Poetry

Within Arm’s Reach: Poem

Blessed with Abundance,
Buoyant with Curiosity,
Cradled in Comfort,
Cajoled by Peace,
Elevated with Experience,
Elated by Epiphanies,
Serenaded by Success, 
Stroked softly by Grace,
Cheered by Adventure,
Cherished with Love, 
Guarded by Courage,
Garlanded with Victory,
Fueled with Motivation,
Freed by Belief,
Powered with Enthusiasm,
Protected by Faith, 
Radiant with Novelty,
Resplendent with Content,
Guided by good Intent,
Gifted eternal Well-being.
Within arm's reach,
The Ideal is now Tangible. 
Copyright © Roshni Ramanan
 
 

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Myriad Musings

Dear Discomfort

 

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Dear Discomfort,

Puncture my parachute so I find my wings and fly.

Take me away from the outside world so I connect with the person in the mirror.

Cage me in a bubble so I break out of it.

Silence me so I find meaningful things to say when I regain my voice.

Push me into the dark so I find my way through the long nights.

Corner me so I reclaim my space. Violate my space so I erect boundaries.

Hold me close to the ground so my urge to stand tall and proud intensifies.

Bind me tight so I learn to play with knots of limitation.

Hit me when I’m down so I savour the ups when the rollercoaster turns.

Drown me in doubt so I wade towards my survival.

Take away the false shine, so I’m not blinded by glimmer. Snatch a real diamond or two, so I learn its value.

Punch me in the stomach so I learn to stand up for myself.

Lure me into Candyland so I separate fantasy from reality.

Lay me in rock bottom so I look up to the sky.

Pull the ground beneath my feet so I find new legs to stand on.

Stretch me so I know how to reach.

Pin me to the wall so I learn not to beat my fists against it.

Render me weak so I grow to be strong. Leave me helpless so I discover tools to help myself.

Burden me so I’ll relieve myself of some battles.

Drop me out of another’s world so I shoot for the stars in the galaxy.

Throw me in a cesspool of agony so I relish every moment of ‘happy.’

Place me in a well of tears and I’ll cherish every drop of the elixir of joy.

Destroy all that I’ve built so I create a better home for myself.

Erase all that I was so I get to rewrite who I am.

I’ve you to thank for any success, acceptance and progress that has been splashed onto my palette.

Thank you for being my cheerleader. My saviour. My best friend.

Kudos to you for knowing what I need before I do.

I look forward to when you come and visit me next.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

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Myriad Musings

What’s the word for it? #2

I wish there were words to describe:

Having just the right amount of something. Not too much, not too less.

The terror in anticipation of a big fall when you’re riding a high. Too good to be true, often isn’t.

Having something happen to you that you thought “only happens in movies.” Ready to break into a song and dance, anyone?

Equally valid, polar opposite ways of thought and feeling. Delighted and distraught about moving abroad. That joke was both atrociously offensive and absolutely hilarious, all at once.

The joy of the last but one step. Relishing the hills and vales of the journey so far. Eagerly awaiting the fruits of the sweaty trek. One more class, one more day, and I’ll be done. This time tomorrow.

Garlanded by applause. You bag the prize every participant coveted. Every spectator’s eye on you.

Awkwardly being on the receiving end of a musical “Happy birthday to you..” Yikes. We’ve all been there.

Not knowing what to do after checking off a major goal. Hold on – I don’t have to prepare for this event anymore? Yaay! But, what do I do with all my time now?

Knowing you should stop but not being able to. One more song. One more minute on the internet. One last page before I turn off the lights. Oops, it’s morning.

Breaking into fits of laughter at the most inopportune times. Don’t give away the prank. Keep a straight face throughout your presentation. Please, not at a funeral.

Tripping and falling on flat surfaces. Every time.

Knowing something in your bones with no factual evidence to back it up. How can you be so sure? Because- I just know.

When “your day” comes around. All of a sudden, you’re the Scrabble king. Your bat solely secures sixes and fours. You’re psychic. Today, the wind’s on your side.

Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

(Part 2)

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Poetry

Wish granted: Poem

You’ve stilled my fleeting gaze

Pinned my wandering thoughts

Focused my temporal interest

Ice walls melted into a puddle

Stone gates crumbled into ash

My pillars now arch- curious

My sealed lips slightly curved

Cracks in the windows of my intellect

Logic kneeling with humility

The door of my emotions

given in to the relentless knocks

The trees in my front yard

bring to me songs of your persistence

I can respect a spirited fighter

Rake your wild thoughts

Will for one dream,

Ask what you wish for,

But, careful-

For it will be granted.
Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

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Poetry

Simply splendid: Poem

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Serenaded by sunset
the wind whistles our song
trees wink, loyal comrades
as leaves peek into
our window panes

The air is fresh
good intentions flow
as do coffee cups
warmth

Familiar tapestries
hug the wall
eyes painting old patterns
in the air
comfort

Naught said, all known
Sing-song melodies
strummed soundlessly
silence

Our watches slow down
to watch us
while our evenings away
Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

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Poetry

I call Shotgun: Poem

I watch the sojourn
of the short hand, the long hand
as I tumble across your tumultuous thoughts
Still a piece in an unfinished puzzle

Am I the emblem of tomorrow?
or the faded legend from yesterday?
One time wonder, an old hit song
To be heard on the radio
To be seen, nowhere

Whims and fancies
keep me company
we play tug of war
I’m both sides
Even when I win, I lose

Dolls fall prey to confusion
when the puppeteer’s mind is unmade
Paused life in paintings
as the palettes change midway

There’s freedom
in being a character
authored by another’s imagination
Oh, The suspense
Am I to be a page? A chapter?
In the novel- or is it?

A star in the night sky
now lighting up screens
It’s all the same
I’m one of many

I expanded my sights
from one round globe
to the two spheres- your eyes
biting off more than I could chew

In my eagerness to call shotgun
I gave up the driver’s seat
to my destiny
Will you swerve left
or steer me right?
Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

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Myriad Musings

Liebster Award

Thank you very much. I’m sincerely honoured and humbled by the nomination. Readers, do check out this poetry blog: https://writingdiaryofananxietypickle.wordpress.com/

Questions for me:

1. What inspires you to write and why?

I’ve always written and enjoyed writing, as far back as I can remember. I may write for an emotional outlet or intellectual stimulation but mostly the inspiration isn’t external; it is writing that’s the inspiration.  I’ve always loved words and I write to write.

2. What is one quality you wished you possessed but struggle with?

I fight losing battles vigorously and it drains my resources for fights where I do have a winning chance. I wish I could better discern when I need to take up my sword and shield and when I need to give in to the dance of divine timing.

3. What’s a sound that you love?

I love the sound of laughter, especially when it is uncontrollable and distinctive. That’s impressionable and very contagious.

4. What is your go-to movie or show?

It would have to be Friends. It’s timeless.

5. What is your favorite part about yourself? It can be physical or metaphysical 🙂

I’m very interested. I’m interested in people, new skills, events, conversations etc. I believe interested people have interesting lives because they actively engage with a plethora of stimuli and can always view life through the lens of childlike wonder and vigour.

6. Who is your favorite historical figure and why?

I don’t have one. As I’ve written before, I don’t prescribe to superlatives in general.

7. What is something you’ve tried that you will NEVER do again?

Eat sesame seeds.

8. What is one of your favorite holiday traditions? It can be any holiday.

During Krishna Jayanti, they have children dip their feet into rice flour paste and walk. The child’s footprints are taken as an indication of the lord’s arrival. I really enjoyed that as a little kid.

9. When you are old, what is one thing you think your children (if you have any) will ask you to tell stories about?

I don’t have any. Interesting question though.

10. Describe your life using 3 words.

Energizing, productive, straightforward

11. What gives you courage?

It is unbelievable to me that I’m able to laugh and live so fully after some of the experiences my past self has endured. I take courage from the fact that, even if I lose a lot of things, I’ll still have my values and that’ll help me pick myself up from scratch. With every new adventure and experience, I’m certainly readier than before to have faith in my own strength.

11 FACTS ABOUT ME 

  1. I started this blog as a birthday gift to myself.
  2. I’ve “Iridescent” tattooed under my left collar bone.
  3. My politics is personal. I believe in living my beliefs so I can hopefully influence the people I meet.
  4. I’m one of the most uninhibited people in any room.
  5. I’m a hugger.
  6. I give a lot of compliments, and I mean them.
  7. I feel very uncomfortable when I’m asked to try new food. It’s an inexplicable fear.
  8. I’ve done 3 ziplines and heights still terrify me.
  9. I’m a fake burp expert.
  10. I admire something or the other about every person I’ve interacted a ton with.
  11. I’m the same person around authority figures, peers, friends, family etc. Different social groups bring different aspects out in some people; I don’t think that largely holds true for me.

Again, thank you so very much for the nomination and thank you for reading! Happy blogging, everyone!

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Poetry

Woman of my dreams: Poem

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Sand clocks, hourglasses still everywhere
Her swirling shadow
My entranced eyelids

Eyebrows, arches to heaven’s gateway
Pyramids bow, her majestic forehead
Lilac blush lifted cheeks
Seraphic smile stopped heartbeats

Purple diamonds perch on her nose-ring
Ears part, Japanese sensus
Celestial lips, crescents curved
to nature’s drumbeats

Folds of enigmatic curls,
hold truths untold
Ablaze with equal parts fire and water
Golden eyes hiding galactic secrets
leaving mine star-studded

Holy bells chime
petals of laughter spill
roses perch on golden anklets

Bangles, spherical symphonies
sparrows, robins take notes
Finger rings glow
New moon nights

Nape of her neck, treasure chest
Pendants, garlanding her
Trinkets bring together every faith

Graceful shoulders
anchored by the sky’s might
Aphrodite’s envy, her full breasts

Waves in her waist
Maps to celestial spaces
Rainbow colours merge as one
Her velvet navel

Interwoven palm lines
Past, future meet at present
Her hands come together
to unite time and space

Slender fingers, ancient beads
Statues await touch
to awaken
Blessing hands, grant
carefully sealed, concealed desires

Silken, soft tread
Elements, awed voyeurs
Tenuous footprints carry remembrances
Exquisite lands, ethereal skies

Skirt flowing
starlight splendour
bodice, threaded in thunder
Pleats, evaporate erroneous ways
Twirls silence mind’s lightnings

The fairy who unravels
diaphanous threads of mystery
Obliterated my questions-
wisps of memory
now one with
yesterday’s air

Here she was,
my ethereal answer
Goddess from prayers
Mythical dame from
grandma’s fables
The woman of my dreams.
Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

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Myriad Musings

Strained

The strain remained, refusing to vanish like a particularly hard-to-dislodge guava seed in my tooth. Pain. Strain. Remain. I played with the words in my head, as though the rhyme would resound laughter amidst the bleakness of a lost battle.

The texts had tumbled, like the slip of a juggler’s hands. Only that the balls now were fired rapidly back at me. I lit the fire and I burnt in it. Every time.

His text would creep in tomorrow, day after. A reminder of the mess. Of what was lost and gone. I’d be forced to put forth another attempt at war but my armoury would be tucked safely under the bed and I’d perhaps be sleeping when his text arrives.

Unwelcome. Unnecessary. A belated ointment for an old wound. A half-hearted rush of concern to make up for the delay in response, as the air would stink of thick, sweaty drops of apology. A stench that we seemed to carry every time we met.

He’d try to plaster the walls he broke and stitch the open wounds, wounds that he opened, sometimes with an intricate compass, other times with a carefully misplaced scythe.

Hatred would gush and love would bubble. I’d multiply the bubbles and send it his way, quick pecks on his indifferent cheeks: Kindness measured, so it’s not too much or too less but just right lest he rejects it for its overwhelming nature.

I’d swallow the hatred and reopen my old wounds, using only scythes with no place for compasses. Scythes he’s given me from unforgettable memories of being pushed into an abyss, always willing to jump, but never wishing for it.

He’s throw tidbits with the air of a man who throws pellets of puffed rice to the desperate fish at sea- waiting, wanting, willing, wishing- and walk away huffily with a puffed up chest, his generosity impressing himself. The sour taste of battle blood would sink my palette into pain and the strain would remain.
Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

 

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Poetry

Blinders: Poem

An old poem I’d scribbled in a notebook from years ago:

Your eyes set, chin determined

You wrangle to break away

But the chains don’t come off

For it is my soul you’ve in a stranglehold

Still a soldier, different this time

The arms you take up are in self-defence

You rip my pleas apart, puncture my trembling heart

Cut me again, again- to ascertain

you can still make me bleed

Every drop I spill is your elixir of strength

Your armour thickens

Your eyes bless me no more

They smoke and spew hatred

I can’t inhale, I can’t escape

A furious Greek God punitive

You become human once again.
Copyright © Roshni Ramanan

This is about idealising someone only to realise with time that they’re as fallible as anyone, if you’re done benefiting them or you get on their wrong side.

 

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