Black, White & Grey

Life has many shades. But, these three are my favourites.

[bnmxfld]

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[mesonalsharma]

NaPoWriMo Day 8

[mesonalsharma]

Do you ever, eat when you eat, or listen when you hear, or say when you speak, or feel when you touch, or see when you look, or love when you love, or read when you read or play when you play ? Do you live when you live ? How many times have you given up even before trying ? What are you if not a coward soldier, who dropped his weapons much before the war began ? Life is a story full of ‘maybe’s’ and 'what if’s’, that you need to answer. What will your answer be ? And yes, sink, you might, or drown and fall and die. But, float and fly, you must…Try. For you are alive, in this moment, Life is. You are. ; NaPoWriMo Day 7

[mesonalsharma]

A Touch of Bliss

My heart craves, a touch.

An embrace. Warmth.

A kiss.

I see you, walking. You stop.

Our eyes lock. My cheeks flush. The shade of your favourite shirt.

Pink.

I smile.

My upper lids touch the waterline. Less than a second, it lasts.

A blink.

You wink.

I turn Scarlett.

You bite your lips.

You come forward. Slowly.

Not breaking the eye contact.

We stand close. I can hear your heart.

Beating. Pounding. Or perhaps, it's my own.

You stand on your toes, now. Raising your heels.

I am tall.

I put my hands around your waist.

You crumble, a tad.

Your fingers around my nape. You hold me.

I feel your breath. On my neck.

It's heavy. So is mine.

You close your eyes.

I see you. Drink from your beauty, a sip.

I thank every God there is, for you, for this.

Our lips meet.

My eyes close.

Supple, it is.

- Sonal

NaPoWriMo Day 6

[mesonalsharma]

NaPoWriMo Day 5 This poem here might not make much sense to you (although it does to me). Here's the prompt (explained, taken from www.napowrimo.net) which made me write this piece. . ''And now for our (optional) prompt. Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that, like the work in Translucence, reacts both to photography and to words in a language not your own. Begin with a photograph. Now find a poem in a language you don’t know. Now start translating the poem into English, with the idea that the poem is actually “about” your photograph. Use the look and feel of the words in the original to guide you along as you write, while trying to describe your photograph. It will be a bit of a balancing act, but hopefully it will lead to new and beautiful (and possibly very weird) places.'' . The picture I have used is the background image of this post. PC- Unsplash . The poem (of a different language) that I used is in German by Nico Bleutge titled 'Then The Heat Slowly Eased Itself'. Here it is - dann löste sich die hitze langsam vom balkon und der blick wurde leichter von den häusern abgelenkt. die weißen parabolantennen an den fenstern fingen schon die ersten lichter an zu glühen blau und grün verkapselt. als die augen zwischen den reklametafeln streunen wollten war es eine rote plastiktüte in der luft weit oben leuchtend glitt sie vorbei und gab dem blick nach und nach halt bis er weich und ruhig hinter den lidern saß PS- What I have written is not a translation of this poem. I don't know anything about German language. Please let me know if, this poem (the one by me) makes any sense to you. Balancing the whole thing was quite a herculean task to do. Also, I have used punctuation marks to make it coherent. Feedback would be much appreciated.

[mesonalsharma]

Depression,

is like an old friend,

who did not let me do my homework,

for he wanted to play with the football,

which my father had bought from a store nearby,

while getting back home from work.

Depression,

is like a dark Abyss,

I keep falling into, time and again,

For, I overlook the forewarnings,

For there are none. 

Depression,

Is like a room full of strangers,

Whom I keep calling for help,

But none responds,

For they are busy fighting their own battles

Or perhaps,

They have already given in,

Lost hope, surrendered.

Depression,

Is like a night,

that is only meant for mourning,

the dead.

The grandfather who had a heart stroke.

The one who used to bring candies wrapped in those shiny plastic wrappers that I collected in a box labelled 'Goodies'.

Depression,

is like a loyal Lover,

who never fails to show up on a date,

For he loves whispering sweet nothings into my ear.

Depression isn't a guest anymore.

Depression is the new host.

- Sonal

NaPoWriMo Day 4

[mesonalsharma]

Words were all I had,

Words are all I have.

For you left and I am doing fine,

it's them, words, I whine.

After you left I wrote a book,

They said it would help, letting you off the hook.

The first chapter is about how we met,

that's something I shall never regret.

I remember it was a rainy night,

I call that story 'Sans moonlight'.

The second chapter narrates the first kiss,

So I named it 'A touch of bliss'.

In the third chapter I have vented out. Our first fight, ugly as it had turned.

I call that story 'Romance adjourned'.

The fourth chapter describes our special night beautiful as it was.

Candelit and scented, I named it 'No flaws'.

In the fifth chapter I have spoken of your lies,

And how I couldn't be enough, that chapter reads '3 AM cries'.

The sixth chapter is 'Shattered dreams',

a cliché it is, as it quite seems.

The epilogue is about the blame game,

''You were never there", is what you claim.

I heard you found another to woo,

so to your memories I bid adieu.

- Sonal

NaPoWriMo Day 3

[mesonalsharma]

NaPoWriMo Day 2 Playing with Voice today.

[mesonalsharma]

My poem for NaPoWriMo Day 1 Reminiscing my childhood days is how this poem came into being. God, how I loved those long summer vacations ! I used to go to my village and there was an orchard of Mango trees (which by the way is one of my favourite fruits). My cousins and I were always greedy for these mangoes, which were delicious, ripe or unripe. And no matter, how much and how many times were we warned against doing it, we ended up climbing those trees and stealing (of an entirely different kind) those mangoes. It was my secret (not really a secret, if I come to think about it) pleasure. I shall always cherish this memory. If only time travel were possible !

[mesonalsharma]

An Ode to my favourite colour

Hundreds of colours on a palette, 

all in varied shades 

and hues,

yet none lures my eyes 

just the way you do.

I found shelter 

in your mightiest form,

you mantle my cold heart 

making it warm !

You are but one companion 

who always stayed by my side,

either in the form of my shadow 

or in the dark of the night.

They label you sinister,

call you unnerving,

and I can't help but wonder,

How can someone be terrified

Of a colour,

their lovable moon 

and myriads of alluring stars reside under.

To establish your ipseity

if I have failed,

in the shade of these letters

you shall unveil.

- Sonal

[mesonalsharma]

I wake up at 3 in the morning, gasping for breath even though there is plenty of air. I don't remember falling asleep, what I do remember is that how I held my phone in my hand and my heart burnt and ached reading our old conversations. I remember how I'd bit the pillow to keep those shrieks low, afraid that someone might learn my tale of unrequited love. I remember feeling like a bird with no sky to fly, like a flower with no wind to carry its fragrance, like a wave that would never hit the shore. I remember how I decided to go out to clear my mind of your thoughts. I remember having enough vodka to dance with a stranger but, not enough to get you out of my mind. Everything is blurry after that. You, me, us, the person sleeping next to me, this strange place, makes no sense. But this isn't the first time you know, it's been the story of every other weekend since you left. I wake up at 3 in the morning, gasping for breath. 

[afadthatlastsforever]

“That’s the exhausting fact of moving on. The relentless ups and downs. Your moods endlessly swinging from one extreme to the other. One minute you feel the wind in your sails and the world at your feet, and the next, you’re a shipwreck in a storm.”

— Beau Taplin • W e a t h e r  C o n d i t i o n s

[mesonalsharma]

On some days I want this heartache to stop so desperately that I consider taking my last breath. And no matter how much I want all of this to end, for this pain to just go away, vanish, like it never existed in the first place, I want you to stay. I want things to go back to normal. However, I am not sure anymore, if I know what normal is. I remember how one day we had talked for an hour or so about how normal was so boring. It feels like ages have passed since we experienced normal or talked for hours or even a few minutes. Mediocrity doesn't seem that bad all of a sudden, considering what we have been through. Perhaps, you would say that I need to grow up, or I need to stop overthinking, or that I need to give time some time but I wish I could explain to you how there's only so much hurt one can take, how there's no stopping the mind and the heart when they start playing their game. Each day they say brings a new hope. How long do I have to wait for that to happen for me ? If only I were half as good at expressing how I feel as I am at pretending how I don't, and If only you were half as good at understanding my emotions as you are at making excuses, this wouldn't be our story.

[mesonalsharma]

One day they all become stories. A moment that was, a moment that is ,And a moment that is yet to be.And one day perhaps it wouldn't hurt anymore. For you would just be a story that I'll read on some sleepless night with a glass of wine in one hand and your picture in another. I'll read and read and read until my eyes become red and my mind once again has to convince my fragile heart not to stop beating.But it won't hurt anymore, because to feel the pain one has to be alive and I would just be a corpse who breathes. 

[mesonalsharma]

[mesonalsharma]

When you look into a mirror, whom do you see ? Someone you are or Someone you want to be ?

- Sonal Sharma

[mesonalsharma]