Pulchritude

They talk of beauty in absolute terms

Then subjugate it

To paltry subjectiveness

Till it reaches insulting objectification

I wonder

What become of appreciation

Isn’t gratitude

Its own gratification

Isn’t there a little beauty

In every creation?

Let’s, for once,

Behold it again and

Make that humankind’s salvation?

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To Do or Not to Do – What’s the proper way of skincare?

I don’t own a lot of cosmetics. Frankly, even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I’m more of a lightly kohl-lined eyes and a tinted lip balm kind of girl. Not that I have anything against makeup. I just never felt any need for it. So, when countless tutorials pop up as YouTube ads, and hordes of fashion and lifestyle influencers vouch for the virtues of a newly launched product, I feel slightly intimidated and subdued. Most of all, I feel if there was something I haven’t been doing that I absolutely should have been! Am I letting my skin die? Am I letting my body down? Do I need to develop a night-time ritual and a day-time one? Do I need to go the parlour more often? How much moisturising is enough moisturizing?

And answers I have none. So if any of you would be so kind as to solve my dilemma, I’d be eternally grateful. If you’ve used products for skin care or have home remedies for common skin and body ailments as well as preventive measures, please drop your valuable insight in the comments section down below. You’d be saving a girl!

Remember, real queens fix each other’s crowns!

Thank you.

P.S. – I can see you liking the post but I don’t see any comments, sirs and ma’ams. Get on on it, pretty please?

Grey Eyed Beauty

There were oceans

In the grey pools of her eyes.

Whether reservoirs

Drained through tears

In the darkest of nights,

Or whirlpools

Designed to suck me in

At the slightest of glimpse,

I’ll never know completely for sure.

But there are oceans,

In the grey pools of her eyes.

Where I’m swimming in circles

Desperately trying to stay afloat

And where I’m overtaken

By the overwhelming feeling

Of letting go

And I wonder what it would be like

To drown within her ravenous storms.

Consciousness

You make me conscious.

Not the nervous kind. The aware sort. Around you, I’m more conscious of myself. Not the doubting or second guessing kind. The feeling alive sort.

You make me notice how your eyes light up with the curve of my smile. How you adore every single movement of mine. How you hang on to every word that rolls off my tongue. How you exude warmth whenever I feel cold.

You make me realise I am beautiful. To you.

She Walks in Beauty

She stooped to retie her shoelace

And in the process, dropped two of the many

books she was carrying.

She gathered them up with aplomb

And went back to waddling on her way.

She refilled her cup of coffee from a machine

Took a sip, then smacked her lips in clear approval.

She hurried on along her way,

Half skipping to the tune of a song in her head.

She paused to smell a flower on the way

And to smile wide at a chirping bird.

She ran to jump across a puddle

Yet made sure to stomp on every dry leaf just to hear that satisfying crunch.

She trotted on, oblivious to a jeer aimed at her,

While taking time to respond to the soft queries of a tiny tot.

She giggled as the wind caught her hair,

Making sure to walk against it.

She also did a merry jig beside a street performer

Then made a round with a hat in hand just to leave it all behind.

There is nothing significant to remember her by if you saw her pretty face,

But when she walks, oh! you wouldn’t forget her, because she walks in all kinds of beauty and grace.

For more poetry, please click here. Please leave your thoughts and comments down below, I’d be delighted to get a feedback. Thank you for reading!

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Of Words Long Lost

I wrote a poem today which included the word “respair”. This was neither a typo nor something I just made up. It is a word that got lost somewhere along the pages of time. The last known citations for it date back to 1425 AD. For a word that defines the return of hope after a period of despair, it’s been an undeserved and shabby end, don’t you think?
I, for one, have always been fascinated with words. It baffles me that something as full of complexity like feelings can be conveyed through words. We might not be able to find the right word for what we feel at the right time, but there’s comfort in the fact that one certainly does exist. If not in our language then in some other. 

Recently, I even did a short story series that brought to the fore a Welsh word called Hiraeth and another forgotten word called Sonder. Please click on the links provided to read a story conveying the beauty of these two words. 

I am thinking of putting in an attempt to rekindle love for words that have very specific meanings. Not only would they cut down on long ramblings, but will also enrich the beauty of our prose. 

Now, I do not wish to test the might of the wisdom that had gone behind sending these words into oblivion in the first place. However, don’t you feel it’s nice to learn a little something new every other day? So if you’re up for a trip down memory lane of words long lost, give me a thumbs up in the comments section down below. I’ll turn this into a series then, with, of course, stories rather than just an informational like this one.

Just so you know, there’s a German word called ‘Schadenfreude’ which literally means the pleasure derived by someone from another person’s misfortune. These Germans really have a word for everything!

Do let me know if you think the series would be a good thing for you too. Thank you for reading!

In case you want to reach out to me on social media or for any of the reasons mentioned in my about page, I’m always available on the following links:

A thing of beauty, is in pain forever

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Her eyes crinkle as she laughs

A full-throated, soulful chime.

Her expressions flicker across her face,

Betraying her thoughts every second of the day.

They come and go with each word she says

A little before and a little behind.

Her hair are a golden brown,

Like sunshine dipped in cinnamon,

Falling in gossamery wisps to frame her face,

The curls bouncing with every breath.

Her skin all honey and caramel,

Contrasting against her peachy lips,

That carve a bow with such a perfect arch,

That even cherubs would fail to match.
Then in an instant all that beauty dissolves

When she smiles in utter melancholy,

Over a pain too great for her eyes to contain,

As she pays a price far too dear

For a man’s thoughtless folly.