Cathartically Yours

cathartically yours

You can’t imagine what it feels like –
to have your heart brutally broken.
Into a thousand shapeless shards –
and keep just one as a miserable token.

It is an infinite times more painful than,
having to break somebody else’s heart.
But surely you don’t need to imagine that,
having credibly played that loathsome part.

Often under a spell of warmth and affection,
We ease barriers and open the doors.
So that love may enter where it was forbidden –
And take firm anchorage on desolate shores.

I let you in and made you feel nice and warm –
And you swore it was the best you ever felt.
In the simmering concoction of your company…
I let my reservations and reticence melt.

I thought it was supposed to last forever –
This friendship, which I never ceased to boast.
Never expecting you to make the switch –
From ‘being there always’ to ‘been there almost’.

For I almost slipped into the gaping abyss –
That your absence left in my near-perfect world.
I almost got killed by the spear of emotions…
That whilst fleeing, you so brazenly hurled.

I almost lost my faith in love and people –
Unable to look beyond your deception.
I almost got mummified, deaf and blind –
No longer having faith in my own perception.

I come not to fight with you anymore…
Today I intend to bury these ghosts of past.
To relieve you the burden of ever answering…
The embarrassing questions that I never asked.

For it is easier to feel the hurt myself –
Than imprison you behind these moral bars.
It is easier to pretend being born ugly…
Than to blame you for my unsightly scars.

It is easier to accept your shocking indifference…
Than to expect the love, you know I deserved.
It is easier to purge it all in a catharsis…
Than to hold on to the precious bits I preserved.

It is easier to forget how it felt to be loved…
Than to teach myself how to hate you.
It is easier to play a villain in your story –
Than be the hero you say you never knew.

They say that nothing is ever permanent –
But the bitterness in my heart begs to differ.
And though I know the antidote  lies inside…
You have locked it away and stolen the cipher.

I hope that one day, looking into a mirror –
You will notice the hollowness in your eyes.
And wonder how truth vanished from them…
As your irises try in vain to hide your lies.

Someday when I see you and our eyes meet…
I hope you don’t look down and avoid my gaze.
I want to see you pretend it never happened –
betraying the discomfiture your face portrays.

I don’t have the patience to wait any longer –
For it seems you have surely made your choice.
To live your life gratifying someone’s whims…
To kill your will and meekly surrender your voice.

And so I liberate you – and set you free…
Though it is my own freedom that I actually seek.
Forgiveness, after all, is an attribute of the strong –
And there’s little doubt about which of us is weak.

I forgive you – for the appalling silence…
That you left in place of an adequate apology.
And for the despicable defence that you put up –
When challenged by a conflicting ideology.

I forgive you – for listening from behind a mask,
To all the sweet words I spoke to your face.
For performing an incredible theft of trust,
And leaving behind not even a single trace.

I forgive you – for rendering my love orphaned,
my sentiments widowed and my faith forlorn.
For playing the meanest old trick in the book –
Showing me the flower and handing me the thorn.

I forgive you – for smearing dirt on my feelings…
Feelings that till today were selfless and pure.
Echoes from our past which to me are so clear…
In reaching you become so puzzlingly obscure.

Relationships flower only till they are watered –
And you left ours a tad too dry, a bit too long.
Someday you shall be asked an incriminating why –
But justification will not make it any less wrong.

I confer on you the highest honour there is…
In the realm of forgiveness and settled scores.
I forget you – I expunge your name and memories…
And sign off this last message – Cathartically Yours.

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NISHANK MEHTA  |  24.07.2016

Walking Wounded

 

walking wounded

We walk wounded, carrying vicious memories…
When someone, somewhere, sometime – hurt us.
And no matter how many roses adorn our gardens,
In some dark murky corner, we all grow a cactus.

Perhaps those wounds were inflicted early,
When another toddler refused to share his toy.
Or when the first jeers you faced taught you that,
not all laughter was just an expression of joy.

Perhaps it was when bettered by you at the game,
The school bully pushed you down to the ground.
Or when the treasured G.I Joe you mysteriously lost,
Was in your best pal’s bag quite shockingly found.

Maybe it was the day you ran home crying,
And your mother revealed a painful secret…
That not everyone you meet will come to like you,
And you often live through days that you will regret.

When your sincere love for that special friend lost –
to someone’s shallow but flashy counterpart…
You learnt that love is certainly not blind,
And seeks jolly good more than a devoted heart.

While living amongst some of life’s lowest thieves,
Your innocence was one day spectacularly shattered.
Forced to defend what you lived and stood for –
You fought through the slugfest – bruised and battered.

In due time you were force-fed a bitter fruit –
That overprized knowledge of good and evil.
And the shameless duplicity of people hit you hard –
Like life’s hammer striking on your soul’s anvil.

The day you caught someone in a blatant lie –
And their betrayal hurt you with its biting sting…
You learnt that people seldom meant what they said
And that faith was a frightfully fickle thing.

You came to realize when money flexed its muscle
that everything in this world was up for sale.
And when a man’s pockets go really deep…
Even his idiosyncrasies the world will merrily hail.

But no matter when, where or in whatever manner –
Those beasts at whose behest you walk wounded…
Do not have the power to heal you – and never will:
That healing touch is in your own spirit founded.

Even should they acknowledge and repent the hurt
They have exacted on you for all these years…
Only you can find your cactus in that murky corner
And proceed to water it with phoenix tears.

You never really know how strong you are –
Until forsaken by all, you are left all alone.
When forced to pick yourself up off the floor…
You mend what’s broken – flesh, blood and bone.

Yours is the choice to abjectly surrender –
Or to rise and reclaim what was yours all along.
To be tamed by the sound of a Pavlovian whistle –
Or seize the stage and choreograph your swansong.

To be healed doesn’t mean you were never stabbed –
Or there was no damage inflicted by the knife.
It only means you have lived through the pain…
And the damage no longer controls your life.

The blessed gates of heaven will open for you –
If your indomitable spirit prevails over the loss…
For there was one who once walked wounded too,
On His way to crucifixion – and He carried a cross…

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NISHANK MEHTA  |  21.07.2016

Persephone

 

persephone

Of all the dastardly sins in the world –
None reeks of such depravity…
Than spilling the blood of the fairer sex –
taking the life of a goddess in its brevity.

Killed, before she is even born…
Mutilated and raped by force.
Widowed in wars, burnt for dowry…
Maimed, as she helplessly cries hoarse.

But, you do not kill a goddess.
You gaze at the universe in her eyes.
Get lost and laid in its darkness –
Only to be discovered in her sunrise.

You listen as those eyes wax eloquent
about her deepest and darkest fears.
How she was branded vile and pagan –
and abhorred for all these years.

No – you do not kill a goddess.
With sinning hands you touch her breasts.
And on that heaving landscape you study –
the seismology of her hurried breaths.

Plucky gasps of air escape in stealth –
the gag of his strong and brutal hands.
Being the last wisps of life that remain
In the crypts of her poisoned glands.

No – you do not kill a goddess.
You gently caress her luxurious skin.
Massaging it with a love so intimate –
Nourishing the divinity that lies within.

You trace her scars and map her bruises –
And with every kiss you try to heal…
For beneath her blinding beauty are,
wounds she must no more conceal.

No – you do not kill a goddess.
You worship her even as she bleeds.
Knowing that her altar awaits you –
To fulfil the most primal of your needs.

In the heat of the passion she evokes,
Erupts the lava of your molten desire.
Fanned and fuelled, by her lissom body,
The chastity of the night catches fire.

No – you do not kill a goddess.
For her blessed womb is your shrine.
Wrapped inseparably in her warmth is,
the tiny flag bearer of your bloodline.

She cultivates in her sacred fertility…
The seeds you passionately watered.
Screaming, as those that look like her –
at your hands get mindlessly slaughtered.

No – you do not kill a goddess.
You rather wage a war in her name.
Against those who sacrilege her modesty,
And put the entire humanity to shame.

You take her under your protection –
And punish the monsters assaulting her pride.
You fight for what she deserves since long –
A world where she no longer needs to hide.

No – you do not kill a goddess.
You let her rule and reign supreme.
Install her back in the pantheon,
And let her divinity glow and gleam.

For she can be a benevolent protector,
and the most ruthless destroyer as well.
Revered, she can help you rise to heaven…
Scorned, she will ensure you rot in hell!

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NISHANK MEHTA  |  18.07.2016

Bedazzled

 

bedazzled

Its been ages and I still can’t get over it –
That urge – a mad rush – to be with you.
To evaporate and condense again on your skin,
Clinging onto your petals like the morning dew.

Smitten by the warmth and love of your smile,
My poor old heart burns in hellfire.
Chained by reminiscences of unfulfilled love,
Consumed and captured by a deep desire.

I realize I was just an empty cup being filled,
by the fountain of lust that from you had surged.
Craving for the dope that was your raw beauty,
I snort on your memories – helpless and purged.

Memories of your hair falling on my face,
Like a gilded cage – enslaving my mind.
And my kisses enmeshed in your golden curls,
As I let the helix of my passion unwind.

When your lips quivered – wet with wine,
Offering an obvious answer to my temptation…
Our tongues talked in a language without words –
all inhibitions getting lost in translation.

Seeped under your skin – I still wait there…
For you to feel that incurable itch again.
And scratch to find me hidden underneath,
Throbbing inescapably in the walls of your vein.

The trail that your fingers left across my body –
The sheer heat leaving me grazed and singed.
As our bodies became naked fulcrums every night,
Upon which the callisthenics of our romance hinged.

Till I felt the white warm flesh of your arms,
I never knew how fast blood could rush to my head.
And my hormones stood up in rapt attention,
Ready to march – to where that touch of yours led.

I remember being intoxicated by wafts of your smell –
A breath, a scent – too familiar to forget.
I inhaled it as if it was what kept me alive…
That heady amalgamation of perfume and sweat.

You made me conscious of my base physicality –
As you traced my imperfections with your fingertips.
Revelling in forbidden love, as we drank together,
the spoils of the darkness in slow quenching sips.

In the depths of desire, you taught me a lesson –
That nothing in this world was meant to remain single.
It was the oldest decree of mankind and all life itself –
That two contrasting bodies were destined to mingle.

Your innocence was ripped by my nails in your flesh –
My hands coiled like a noose around your soft neck.
Infusing me with poison through your malevolent lips,
you left the ship of my desires in an exquisite wreck.

My nights were punctuated by the melodic rhythm –
Of your heart thumping beneath angelic breasts.
As the mandolin that was your tanned body,
Played soulful songs all through on my requests.

Every morning, before you put on your gown…
An infatuated sun painted your shoulders in gold.
That arousing vision still lingers in my mind…
Your sculpted shadow standing – beautiful and bold.

When you walked out of the shower – wet and dripping,
Silver light reflecting off your bare luscious form…
I struggled to hold onto the mast of self-control,
My libidinous mind ravaged by a sensual storm.

Lacing your chaste curves with my amorousness,
I discovered an addiction that had no cure.
In this sordid play of flesh and fervour,
I unearthed a joy – so unblemished and pure.

And though I have moved on – and started afresh,
Shorn off the yearning I had in my prime.
I still remember you in moments of weakness –
As the girl who bedazzled me once upon a time…

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NISHANK MEHTA  |  11.07.2016