was born that way,

I told her how amazing she was,

And the world would know this someday,

As I embraced her...the prejudice within me died,

And this was a moment of pride,

And my perspectives opened wide,

The ego within me died,

And this was a moment of pride.

The Sweet Poison -Anushka Devgan

Sitting in a corner gazing out of my window,

My eyes got astonished by the colourful rainbow.

It enthralled me as if it played the crescendo,

By the time as night arrived and gone the rainbow.

This phenomenon captivated my brain,

I thought about the leisure that goes away in vain,

Being a student who is in late teen,

I think about the SWEET POISON that people consume in,

Lesser known is the fact about its win,

It's not you who consume; the drug consumes you in.

Let me tell you a story; a story close to my heart,

Not just close to the heart but my life's utmost part.

A brilliant son, a budding doctor fell in the trap,getting nothing out of it instead his life called it a wrap.

It makes you fly and visualize the futile dreams,

Lately you'd realize the inner hollow screams.

It makes you ignore a mother waiting,

A crying family you start hating.

You enter a world seeming very mellow,

But trust me it is the worst and hollow.

Believe me it's possible to come out,

Possibly need to do before the time gets out.

Just a hope is everything you need,

Saving your own life is an utmost noble deed.

So think as the ball is still in your court,

You're a helm drive wisely your boat.

Navigating womanhood through montages in the city- Prajna Lama

Navigating womanhood through montages in the city

One stands precariously at the edge of girlhood;

when everything seems potent and larger than life one minute,

and juvenile

and frivolous the next.

Grief is the same gloomy-weathered friend,

loss feels sandbag heavy in any form it shape-shifts into.

Your mother is growing older,

and there is nothing you can do about it.

You refuse to relegate your womanhood to one being akin to your mother’s;

but you are your mother,

you are everything like your mother.

You see in yourself the same jaded levelheadedness she has,

you see in yourself the same skill for navigating

the precipice between falling apart and falling together.

You see in her the wisdom you only wish you had listened to.

Growing up is the sinking realisation that

you spent so long hating your body,

only to realise it is also your mother’s body,

and the bodies of the mothers who came before her.

Growing older is realising how stupid it was

to presume you never wanted to be like your mother-

the truth is that you could never be like her.

And now, the fever stays

while travelling in empty coaches

on the train ride through the city,

the same city where you were kissed like a prayer

in one of its thousand minarets,

an adolescent secret hedged

between the pages of your old

seventeen-year-old notebook,

pervasive and easily perceptible,

like the smell of your mother’s old

ivory jewelry, and the phosphorescent burn

of the hills in the dead of the nights.

You start to have a knack for picking up

the time of day by noticing how the rays of sunlight look

on the face of the woman who sits adjacent to you.

They serve as a mirror,

you are your only constant companion.

You go everywhere in the city-

brimming with people and without them.

You give a name to every feeling you have;

you learn to store them like pennies in the

empty glass jars in

your house. Your temporary home.

You have started to realise home is two places at once;

and your body is not adept enough to reconcile between

the desire to stay

and the desire to flee constantly.

The city is lonely, all of it.

You start to see the synchronised movements of

everyone around you.

And all of these bodies make the same noise,

say the same thing,

talk about the loneliness fundamental to us all,

wretched species, bane of the earth,

selfish to the bone.

But there is a certain stillness that occurs amid motion,

a kind of lingering silence that you find sometimes

on the way to where you are going,

sitting outside on the balcony,

in the corner of the party where you stay for the rest of the night.

And you start to long for it,

to yearn for it.

To look for it.

A Visit..- Deveani Suri

And, my heart throbbed;

as I felt,to the new world I was dropped;

I was entangled from both inside to outside;

by the jaw- dropping beauty of Dal lake as I was moving by its side;

The mountains were peeping through the haze;

carrying their perfect shapes;

But due to my short stay;

I had to pack my bag and came back on my way;

But on my way, there was much more to my surprise;

that I really missed as I had arrived there on flight;

As the glittering Sun from the lush green cliffs slowly rise;

I can see the never-ending parabolic mountain edges diminishing in size;

And,the green carpet of crops was glittering like glass shield;

as it was extended across the un-countable fields;

And,my heart was leaping;

everytime I saw the fog and cliff meeting;

I was spell- bound,my eyes wide opened and a smile there on my face;

as I felt the deepest solace;

piercing my heart; like a dart;

And, I was enlightened ;

world is full of things to love and not to get frighten....

THE MIDNIGHT BREEZE- Preetipurna Kundu

The midnight breeze grabbing me tight,

Wiping my unclear thoughts,

Adding the fragrance of love,

Took me to a lane

Where I was standing alone,

Belike waiting for myself,

A look to right and then to left,

Oh! I'm somewhere I never have been,

Am I in future or back into the past,

The breeze slowly released me,

Eyes rolling down,

With a shame in my heart town,

Unable to face the person,

Whom I have lost or never met

and became this version,

The merrier me gazing at me,

Standing still there to embrace me,

The storm of thoughts rose high as full moon tide,

I turned to run back where I used to reside,

I ran till I became breathless,

I ran till my body unloves it's soul.

There came midnight breeze ceasing my way again,

Spreading the blanket of placidity,

Made me realise I came too far,

And I fougth too much,

caressing me, whispered to take a pause,

To take a pause from my inner wars,

To take a pause from my outer mess,

With it's soft flow and leisurely vibrance merged me into my forgotten soul.

A serene silence steped into my mind,

Oh God so peace! Cried my heart,

All hail breeze! Replied my soul.

I Dream A Land- Ancy M A

I dream a land

Where love happen

With anything, to anyone, at anywhere

Without bothering the caste, the religion,

The height, the weight, the name, the culture,

The finance, the education, the language...

And even the land where they stand

I wish they'll forget.

I dream a land

Where humans get treated equal by humans

And not by genders.

I dream a land

Where new insights mold new human

And he will not crumble with the same old thoughts,

The imposed heritage rewarded by his ancestors.

I dream a land

Where my kids see 'Poetry'

As their mother,

"By breaking the shallow nature

Of the sprouted minds,

I'll spread without boundaries".

I dream a land

Where I can see

A layman sits with another

In the same bench

And will not get judged

By their clothes or food or the weight

They carry in their pockets or in their minds,

Instead their hearts get identified!

I dream a land

Where one can live wonderfully

Here in our mother earth

Before boarding to another

Like it's in your hand,

And it's done!

I dream a land

Where we know our place and space is,

We are not the whole

We are just a part

We come, we go

It's ours, not yours

Cause, 'You own nothing,

Nothing owns you too!'*

I dream a land

Where we live passionately

As we are not competitors

If you are, then rise

I will give you the prize

The death, without thinking twice

The rest, without any insight!

And there,

I'll remind you

To bow down to the invisible energy

That hold us straight

And mold us right,

On this round Earth,without falling

But if you ever fall in my dream

Come with me

Let's gather and dream together

Before falling!

*In a podcast, Jay Shetty(Urban monk) said this while quoting from Bhagavad Gita.

A Hairy Tale- Darshana Suresh

“I am beautiful”

I tell my reflection in the bathroom mirror,

Raising my clean-shaven chin

As I scan it for remnant hair,

My razor holding together the strands of shame

Wiped off of my face and armpits,

Having stripped the layer that lacked femininity

To make me beautiful again.

I am beautiful.

The mirror cannot see below my waist,

My plump legs sprouting jet black curls out of the pale skin,

Screaming for attention,

But I manage to strangle them behind tight jeans.

I am beautiful,

As long as my legs are hidden.

And I hid them well enough -

With socks that went above the knee and skirts that dropped below it,

With pants that stretched till my ankles,

Or stockings so dark you couldn’t tell the colour of my skin,

I was beautiful.

Except when I was indoors,

When I’d put on a t-shirt and pyjama shorts,

Letting those conspicuous curls breathe for some time,

Knowing well that it’s a crime,

A crime committed to feminine beauty.

I was guilty.

Guilty of being a womanly disgrace,

Guilty of having this clandestine craze

Of watching people’s legs than their face,

The length of their leg hair, their thickness, their colour,

The contrast with their skin, how it looked on their shin,

How strange

That none were repulsive like mine.

Not even of the men who flaunted their legs no matter how hairy

While mine just looked scary,

Mine was off-putting and so out of place,

I couldn’t help but get rid of its trace.

So I did.

I wasn’t beautiful.

I was now shaving

And scraping

And scrubbing

And hoping

That no one would notice the razor bumps, the blood clots, the rashes,

Or how I sometimes walked like a duck because of fresh and prickly hair down there,

I’d read articles online

And slap some cream onto the burning skin,

My shins were now a battlefield

But nobody was winning.

I hoped to find respite in beauty parlours,

But they mercilessly smeared hot wax onto my thighs

And insisted that my arm hair was also big-sized,

That my nails needed colour and my face needed steam

And my hair needed butter and an overall makeover,

But hey, atleast I was beautiful now. I think.

Because somehow the razor bumps weren’t as repulsive as the hair,

The hot wax wasn’t as troublesome as the looks of disgust,

Strawberry legs looked normal but hairy legs did not,

Red circles could be common but black curls could not,

‘Cause hey,

Painful beauty over judgmental comfort, right?

You see,

I was born with too much testosterone for a girl

Which manifests itself as these curls

In unnatural length

And none at all in terms of muscular strength

And I know

That there are plenty of us with such overgrown hair

On our shins and our chins

How strange

That we collectively choose to hide them.

I wish we didn’t have to.

I wish I didn’t have to choose between

The hot wax and the razor bumps,

The burning skin and the prickly jeans,

The body shaming and the self-pity,

I wish I was woman enough to choose neither,

To look at those curls of testosterone and not find it odd and ugly,

I wish I could let it grow

And still feel beautiful, you know?

I Erase a Dream Everyday- Vandna Kanwar

I see a dream everyday

I live a dream everyday

I feel a dream everyday

I erase a dream everyday

It's not just a dream

It's not a blind sleep

It gives me a new hope

It fills me with some joy

It's not just a dream

It's neither a blind sleep

I love someone from my deep heart

I feel him till my insight

I keep him like a star

Pray & wish for him for a new start

But life is not easy

Also life is not a dream

You can't predict anyone

You can't understand everyone

Everyone has two faces

One is white and another is black

I wish for a white one

But it's my destiny and get a black one

Why there is love for everyone

Why I don't matter for anyone

So now I believe something like this

There is nothing like love

There is only a selfishness

Only adjustment & compromise

Only fakeness and ego matters

That dream of love was only a shadow

Why it's only me who takes this dream

And

Why it's always me for give up the dream

Life is not a dream

Life is not full of cream

It's not a blind sleep

Yet I see a dream everyday

I live a dream everyday

I feel a dream everyday

And I erase a dream everyday

It's tough

It's hard

But I erase a dream everyday

A Fallen Bowl- Falguni Kaushik

There is a man for that:

For that open front door and that ongoing channel running loud at 10 in the morning,

Those papers peeking out of files on the table and the displaced antimacassars just touching the floor.

For that dining table decorated not with some leftover plates. but with groceries from last night.

There too is a bed-

Layered with dust on the headboard, and washed but crumpled clothes on the footboard.

Bedsheet with morning crinkles and a wet towel and pillows with elbow squeezes in the middle.

No, it's not a crime scene in a household but an average day in any.

But there is no worry, for there is a woman with that man too.

There is a woman too:

For that sweet smell of fresh food cutting through this mess that the running fans send spreading.

There is a woman we don't know of;

Mother, daughter, or house help, she could be any.

She is there in those closed walls behind that locked gate, in the stillness of her bedroom fan, in the wiped dust of the furniture, in the ironed clothes inside the cupboards, in the wet towel on the balcony, in the flat bedsheet and fluffy pillows of the room.

She is in all that until that is all she is.

On most average days, there they always are.

But tonight with them is a fallen bowl too slipped from the woman's hands and rolled into the dining room from the kitchen.

There is a man and a woman for it.

But the man passes by it, and the woman passes over it too.

Night's unspoken truth- Leena Singh

At eventide,

When there's spreading silence,

No noises of needs, No fights for one's existence, neither nagging for kites.

Tired eyes have gone to sleep, And every rage has died,

Some slept for tomorrow's dream, Some slept to hide their lies.

Lies to cover expectations, Lies to cover another night,

Another night of achieving nothing, Inverse added one more hunger, somewhere, added more cries.

Waking up, they realize, Today, stepping up will require, Cutting off someone else's ties,

Ties of their dreams, Ties of their lives.

The domain of need has always been, In support of callous and in their wins. Some will make it alive,

While some will die,

In the depths of kindness.

I WILL BE THERE FOR YOU- Simran Sharma

Blood is thicker than water, it’s known,

Yet somehow our bond has always grown.

Even if I were to memorise the dictionary,

To describe what you mean to me will take eternity.

In a room full of people, amongst the largest of crowd,

There used to be a silent girl without any proud.

You met me one day, as easy as breath, held my hand and I never looked back.

From fun to adventures, we encountered it all,

By rambling to you, all my problems became small.

The best thing about you is that you never know to judge,

Effortlessly letting go off every grudge.

Remember you said that long distance relationships don’t work,

Isn’t it ironic that you never failed us?

Caring like a mother, strict like a teacher, no doubt you’re weirdest of all creatures.

The moments we’d spent together might be few,

But they always assured me that it’s not the adieu.

Who’d believe that we never had a fight?

As you always ignore the differences and focus on the rights.

Blessed are all to have you in their lives, you’re beautiful, intelligent with the prettiest smile.

I can’t wait to share my life with you, all the sins and the crimes;

Cause no matter who you end up with, your heart will always be mine.

The meaning of soul mates I got from you,

No matter how tough it gets, I WILL BE THERE FOR YOU.

-SIMRAN

Shoe lace- Sakina Husain

Hustle, bustle!

Knock, knock!

Where are my shoes?

Where are my socks?

I wish to wear them

To catch up for the rat race

But every other day,

I get them misplaced.

Tied too tight,

I may choke.

Let loosely lie,

I may collapse.

Can anyone just help me

Get done my perfect solace(shoe- lace)?

Hustle, bustle!

Knock, knock!

Before and After- Akriti Duggal

The day before I killed myself

I constantly considered and pondered on the words and sentences that would form my suicide note.

The words you are reading right now.

Tell my sister I am sorry I did not finish the puzzle with her

Tell my mother I am sorry for passing in her beloved sweater

Tell my father that after this I could never disappoint him again

Tell my grandmother to spread her arms as I'm finally going to meet her again.

Tell the therapist, sorry but you're not helping

tell the floor, sorry for the blood, dripping

Tell the world, you lost a soul.

You lost a good soul

Tell my friends they won't be troubled by my "Guys I feel sad" ever again

Tell my feet, its time to stop

Tell my lungs it can save oxygen for someone else perhaps

Tell my heart to stop doing its job

Tell the pain goodbye and tell goodbye I say hello

Tell the world that

I wish to shatter the silence with my teeth, my tongue

destroy it with my bare hands

intoxicated with power, as if drunk

bang it against the wall, tell it you suck

Wail like a banshee against your eardrums

beat my head against the wall, not out of insanity but simply to make some noise

I want the tea kettle to rise to soprano

screech, bawl, shout, shriek, yell

I just want the goddamn silence to go away

People take their own lives in silence

BECAUSE of silence,

and I just, I just need someone to listen.

The day after I killed myself

I wish I could unkill myself

I wish I could unkill myself after I heard my bet friend express this to me

"I'm sorry but I will not visit your grave

I will not position yellow lilies next to your dead body

I will not think about you in the past tense

I will not listen to people speak about you all soppy

What I will do is

write your poetries, write your love letters, write you songs with many errors

or better yet I'll get you to harry styles to do that

What I will do is quote friends and the Office, mold clay doh in the shapes of clouds and moons and remind you that Starbucks has a new frappuccino coming sometime soon.

What I will do is buy your favorite books and read you stories.

What I will do is stay by your side till the day comes when you finish your conditioner before your shampoo.

What I will do is feed you chicken popcorn till you cannot chew.

I don't want your deflated lungs but do want deflated birthday balloons that did their job.

I don't want your heartbeat slowing but instead racing once you see a cute guy at the bus stop.

I don't want your cold skin but want it filled with warmth tucked under a blanket within.

I don't want your voice fading, but heard and echoed even in the tombs of Egypt, quaking

I don't want you gone, I am here to listen

I officially break the silence

just give me a phone call