Deadline to submit your poems has been extended to February 28th.



"In a world dominated by red and black and sultry blues,
Perfused with a tangy touch of lavender, spearmint green and neon hues,
You make a dash for bland, sterile, old-school white...
Really, what kind of a millennial are you?"
You'd censured my taste in fashion, half-winking, that first time at the
The lovesick girl that I was, I dropped my autonomy to be part of your clique.

A raven croaked in my ear that moment,
and my stomach churned.
But we stepped onto hell's driveway, anyway ---
to craft an idlyllic fairy tale
on toxic slow burn.

Vibrant shades replaced the
monochromes in my closet,
And my common sense
taken over by your know-it-all bling.
My work, my friendships,
my sense of freedom were all
anathema to you,
Guess the only thing I could now decide
were my underthings.

The left turns became
the wrong turns ---
my meat-eating, spaghetti-wearing, donning-my-hair-in-wild-curls
habits, all frowned upon.
Pray, how could you make my
heart soar in ecstasy
while crushing my ribs
under the weight of
your misguided fantasies?
For I was the ambitious, carefree
bohemian soul
you wanted to drink blood from,
fill your emptiness with,
and sculpt into patriarchy's mould.
So much so,
that all I can see looking back at me
in the mirror
is a wraith writhing in agony,
an endless black hole.

I was born of ash,
of water swirling in its tempest
on the ocean bed.
And survived a cacophony
of murderous whispers, wails,
pungent rebuke, the feeling of otherness -
In a place I used to call family.
Browns, greys, reds,
bottle greens, splattered thick across my walls
(I'm talking about my esophagal lining,
just so you know),
drowning out my inner sanctum,
my innocence,
my purity.
Is that why I chose white
as my favorite?

Maybe. Maybe not.

But as I turn my back on you,
and the 'us' you so
strategically conjured
in the stealth of the night,
I dream of sinking my
feet in glorious, golden sands
on a farwaway beach along
the coastline...
wearing a lacy white dress grazing my knees, and a serene smile
adorning my flushed, pink cheeks.
My face up to the sun,
letting it
kiss me,
kiss me,
kiss me,
till all I can see
is a stark, white canvas
of new beginnings
all around me.


1 comment

  • Beautiful

    Geetika Saini

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