Orange

This orange glow
Of the heater
And my incessantly beating
Racing, jumping, heart
Feels orange
(Obviously, imagine if I said 
Purple
In a poem titled”orange”)
Anyway so I was
Talking about my room, again.
And my location in the general plane of emotions
And-oh my god heart shut the fuck up 
I can hear you in my ears
Anyway, as I was saying
This is a very bad time to be awake
And being an adult feels weird

Like today I seriously
Talked about internships with my father
What happened to all the righteous angst?
None of this is a fantasy
That my boring 12-year-old self cooked up
It was real, and frightening

I don’t want to be a person yet
Who has to care about linkedin
Can I still have another shot
At immature heartbreak poetry?
I feel like there are metaphors I haven’t
Used yet,
Can I ride to more places with my friends?
I still have time
To sing songs to my mother
Right?

All my life I’ve wanted to grow up
To feel strong and big
But the universe got bigger and I
Used to be the queen of the world 
And now I’m just a person
Who feels orange at 2am.

---

Hi people, yes I have abandoned NaPoWriMo because not only am I dying, I also have college, and no will to do anything anymore. Hence, I will not subject myself to arbitary deadlines more than I have to.

And as far as this poem goes, I find something quite alluring and attractive about girls forever stuck in their childhood, not wanting to grow up. Adolecense is painful for everyone, but we just make it worse, don’t we? Like taking a barbed wire and using it as a jump rope, just to feel like a kid again. Not yet, the pain is compelling, but I can’t let it go. Not yet.

Day 3 “Nails”

“Nails hi dekhti reh ja tu”
She smiled her crooked grin
And i turned redder than her fingertips
That change colours each day
Somedays glitter- like the Little Dipper
Sometimes black- like the Ballad For Mona Lisa
Yesterday they were lilac
And I told her, like I always do,
Holding her hand briefly, “such pretty nails”
Such sharp corners
Not unlike her ‘devil could care’ eyes
That soften like the fluorescent light above us
When she laughs lightly and says “Thank you,
Burger khaane chalegi?”

---

 

I know, I didn’t write this today, but nobody wants to read my depressed sick-brain little poems filled with self loathing. Instead read this 2 year old thing about a girl in my physics tuition. And before you ask why I am posting day 3 on 8th of April, let me just interrupt you and remind you that we will all die eventually.

Day 2 “Someone New”

This poem was long time coming.
I mean, you must be wondering
‘Tanu has been travelling in the
Metro for 2 months so, uh
Where’s the poem about
The little kid who annoyed you when you were freaked out
After sitting in the wrong train twice?

Or that stunning woman, jesus christ
You put on sunglasses to marvel at her
Remember the tennis shoes
If you knew how to put on eyeliner like that, you’d never be blue.

And those boys, sorry, men
Who looked like very handsome and very old 12th graders when
You realised some jobs have uniforms too.
Oh, stupid Tanu
I know you still think about that time
That guy pointed at your wallet on the floor, lime
-Haired bassist with his chains dripping
Over alternative skull tshirt, gripping
The pole with you.

There were 3 friends, weren’t there?
Who you could swear were coming back from a Queer
Comic Artists Association meeting in some
DU college. Didn’t you wish they’d take you for another one?

How many people have you wanted to
Go home with and see how they looked when they drew?
Blew balloons on their father’s birthday
Which mobile games do they play?

Where is your love poem
Dedicated to the femme-
butch, chapped lips couple?
Your love poem for all the dull
And tired and happy and exuberant people of the city
That is now your home, cringe intended. Pity
In his eyes, as the uncle asks me for directions
On the rapid metro station, while I’m crying senseless
Doesn’t the Green Park bag sanitation guy
Deserve a verse, or five? ”

Well bitch here it is
How are you thinking this is a phase, this is a bit?
How is this self indulgent poem a surprise to you?
Really, it’s unknown to few, that
I fall in love just a little, oh, little bit
Every day with someone new.

---

Today I sent a voice note to my friend saying I need him to not forward me 13,000,000,000 poetry prompts, but just tell me what to write. He told me to write something to do with Hozier. Now, I am not emotionally sound enough to sit back and unpack songs like “Like Real People Do” so I chose one of his peppy numbers, “Someone New. ” The last lines are the chorus of the song.

I know, I promised myself I wouldn’t write a poem about all the people I see everyday in the metro. But now that I’m stuck in this 250 gajh of my house, I miss standing in line to pay ₹200 ever 3 days at the card recharge counter. Oh, the human condition can make you romanticize the stupidest of things!

Day #1 “Rule Master”

‘There would be no other time in my life
When getting a drastic haircut
Or blue hair
Would be more justified’
I think
At the ledge of the of the rooftop
That took me two breathing breaks to reach.
My spit tastes like nothing
My hair feels crusty
My lips chapped
I am the poster girl of dehydration.
And stand back and pull out my phone
Play summer of 69
And sway my hips with these trees behind my house
These are the best days of my life?
Maybe not
Youth is just an overhyped nostalgic wet dream
Sold by unfulfilled middle aged rom-com writers
But what do I know of youth

Except for the quote “I need to be youthfully felt
Cause God, I never felt young. “

All I know is that the lit windows on buildings look like glittering fireflies from the distance
And there is the neighbour girl on the roof right now
And I’m hungry
I will go downstairs
Maybe I’ll shower today
Maybe I’ll pretend it’s last year
Sometimes I forget who’s making the rules.

---

That’s right ladies and gentlemen and folks, it’s  day one of *drumroll*
NaPoWriMo!

It is, in my professional opinion, pretty fucking apt, that the first day of a month dedicated to poets, falls on the day dedicated for fools.
Also, nobody else except me is finding it funny ki after surviving a year of lockdown, I caught the plague 3 days before a party, in the middle of the first wave of college assignment submissions, during my period. I don’t need April Fools pranks, thanks, my life is already a joke. But then, what else is there left to do, except cry about diminished cardio abilities and write vague nonsense about youth? You and I both, dear reader, are in for a month of fever dreams. To quote Sarah Kay, ” I know poems won’t save us. And yet, and yet. “