The Armour.

Flaming red lips, clinking metal and glass, fingers slipping through pages turned,

Lazy curls falling down her nape, caressing what your fingers had dreamt of a million times.

Looking up you knew her kohl-lined gaze pierced right through and way beyond,

After all, it wasn’t a floating ghost you had opened the doors of your wounded soul to.

The endless talk hidden behind lit screens, a snug little corner, all you ever asked for,

Your imagination living stories that only your fingers could conjure up.

The moment of truth, that moment she had dreaded and you not,

The tables turned, with a blink of a veiled eye, vulnerabilities out on the lot.

A brave frontier? A naked fear? A clear blurred line, evidently obnoxious.

It wasn’t just your bubble anymore, but stark reality, in flesh and in bone.

You knew her story, you knew her hands, you knew her breath, you knew her kind.

But the only thing that you could fathom henceforth, was how much of you she knew or might.

All the hours after that you sat through, knowing you were running, running scared and running straight.

All the words you spewed that night, integrity forlorn, honesty denied.

Bits and pieces, your path traced by shattered facades or mere disappointment,

Were you running from her or your own shadow where your ghosts reside?

In holding up your weak tin walls, maybe you cracked open her steel-stoned vault,

Or maybe in her long line of breaches, you were the very last straw drawn.

Rest assured, she whispers poetry, she still draws dragons and traces stars,

A dragon she puts behind an armour now, an armour of everything that you were not.

My Dream Catcher.

I look back at the footprints I’ve left behind,
They’ve gotten stronger, harder, somehow more defined.
What were once dragging feet, crawling knees & a slumped body,
Now stand firm with another pair beside.

I remember pulling along so many anchors,
Anchors of iron, so heavy, hooked to my bones with heavier chains.
I was chased by a wolf, into darkness, into darker despair,
Only to be rescued by a dream, by a mesmerizing catcher!

I remember falling through you, falling right in,
A sigh of relief escaping my dry, scabbed lips.
The knowledge of having been rescued, ringing in my ears,
I looked back as cool breeze hit my burning bare back..

My dreamcatcher!

So inconspicuous, so pristine, so silent & still..
Just swaying in the wind, with all the metal lying just beyond..
It was hard to believe how perfectly I fit into you, letting all fall away, fall behind..
What had once seemed unreachable, I was lying now, right in its arms.

I fall asleep everyday, to the sound of your voice..
Your poetry that you trace onto my skin, curling designs with your fingers.
I pretend to be asleep sometimes, just to hear you say things you wouldn’t say otherwise,
To hear you say me, say my name, say my heart,
Realizing them to no more be mine, too far gone to ever come back.

I thought I’d never write a love song again, thought I’d protect myself from people who do..
But here I am, today, unable to stop, unable to hold it in anymore.
Because some things need to be written about,
Words just flowing, a desire to just write, write about you.

Dream-catchers catch dreams they said, keep you safe from all evil,
I was running away from a nightmare myself, only to be caught by you..
So was I the dream, & you my catcher?
Or were you the dream I was chasing all along?

Maybe I thought I was running away from another, running from an infinity,
Not knowing, not even a hint, that I was probably running right at you, right where I belong.
Call this fate, call this destiny, just like your poem said,
We’re only fated to do things that we always wanted.

Those hazel eyes, that awkward smile, you say I make your breath catch.
You’ve no idea how many beats a day my heart skips, how many fluttering butterflies.
You’ve written me many, read to me some, so here it is my love,
My ode to you, to me, to us.. To something far beyond!

P. S. As we always have inside stories, here is one too. 😉

From Cather & Levi, to Whiskey & Rye,
Cake & Casserole, Jack & Sally, all the way to diagon alley,
This is our riddle, like one of your silly old country songs,
Only we know what they mean, to everyone else mere mumble stringed along. 😉

My Paper Heart.

Ink blotches, soft curves, hazy lines & erratic words.

Can be redone, rewritten, but not replaced.

John Green called me a ‘ Paper Girl’,

But he knew not of my paper heart.

 

Guess I’ve always had paper for a heart,

For everyone to etch their name on,

Some leaving mere fingerprints, some just their names,

Others searing right through it all.

 

Memories washed away with spilled coffee,

Names over-written in obnoxious hot pink,

Crinkled paper, withered with seasons,

Otherwise intact, over-laden with ink.

 

In a valley, overlooking a dazzling river, horses on the riverbed,

Morning drizzle, some fresh brew, & a hint of strong nicotine.

That is how you’re etched on here too,

Chains & a beanie et al, black from head to toe.

 

Rest assured, the rest of your story,

I’ve taken up the task to scribble in too.

No blurry faces, no moment archived & forgotten,

I’ll write you in in shiny bright red letters, with no further ado.

 

& for nostalgia’s sake, here you go..

When I said I like being alone, but then asked you to take a walk with me..

& you just did, like that was what you wanted too.

& that little stranger, that was when i knew.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blue Converse

I had reached the end of the book, my coffee was cold. I hated that typical feeling you get when something so amazing comes to an end, the feeling of knowing that it was over forever. There was no way I could relive how the book made me feel, no way to feel the rush of first-times. When I looked up to ask for a fresh brew, after placing the book aligned to the edge of the table as per habit, little did I know that it would be the beginning of something that books could never give me. 🙂

You walked in. The first thing that struck me – Blue Converse. It still remains to be the first thing that strikes me each time I see you, there is always something blue on you. 🙂

You were with a bunch of people, all happy and having an overtly animated conversation. You were somehow quieter, you were talking but there was just something placid about you. There was a soothing ‘something’, something that I couldn’t put my finger on. And it struck me, “The calm before the storm.” 🙂

Shruti called, I picked and I didn’t realise how long it had been. I looked longingly at my cup of coffee, mentally willing it to heat itself and frowned as I looked around for a waiter. I had forgotten you, entwined in the twisted world of besties. Someone placed a fresh brew in front of me, I looked up confused. The waiter just smiled a knowing smile and said, “Complimentary ma’am.” and pointed at your table. 🙂

Those were the first smiles we exchanged. You nodded, I did too. I didn’t realise when I cut Shruti’s call, maybe I never did, I still don’t really know. No sparks, no pixie dust, no violins, no cupid. It felt like a reunion, something found rather than created. You walked over. 🙂

The smile just refused to leave my face, you laughed when you reached my table, probably knowing that the same was happening to you too. It was husky, a boyish laugh – the kind that suddenly was my favourite thing in ages. Your friends were laughing in the background, calling names. I heard it for the first time, a name that I’d probably known forever. Or that was how it felt atleast. 🙂

Polite pleasantries exchanged, a compliment thrown at my cherry blush. You smelled familiar, you sounded familiar, everything about you was somehow ‘known’. It was but a conversation that probably lasted two minutes. You stood up and turned to leave, looked back after a step or two. You repeated my name, it slid like silk from your lips, like it was always meant to do just that. 🙂

You sat back at your table, somehow making it extremely unfair for me to be at a different one. I fidgeted with my book, all along fighting the urge to look up. Finally, I stood up to leave, caffeine ingested and bill paid. Walking out of the cafe was weirdly difficult for some reason. I beckoned at a passing rickshaw, got in and not knowing what to do, I looked at the stash of tissues that I had absent mindedly picked up on my way out. And there they were, 10 digits. 🙂

Just like before – No fairytale bells, no knight in shining armour, no cherry blossoms. No Jacob black, no Augustus Waters, no Quentin Jacobson. But still it was something, probably something a lot more than any words on paper ever proclaimed. We didn’t need a John Green or a Stephenie Meyer or a Cecelia Ahern to write our story, we would write our own, just like all stories are meant to be written.

And that was it. As simple as that. 🙂