Somedays

Grenade

On some days I am a grenade blowing
my sanity in moments of weakness.
I have a hole in my heart that leaks
all the eclipsed emotions in my
nervous system to a point that the
roof of my restraint is blown sky high;
In that moment I lie bareheaded
under the dark sky at midnight.
Ghosts of my mistakes appear from under
the bed & tap dance on the wooden floor;
Tap Tap Tap the mischievous symphony goes.
Then comes the point for truce declaration;
So I write about the wrongs, the rights & the
rights that turned wrong.
Tales of Hero & Villains & Time for thats
always an added dimension.
For I must spill to be contained & I only have paper!

Beautiful Mind

On some days, I am Bougainvillea hanging
on the walls of my interiors with multicolored
flowers;
I sing odes to the Spring & become oblivious
to the autumn.
Tiny little birdies sit on my branches and chirp
of the neighbouring villages & what all they saw.
I eavesdrop their stories & note it all in my
journal of thoughts.
At night, I read from my journal & fill words
to a borrowed tale.
I write love, perspective, dreams & faith;
I decorate it in my branches & release the
unvoiced to the nature.
For I must spill to be contained & I only have paper!

– Disha Tripathi

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