Afraid of art

Being scared of
The most beloved works of art
Scared that re reading
Or re watching
Will rob it of its intensity
When tbe goosebumps go away
And the tears don't come
The second time around

Scared that
Constant repetition
Will rob it of meaning altogether

And yet
Unable to avoid its magnetic pull
Holding your breath
Feeling heart bounding
Until the song ends
In a blur

#सम्बन्ध हाम्रो धमिलो हुँदैछ
#परिभाषा तर त्यही हो भन न

Eczema

I wish my tears were content
To flow out through my words
Instead of pushing through my skin

Pursuing "something higher"

Working hard all your life
Waking up one fine day
To realize your life is almost over
And you don't know anymore
what you were chasing
in the first place

Or
Misplacing your energies
And giving up the fight
Forever believing
you missed out on your dream

Or
Achieving all you wanted
Believing that to be the
normal trajectory
And judging everyone who
Doesn't achieve the same

Admitting your mistake

Putting yourself on
Lower moral ground
For evermore

Giving the other person
The upper hand
Being obliged to accept
All their judgements
For evermore

Because you only lose credibility
Once

From then you have nothing
Left to lose

Crossroads

I am here at this crossroads
Empty and yet
Fuller than ever before

I have lost everything
And among them are 
The skeletons in my closet

And I stand at this crossroads,
Free,
With no luggage to take with me

Thank you for laying my ghosts

Personal is universal

I was going to be a great poet
Who would never write about
Petty, trivial, personal topics
 

Unlike all those famous poets
Inspired by eyes and lips
And hair and breasts

I was going to be a thinker
 

Who wrote about the world
Made grave and profound
Intellectual pronouncements

Until reality caught up on me
And all that poured out of my pen
Was the stuff of my heart
And all that moves me to write
Is your tender, tenderness

Marina Bychkova

admiring the deconstruction
of old stories
intrigued by the new light
in which you show women
show how their lives
were not the fairy tales
they were projected to be
and that if you dig under the surface
you will find much sorrow 
behind the smiling facade
imposed by patriarchal storytelling

appalled by how
you cast them in the same
frame of beauty
as did the men
slim, (mostly) fair,
big eyes, pouty lips
perfectly rounded breasts
plenty of beautiful but
heavy, restricting jewellery

can we not see
the beauty of these women
in other frames?

#feminism is all about choice,
i suppose

i love you nonetheless, marina,
for the astounding beauty
and the fresh perspectives
of your work