#5: I choose...

I choose not to remember,
What you did, or didn't,
How you made me feel, or didn't.

I choose not to remember,
When you forgot what I said,
When you forgot what I felt.

I choose not to remember,
All those times of facing
Mockery, bullying, loss of self-esteem.

I choose not to remember,
The faces and names that caused hurt.
That is how I cope, you know.

But I choose to remember,
How, for fleeting moments, you made me forget,
Finding solace and bliss in the ignorance.

***

Read my previous NaPoWriMo poems here:
#2: Forsaken soul
#3: Exhaustion
#4: Night dreamer

#4: Night dreamer

In a timeless place, no awareness of night and day,
The conscious awakens, threads of pictures,
scenes, moments, feelings, breaking through the surface.

Eyes don't open, for threads begin running loose,
Already losing a dream or two,
Quickly recalling the ones that remain,
Thinking them over and over again.

Hands reach out to the spiralled-together paper,
Tucked next to the pillow, pencil in place,
Readied in the night.
Hands scrawl memories, eyes open merely a shadow,
Mind rushing through dreams, about adventures, laughter and flowery meadows.

Together the papers get thicker each year,
Bearing dreams of a collector,
With no sure purpose, other than to remember,
There's a world wholly created, a world of one's own,
That's as beautiful and ugly,
As the one the body owns.

***

This got thought-up while I was going through a notepad I had kept for a short while, intermittently, to record dreams. To say I was astonished would be an understatement. It was full of WEIRD scenarios with the most unusual characters (Batman's Joker, people from my junior school I haven't thought about in years, Dracula, people as vampires, friends conjuring up spells using wands--I managed Lumos!!--my childhood toy pygmypuff, Frankenstein's creature, to name a few). The best thing was the way I'd written them down. Good sentences that I might not have managed in wakefulness. Straight in lines, despite being in the dark, eyes nearly closed. Am I awesome or what!?

In case this is the first NaPoWriMo poem you're reading on this blog, check out the NaPoWriMo website here to know about it.

I'm also in a personal, very healthy competition with this friend (click here) whose writing makes me want to think hard before I write, and to write the very best, because that is what he does. Trust me, (because I'm an editor) there's an undiscovered gem. 

#3: Exhaustion

Drooping eyes and sallow face,

Curved-down lips and a grimace,

Heavy steps and a heavy heart,

Dragging self along the path,

White sound ringing in the ears,

A sore comment will downright pierce,

Painful eyes red with tears,

That have stayed there over the years,

Gasping breath and dry mouth,

Snivelling nose, uncouth,

Need a soft bed and soft words,

Need to hear the chirping of birds,

To remove exhaustion.

Src: www.rebeccaanhalt.com

#2: Forsaken soul

"Don't go out yet!" we said. "Your talks with that friend are ever on the rise. 

Talking about our household is not wise."

The light left her eyes, shoulders stooped, she slunk back on her chair.

"She's back from the village with a gift. Taking it, I think, is fair."

We stopped short of words. Yet again we were too hasty and judging.

The househelp across the lane had the comfort only a friend could bring.

Staring at the soppy serial on TV, her only distraction, her eyes welled with tears,

"You wouldn't know what it is to be alone, and to live in fear."

A sharp intake of breath we took. She was right, and we hadn't thought,

What it could be like to lose every loved one life had brought.

There had been a home with Mother and Sister and Goats in a far-off village,

Before it crumbled while she had been away, all mercilessly pillaged.

The Mother and Sister killed by some kin,

And no one to arrest them for committing the sin.

For we live in a country where the mighty rule,

The honest and the hard-working man is just a fool.

So it was that she lost her family, for the kin lusted for her life too,

She gave up her hard-earned money to another greedy sister, for there was nothing she could do.

The greedy sister, sent off at birth to a kin-woman who wanted her, became bitter,

To the birth-mother; she felt no sympathy for her remaining sister.

Yet we wondered what made this lonely girl do things for the greedy one,

"She's the only family left... I'm doing what I would anyway have done."

Cleaning, cooking, washing, answering throughout the day,

A few minutes of solace with a friend are for play.

Yet she is hindered. By the time we realize our mistake,

She has taken to sleep, lost in a world we are not allowed to take.

---

The hero on a rainy morning...

Thank you for reading this poem. I'm glad I wrote it. It makes me feel more aware and empathetic towards a girl I've known for more than eight years, a girl who isn't my sister, yet I've lived under the same roof as her, a girl I've seen striving to be good at everything she learns. It was a hard blow to her (and us) when news of the tragedy that befell her home reached us. We cannot really imagine how she feels to live in such a world. Yet, I've seen her laughing more than I've ever done, and I wonder at that. I don't like the communication gap we have. We don't have long talks. It gets awkward when we do try. I'm annoyed at something most of the times, and it nearly always goes to her. Sometimes I feel like crying if I think of my behaviour considering her situation, because it makes me feel ashamed of myself, of all of us who, after an initial "I'm sorry", tend to forget all about another's tragedy. Every life counts, and each one of it should be celebrated with love and care. Thinking about it just now, I think it would be a good amend to renew what I had started long ago and left too soon without completing it--to teach her to read and write in Hindi. What's the point of being a lover of words when I can't share the love with someone I actually do care about? You rock, V. You'll never read this, but from among this love-hate relationship, love rules. 

***

I am participating in the National Poem Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). It was a suggestion by a friend, and I readily accepted mostly because I had been craving to get back to blogging, but somehow had not been able to manage it. I've never been into poems. The only poetry book I own was acquired a few days ago, as a gift. But I hope to express my thoughts, realize some truths in the process of writing, and share it on this blog with NaPoWriMo. And oh, the most exciting part about this "project" is that I'm competing with this blogger-friend. We're going to see who writes better, each day. We realized that to get into that writing frame of mind, we needed to be regular, and this could just be the thing. And to keep us motivated, what's better than a challenge? We can self-judge (assuming you guys would be too busy to comment or anything), but you are free to give your opinion! It would inspire us even more! This is tagged #2 because it is April 2 today. We forgot to begin it yesterday. :P

You can participate in NaPoWriMo too. Click here.