Eye Spy with My Eye

The things we think we know

Are the ones we know of the least

For its the things we don’t think we know

Which we make an effort to find out

Study

Observe

And retain

So don’t tell me that you know me, darling

Tell me that you don’t

Atleast then I’d know

You’ll be willing to see me.

Advertisements

A Christmas Miracle

‘Twas the night before Christmas

And I was alone in a strange city

Scrolling through Insta stories

Living vicariously

Such happy, holiday pictures

What magnificent plans

Everyone had stepped out for Christmas

But that wasn’t meant for me

I snuggled further inside my blanket

Stretching my toes a tad

The night before Christmas

Would be the only miracle I had

I’ll wake up tomorrow morning with an unfilled stocking

No gift tucked under my pillow

And no screams of heady delight

But

I’ll be alright

Because the miracle of Christmas

Isn’t in the gifts, the tree or the plans

It’s the strength to wake up

On Christmas morning

Ready to face the world anew.

This Christmas let’s remember the ones without family, the ones away from home, the ones who can’t afford gifts, or even a makeshift home. To each and every one of you, I wish the very best. We’ll all get through it together, bit by bit. And always know that the doors to my home and heart are always open – if there’s anything you’re struggling with, please don’t hesitate to drop me a word at varnikajain92@gmail.com. I promise to listen, to love and to bring back a smile.

I hope you all have a very, merry Christmas!

Love,

Varnika

Tell me not in mournful numbers

It dawns on you

All of a sudden

Like the brightness of a quick, summer day

It passes you by

Through sleep laden eyes

In the lazy, hazy afternoons of youth

It comes to you

Under a starlight sky

When the moon decides to hide

Behind a curtain of silvery fluff

As you sit beside your fireplace

Warming your hands

Resting in your favourite armchair

With your feet propped up on a fading ottoman

And little kids, resembling you, hanging on to your every word

Yes, it’s true

Life passes you by

Little by little

And then a lot

While you’re too busy

To spare it a passing thought.

Hello, my lovelies!

It’s been a while since I’ve spoken with you. How have you been? I wish you a very, merry Christmas and the best of tidings for a prosperous new year! I hope this festive season and joyful spirit is the best you’ve had till now but the least of the ones to come. Spread a little cheer around, will you?

See you next year, my loves 😘.

As always,

Thank you for reading.

Best wishes,

Varnika.

The Other Side of Me

That nagging feeling

Of something about to go horribly awry

Didn’t let me sleep that night

Maybe, it was for the best

Because who knows if I’d dozed off

Would I have woken up as the same person again

In this world of ever changing personalities

I’ve become a stranger

To my own self

And there’s a feeling

That I’m veiwing

My own life as it passes me by

Like a horrible, macabre kaleidoscope

Like an out of body experience

Slightly surreal

Mostly transcendental

I wish I knew

Of what to hope

For the one I see

Or

The one I feel

I’m not two-faced, no

Nor am I unity

For divided I stand

As separate entities

Still lying in wait

To form my true identity

And Thereby Hangs a Tale

Every crease around my eye

Tells of moment full of joy

Every curve near my mouth

Is a testament of a laugh

Every blemish, every scar,

Every single unhealed mark

Is a story

Ready to burst forth

Listen, if you will

For these aren’t wrinkles

On my face

To show that I survived

But an ode to a life

Well loved, cherished and lived.

The Room with No Doors

In a room with no doors

There’s a window with no bars

Alas, it’s too small to creep through

Yet big enough to see it all

The taste of sweet freedom

Lingers yet on the tongue

The joy of easy escape

Eludes the prisoner

Like the great Houdini

But

In the room with no doors

There’s a window with no bars

And that’s why

I can feel

The walls close in on me.

The Girl Who Reads

They say she reads a little too much

And, hence

Is disconnected from reality

Living in a whole other world

But it’s because she reads a little too much

That she observes a little extra

Thinks a little more

Sees through all pretences

Can even finish your sentences

Every shift in your mood she senses

Breaks every matter down to its basest essences

So, you see

She dances with angels

And tangoes with mankind

She feasts with the devil

And serenades its hellish demons

She brings about some semblance

Of balance and harmony

Why?

Because, my dear, she reads.

Man of Steel

Down is up

Up is down

Inside this

Topsy turvy town

Life’s moving way too fast

Yet seems to be eerily still

Stuck in the doldrums

Approaching warp speed

Listen to me ye all

And pay some heed

The hand we’re dealt

Is ours to keep

If that’s your truth

Then no more should you seek

For mountains steep

Can still be scaled

By the power of sheer grit

And a bundle of nerves

Made of steel.

The Storyteller

Outside a sleepless, ugly town

In a seedy, shady hotel

There’s a dingy, dirty room

With a single, flickering light bulb

Shedding light on a yellowed, floral wallpaper

Overlooking a squeaky, twin bed

Having a threadbare mattress

And a moth eaten quilt

Adorned with pillows

Permanently depressed

With the impressions of a hundred heads

This place, my dear

Has a thousand bedraggled stories to tell

Of young love

And old-age eccentricity

Of hopes dashed

And the depth of human depravity.