A MOSQUITO’S WHINE

~

of all my reasons//

The debt i owe

 

She knocked 

at my door,  

around eleven past nine.

Till 7, 

It seemed

like another Sunday evening,

passed by cluelessly 

like aridity is just another habit now,

Usual, 

ordinary,

unnoticed,

learned and re-learned, everyday,

unworthy 

of any attention

 any more.

She had been alarming, although,

me of her arrival

with a bit of an un-surity in her tone, 

Yet it seemed like, she visited,

unalarmed and unexpected.

and sooner than i imagined.

Although it was me, at 15 past seven that evening

that invited her,

to come quickly, 

in a bit of a desperation,

i accept.

but

I did not expect

she would come

and stand by my door 

in less than an hour,

and knock.

But she came, and 

she knocked.

It is true

in the beginning, 

a part of me wanted her to stay away,

a part of me wished 

on not living this day,

Maybe that is why 

in only so many ways, 

I tried to cancel, tried to delay

our meeting,

And all those times, 

that is why, I tried to drive her away.

To be honest, she seemed scary,

sometimes a little, sometimes a lot

but when i thought about her this lonely evening,

The thought of her, seemed like the most peaceful thing i've got,

divine and beautiful, a hint of serenity,

Yes, these past few weeks i had been thinking of her a lot, 

Suddenly she was prettier to me than ever,

even though it seemed like wanting her now was a crime,

But just this one moment, in half a consciousness

and half a breathe,

i could truly appreciate her,

in all her beautiful ways, 

Just this one time.

And I wondered to myself 

what was so haunting

about her 

anyway 

that scared me off

all this time?

that I tried so hard

to overlook

my developing infatuation for her,

That i passed by her in hallways so many times,

 and deliberately looked away,

Maybe it was those few times,

my hands shook, 

as my trembling voice asked her to come over just for tonight,

and stay.

Yet the waitings and the longings never paid off,

because She never showed up, 

maybe she sensed the unsurity in my voice

until today.

Or maybe,

it was simply how the others 

would potray,

her 

as malicious

and mean, 

and problematic,

in all the names 

they called her.

Or maybe it was

simply her name 

anyway,

'Death', her name. 

Oh,

her beautiful name.

And Despite what they made her 

to be, 

That breathless evening, It was only she,

who offered me breath, 

in this lonely time 

of pain

and of struggle ,

in this lifeless box,

compact and of stone,

She offered me the key 

It was only she,

who offered me life.

The touch of her,

serene and divine

With her hand stretched out

In these desparate times,

She knocked at my door

around eleven past nine.

 RECURRING NIGHTMARES 

Waking up perplexed

a heavy shriek of death.

Ploughing through the dreams,

a field full of nightmares.

 

So weary, so confused,

the body, tiresome like a shriveled worm

or an unborn child inside the mother’s womb

Begs for repose – a preposterous demand,

The mind that cowers the dreaming that is deadlier

       Some saplings of nightmares grow a lethal flower 

that frightens,

that chills,

that poisons the soul

others grow the deadliest of them all,

The beguiling sweet nectar called hope.

 

A loud whisper of an altercation, 

sometimes the body does win.

The mind yields - an inevitable bane

Minutes later,

I’m awake in a pool of sweat 

and fright 

and death.

And well, there’s that debate again.

          ***

  From my upcoming collection

'The Poet's Narcissus

NOTE: STRICTLY NOT MEANT FOR FURTHER DISTRIBUTION OR SHARING ON OTHER PLATFORMS WITHOUT CONSENT.

CELEBRATE

 CELEBRATE - YOU MUST.

Dearest dear,

Why mourn?

That I am gone too soon.

You must celebrate 

instead,

That I came 

this far.

 

Clueless, you stand,

Of the journey I have covered.

All the ways I have died 

All the ways I have suffered

The tumult in this farewell today,

That leaves your eyes sore

I have felt in my head,

Every second,

A million times before. 

So many nights- I stood awake.

Dare I sleep,

Dreams may come,

Haunting ones, 

Breath-taking ones,

Not many

but quite some.

 

Dearest dear,

What a yawn life has been,

And today, 

Finally I rest.

 

So rejoice along.

Celebrate; 

You must.

 

     

 ***

Poem by Priyanka Singh

                  "From my upcoming collection -

                     The Poet's Narcissus" 

Coming Soon

Author Priyanka singh: AN INTRODUCTION

Author of Death Before Cremation

 

Who am I? 

Hi, My name is Priyanka! 
I am a Poetess, a law student and an author. My debut collection of poetry, "Death Before Cremation", published in the year 2019, sheds light on trauma, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts based on my personal experiences with it that I turned into poetry.                                                                                                          

More than a mere collection of poetry, It is my blood, sweat and tears. It is my feelings of helplessness, resentment, loneliness and everything beyond. It is my journey through the darkest of times. It is the story of my million deaths each day before my body is ready to be cremated. It is my heartache, my pain, my vulnerability, all of it and more in your hands. 

 

                    Update: New Collection coming soon!

THE THOUGHT OF US

You've encircled my dreams
for a love, 
long lost.
Once we flowed 
like the waves of the same sea,
Once we bloomed 
like the flowers of the same tree,
And I didn't want to write this,
Dint have the courage to even start,
Because you might have once deserved it,
But you no longer,
deserve my art.

Once you touched me 
like a chill summer breeze,
That soothes 
the harsh summer heat,
that flows with the wind 
like your sweet giggling.
Once I would have given 
my heart to you, 
my sister, 
to the version of you 
in my imagination,
Funny 
how we believe them so deeply 
to overlook the reality,
And we slice our soul into pieces 
for something that never existed.

But I believe that maybe once, it was real. 
That once you would look back at us 
and not speak of swears.
Once you were in my memories 
that didn't hurt,
Once our memories 
didn't reek of betrayal
Once I could talk about us 
without losing my breath,
Without knowing 
that we were just your pretence,
Without knowing 
that I burdened you on my high roads 
when I thought you held me willingly.

Then maybe once 
I could think about us without a rope to my neck,
Maybe once 
I could talk about us without a rock to my chest,
And maybe then 
I wouldn't run away from 

the thought of us.

                       

      Poetry by Priyanka

(https://www.instagram.com/petitewritespoetry/?hl=en)