mayday_calls

bone-cold and damp  or hot and dry  should be the road  to my home ? fresh and floral or clenched and closed should be the door if you anyhow reach the home? my eyes are routes, my cheeks are home  if you could ever turn  this grey back to yellow. i keep no curtains  as my windows had always been closed, you once cut the bone, rinsed my skullless  soul and held me close, but now i'm lingering  to have you only in prose, your this lost right  would be restored, our dancing feet would feel the cold floor if you could ever turn  this grey back to yellow. stop knocking at the  door, do not fuel my  fantasies anymore, i want to press my breaths too through the peephole, but no, please start  marching back to the town  where you came from ,  the spirit of the spring  is washed down in the doldrums and downpours, your spilled secret of  the Sun and my darkened star would meet again if you could ever turn ...

The Ganges and  Euphrates rolled down  from her eyes when my ribs opened  for a life, this bravest blood  never dies even  in time and tides, this blood nurtured  my cells , bones , marrow and skins, a call to the Goddess  of power if you ever  bless me lenses to  see this blood ? I know you won't ! so, please  incubate me once  again or throw me  in the gulf , wash me in that  blood or hand over  this hollow cast to the fate of oceans,  high spirits may  reach me tomorrow, but not her strong  amber of prayer, winds of heart may  throb faster tomorrow, but not that altruism  she gifted to my life, once again , a plea to the Goddess of  the birth and the death,  please tell the sky and  the earth to stay alike, tell her blood to warn  my boiling blood every time, "land pays your debt when you fly high  in the sky ."  - chetna 🌻 

these surfaces had no empathy for cocoons, winds will erode   core-stones too soon, thank god, i was building a  home on Neptune. patience can never stay porous for long, the lady who checks the sundial turned to brune,  thank god, i was building a  home on Neptune. rivulets rugged their feet , jumped into holes, salts of the oceans were fed with the spoon, thank god, i was building a  home on Neptune. cursed were the carnal desires for truth, cursed was the  celibacy of the moon, thank god, i was building a  home on Neptune. - chetna 🌻 

not every spring can  save you from sadness, not every March can  adore you an escape to his arms, "clear the history  of the hourglass i spent  counting quartz sand  granules in the hope  to shift the dynamics of  our suns and earths, clear if you can , i can not ! " "you believed me  every time when  i barked up the wrong tree, but you could not  believe my tiniest cell when i was burning in steams , what a mystery, babes! " "my love looks like an  undervalued currency, drowning in the debt of  promises spilled from  your mouth to bend for my innocence even  more than my face!"  not every spring can  shatter your source of sickness,  not every March can  turn you to his favourite child . - chetna 🌻 

treason after teaching  tallys of freedoms, i have held tight now handcuffs on my husband, trust one - his credence  or my crimson red lips, prude girl, ruined morals, rude girl, rumoured romance,   i have humbled my  poems to hoax my husband,  trust one - his cupid  or my cruel crosswinds, ground floor, dirty kitchen, a sad picture in the hall, i have hoarded such honour for my husband, trust one - his customs or my cynical criticism,  infidelity seems better  than the union in the bed, i have halved this hunger for my husband, trust one - his complaint  or my curses in churchrooms , this karst love knuckled  the fever of the blood, i have poisoned my  hormones and husband, trust one - his casket  or my cascading crystals, just trust one . - chetna 🌻 

standardized are the heartbreaks , systemic  is this filthy roleplay, my deep-seated love is  in traffic and thunder, trembling to fetch the  last drops of intellect , but  my lungs jammed in disarray  who would marry me anyway? i find people of my town glaring at my torn gown, those raconteurs survived  to cut out love from my life, maybe, destined for a reason, i must shiver for more seasons, my teenage's genial now drifted dead in doomsday  who will marry me anyway? i am an architect of  ghosts , they were once indolent in peeling them off, they switched their characters  turning to desolate deafs, as i keep reveling in sending  my lovers in the fall away who may marry me anyway? strike the needles in my almond-shaped eyes, judge the colour of blood  they shed when i turn blind, please put my name in  the kiln like the way  i tested his truth as if it's meant to be the fire clay  who might marry me anyway? the blue...

all the fucking  particles roaming in the outer air assume there's  distilled warmth  barring internal  entropy of the jar,  the atoms residing  in disorder of life will never try to  come outside, the world is worse than the menace  even to survive,  fuck her soul who's  standing on a line, fuck this gentle advice  belittling her love life, fuck her mean mind always turning his air thin, fuck her nostrils ready  to break waves of breaths, love has an age, love has a time, love is insult, love is dignity? love is a threshold, love is a lie ever told, there was no good-bye hence it's just a BYE. - chetna 🌻

"do you have any  license to feel  your credited pain ? is it necessary to derogate your  neighbour's pain ?  why do syringes  inject chemicalized  pain in my veins ? why do people fuck  my courage saying  i'm easier than the pain ? should we penalize  mortal humans who lift  their lives above the pain? do we always need to  exemplify swollen eyes to justify the pain ? how come these  powerful 'men' don't  read elegies with pain ? do they still assume  i cut my throat, spilled  the blood without pain ? does my favourite artist  design the art while relating with my pain ? when did these papers  earn strength to carry weight, strain and pain ? can people leave us before we learn how  they never reach us in pain ? does the setting sun still remember my static eyes  carrying immeasurable pain ? am i allowed to question  everything which has ever  tamed me and my pain ?" once someone whi...

forgive me dear, dutifullness is the  frontline where i  fell from the grace, failed to recall  how my fingertips  should have sat down when we tried to fight, forgive me leader, distress is the long affair i've ever had with my heart, and i adored it to you, freedom has its cost, so i made these  fences my life, forgive me reader, non-descript is  the atmosphere of the skies under which i laid jute mattress, to rest , hold your hand, in the hope to conciled  but ended up singing you  the depressed dirges, forgive this pleader, she thought she had  a reason to reject to re-kindle and unlock her, but waxed her hesitancy  into vulnerability of 'someday'  and grew her self-distrust into our sleepcasts of nights, forgive her dreamer, do not misread her, forgive her believer. - chetna 🌻 

there's no meaning  in holding power , when your words  can not afford it, staying up late till  you reach home , you curse me to  ruin your fancy life, trust me, i had served  you the favourite wine but you dodged me . even neighbours have stopped knocking at  our doors in the evening, even cradles in our  backyard stopped dreaming  to play with a toddler soon, even clergy of this town stopped blessing you to save purity of my prayers. look at my state now, i've fossilized myself  into a kind of decaying  furniture of our home, over which you place  your torn clothes, your unread books, your black tea cups , your old, used posts, and everything i gave  while serving you  but you proclaimed, "stop being mean now!" i smell you in the dust and smoke, whirling in the room ,  you hear me in the cries and echoes reverberating around, we still sit across  six feet apart to dine in the greige coloured hall, so, decayed ...