VB Bonny

Confessional inner monologue

[authorvbbonny]

Choosing you was like placing thorns into my skin,

barely sharp like their words.

How they found their way,

with each prick I made a decision,

a moment I held,

a moment I craved.

The ache of yearning was wrapped in petals,

how beautifully it engraved.

Emerging from the pain,

I found my form,

tendrils reaching upward.

How I was seeking light.

The thorns were like a memory,

how it bled and became a song,

a melody of resilience.

From a bloom to a rose,

from soft to fierce,

a woman who never gave up

to ungrateful blows.

[authorvbbonny]

The Price I Paid

Someone bought the love I always offered for free

held it in hands

that never knew its worth

wrapped in the guise of silk and promise

as if affection could be weighed,

measured against the leaps of a heart.

[authorvbbonny]

[authorvbbonny]

Some of my poems — pieces I wrote quietly between everyday moments — have been selected for a national poetry competition this year.

I don’t usually share these things here, but these poems carry parts of me I rarely speak about.

*Remember me kindly* this poem i always wanted to share about my friend who passed away this month in 2014. I hold her forever in my heart.

If you’d like to read them, I’ve added the link below.

By VB BonnyShe never livedin the margins of my notebook!The buildings I crossed, the railway station I arrived,was more than just a destinat

By VB BonnyThe cocoon has brokenwhen the butterfly spreads her wingsrebelling against the afternoon sun.The honking bus announced its arriva

By VB BonnyA shelf that lost herself.The cup of lies I drank,with our stories just blank pages asserting themselves.He was a man of honour,a

By VB BonnyThey say the sky is the limit.Hers was only three meters long,one side pinned to the wall,the other alive in the sunlight.The clo

By VB BonnyThe bazaar is never quiet. When your feet ache from walking all day, it feels like swaying with the surging tide. People chatter

(Thank you for reading my work, even in small ways.)

[authorvbbonny]

He was too far

she looked up

& he slipped behind my curtains again

a gentleman made of light and rain

for hours they traded winks

he is blazing

she is waning

their sweet courtship

stitched across the city of Mumbai

and here I am, a fox so sly

writing about the sun and the moon

two strangers in love

who keep missing each other,

who would never meet.

[authorvbbonny]

when memories still slither

it is wild

how the peace in me grew fangs

and bit me

when i needed you the most.

[authorvbbonny]

Unlearning Love

i stopped recognising love in the flowers, memories, and monsoon showers.

i stopped recognising love in gestures, well-articulated confessions, and obsessions.

i stopped recognising love in assurance, absence, and arrogance.

i recognised love by continuous, persistent, growing brilliance.

[authorvbbonny]

when she was insecure, i saw a version of my past

The one tied to the opening and closing of doors, counting seconds between arrivals and departures.

everything around her felt anxious like the air itself forgot how to rest.

the night and day were forever on a loop,

How I kept replaying the same ache in different hours, in every monsoon showers.

she was a younger version of me:

a woman who once mistook devotion for destiny,

who called her obsession, a love because it wore a bridal dress and a bindi that shimmered like proof.

[authorvbbonny]

The salt in my eyes reminded me of my loneliness, when you chose her hand instead of mine.

[authorvbbonny]

When he taught me to write in verses

I never told him I loved him, but the pages breathed my soul, ink grumbled when our story drifted.

Some words find safety in shadows, curling softly where no breeze can seize them.

So I will keep writing with hopes stitched to the divine Someday he might catch the echoes, hear the silence will wrap around his shadow.

[authorvbbonny]

I loved you like it was my job

I travelled the sun and moon

and even ran behind the ticking clock

showed up even

when I was exhausted

Rewrote my boundaries

to fit your comfort

filed every argument

under “maybe tomorrow.”

You gave me half-smiles & half-truths,

and I kept calling it “effort.”

I thought love meant endurance

Now I know, it was unpaid emotion in the name of devotion.

[authorvbbonny]

And the summer melted the moon

Her world belonged to noon.

The ticking clocks, running timetables and summer heat.

The world didn't acknowledge her presence or absence.

When the summer melted the earth, and the air sighed through fevered glass, and crossed her broken heart.

She strolled the crowded streets, bodies brushing past like ghosts who never learned to haunt properly.

Her head leaned against the window, a thousand strangers reflected in her sleep, and my mind...

it drifted somewhere colder, where shadows still remember names, and silence feels almost kind.

[authorvbbonny]

The Woman Who Said She Didn’t Want to Be There

I am called selfish,

when i don’t talk

and just listen

to the words you don’t whisper.

i have this strange vision

it recognises vulnerability.

yesterday, i visited a grand place with my mother.

we were surrounded by a performative display of affection.

you might think i’m nitpicking,

but i saw it, saw it for real

their eyes locked somewhere distant,

like they were searching

for someone, or something,

that might finally make them feel seen.

we were there for our meal,

the lights,

and the little things my mother always wanted to buy.

but the world around me

felt like it was breathing somewhere far away

the somewhere distant

we all pretend not to notice.

the love they acted wasn’t there.

maybe i’m delusional.

maybe i just see too much

but just as i was about to leave,

a woman crossed my path

and said, quietly,

“i don’t want to be here.”

and i stood there thinking

when did i start reading minds?

ps: me and my mother had a lovely day. but the world, i think, was somewhere else entirely.

[authorvbbonny]

Three Roses

I brought three roses.

One I placed on the grave

the past self that ruined

the vision I always wanted to be.

Second, I placed on the devotion

the self that was too committed

to the vision that he is going to change for me.

Third, I placed on the sorrow I planted

the self that watered,

and the leaves that grew,

the flowers that wilted

and thorns that pricked my heart.

And how I absentmindedly

planted my feet into the soil

and called it growing.

[authorvbbonny]

[authorvbbonny]

the birds in the tower do not sing.

Once the ivy grew fingers and covered everything.

solitude feels imperfect when

the silence learns your name

the windows ache

but shadows have their own kind of comfort.

dust remembers what the living forgot.

somewhere,

the clock stopped out of mercy

the tower held its breath and hid everything

and i think

this is why birds in the tower didn't sing, antagonizing love, mimicking silence, and bottling everything.

[authorvbbonny]

ps. I was rejected for being too real

I submitted a poem for a contest that haunted the publishers. i was out of my mind when i wrote it or maybe too high on emotions.

How i narrated, the female protagonist unzipped her ribcage, and the sword she didn't pull out. she pushed it deeper, like healing was a betrayal.

they said it was too much. too violent. too emotional. but that's the thing about honesty - it never edits itself to be liked.

That poem is still hiding in my one drive 📂