Coffee, Tea or Cocoa?

A shot of sunshine in my coffee

Like a piece of rainbow in my soul

A storm in my teacup

Rages before I’m whole

Life seems toasted

Like a mini marshmallow

Submerged in my cocoa

Put them all together and you’ll see

Beverages make me loco.

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Mum’s the Word

I was just a girl

With a whole lot to say

But lips sewn tightly shut.


You gave me a pen

And a scrape of waste paper

And the stitches fell away.


Words flew

Bled

And oozed

Across the dirty, stained page.


By the time I was done

I was undone.


As I watched every surface

Slowly overrun with scribbles

I allowed myself to smile.


For I was just a girl

With a whole lot to say

But lips sewn tightly shut


Yet, till the time I have words

At my mercy

I’ll always find a way.

Thank God It’s Friday?

On a Friday night

Just like any other

I lay in bed

Without a single bother

The town swirled around me

A blur of coloured lights

People rushed around talking

In a murmured buzz

It was a downright circus, aye

Like a merry-go-round

Running at a nauseating pace

While I stood silently still

At it’s very centre

Strung to it all

Feeling its ebbing throes

Yet disconnected from the throng

Like a marionette

The world passed me by

While I, the very epicentre

Felt like an innocent, dumb bystander

For on a Friday night

Like any other

I lay in bed

Without a single bother

Scenarios

In the best of cases

You’d be alive

Without victories under your belt

And feathers in your cap

Rich, for your experiences

Richer, for your successes

Richer still, for all your failures

Better now

Than when you started

Hopelessness’ despair

You’d have thwarted

So do it

Give it your all

Take life by the horns

Because

In the worst of cases

You’d be alive

With more than a breath left in you

Depth

There are words

And then there are words

Written to stir souls

Spoken to ignite fires

Resonating with grit

And the force of desires

Some others still

Create lyrical melodies

Their harmonic composition

Curing fearful maladies

And all I can do

Is soak them all in

Read. It’s a good habit, I was told

But I gladly beg to differ here

Do more than read

Feel. Feel the essence of every word

And you’ll be one with the world.

Why A Poet #9

I was making a list

Of some of my favourite things

And my pen leaked

A blob of royal blue ink

I watched as it spread

Forming a myriad of shades

Sometimes changing hues

And I realised

My most favourite thing

Is to observe what I see

And pen it down in poetry

So I may remember the mind’s complex mysteries

For all of eternity.

Are you aware of this blog’s running series on why one writes poetry?

No?

Fret not!

I’m popping the links down below and would love to hear what you think! Most of all, I await your own take on why poetry.

Love,

Varnika

Links:

  1. Why A Poet
  2. Why A Poet #2
  3. Why A Poet #3
  4. Why A Poet #4
  5. Why A Poet #5
  6. Why A Poet #6
  7. Why A Poet #7
  8. Why A Poet #8