Poetry: Rashi Tibrewal

Rashi Tibrewal: I am currently doing Bachelor in English Honors from Kolkata. As a child, I was never too sure as to what I would choose to do when I grew up. But while growing up, I came to the realization that there is something about art that I never want to give up. It was almost as if I wanted the world to see art in it, the way that I did. And then a certain passion grew within me towards writing and its aesthetics. I have been writing poetry ever since I was 15 years old and I'd say that other than poetry, what describes me could be my love for music and paintings.

1. The Dream World

             The coffee smelled like cigarettes,
             And there was dust on the window pane.
             The floor was covered with empty sheets of paper,
             And used up pens thrown around the trash can.
             It was a mess, her room and my heart.

             And I stood there by the door,
             Scrupulously watching her pace the room.
             She took my face in her warm palms and I
             Realised that she makes me so nervous that I
             Almost can’t walk and yet so calm that I
            Always dance to the music of her eyes.

             It was colder that day and her hug felt like,
             Warm strokes of paint on the cold smell of paper.
             And I can’t seem to recall what I said,
             But she laughed and that, that laugh felt as though,
             A painter had just painted his first masterpiece,
             Or a musician had just brought life to his music.

             She is sitting across me, on the chair
             Eating her pastry. She says they make her happy.
             And I obsequiously stare at her,
             Knowing that everything she touches,
             Becomes art and therefore I am an artist.
             Realising how oblivious I was,
             I feel her soft hands, interlocking mine,
             Taking me to a different world.
             A world where the ocean collides with the forest,
             And creates a diamond land,
             Where the eruption of the volcano turns the sky orange.

             A dream, that is what I live when I am with her.
             One that is far away from my reach,
             But feels closer than our intertwining bodies.

2. Forever

            Love often makes us say things,
            That are probably not even real.
            We often hear the lovers
            Making solemn promises
            To each other like,
            “I will love you forever” or,
            “We will stay together forever”.
            But really, forever is just another myth.
            It’s a vague promise,
            Even if it is made through sacred intentions.

            It’s fiction. 
            A kind of fiction that we want to turn into reality,
            So we just believe that it is in fact real.

            But what could possibly last forever,
            When there is no forever?
            Life and death comes to all,
            Irrespective of it being living or non-living.

            We hold on to things as long as we can,
            But one day or another,
            Either the hope fades away,
            Or it is greeted by death.
            Which then leads us,
            To the end of something.

            So I think,
            Forever is just another belief,
            Or faith that we grow inside our heads,
            Simply because we love the idea of having it.

3. Desire

             She smelled of strawberries and sorrows,
             On that summer day.
             I remember looking at her as she stroked her hair,
             Holding her face in her hands, she just sat there,
             Clueless about how gorgeous her simplicity seemed to my eyes.

             She looked so soft, just like clouds or
             Perhaps softer than them.

             And although a part of me wished
             To touch her, I don’t desire that.
             For I’m afraid that if I do, I might lose her.

             And in this world where I have nothing,
             I only wish to have her in my delusional heart,
             If not in this state they call reality.

             For when I see her eyes, sometimes,
             They seem lost, as though trying to find her innocence,
             That seems to be gone for a while now,
             And other times, they seem rather melancholic.
             But oh! Don’t get me wrong,
             She supremely hides them.

             You could be talking to her and
             Might think that you know what she’s thinking,
             But you wouldn’t, for she doesn’t let anyone
             Breach her water walls.

             And so, like a hopeless romantic,
             I sit here too, admiring her as she
             Finally looks at me and smiles,
             But still clueless.

             Perhaps, I will have the courage one day,
             To desire her, just as she desires content.

4. Tomorrow

             Maybe tomorrow, I will tell you
             About how on that silent night,
             I missed your hands caressing
             My face as though I were some
             Delicate sculpture from your fantasy.

             Maybe tomorrow, I will tell you
             The way I looked at you when you
             Were stargazing. Oh those
             Beautiful dark eyes and how
             They glowed through your despair.

             Maybe tomorrow, I will tell you
             That our love was deeper than the
             Forest and denser than water.
             It was the painful yet exotic
             Barefoot walk on the rocks.

             Maybe tomorrow, I will tell you
             How I used to love tracing my
             Fingers through the veins of your
             Hands and your quirky smile thereon.

             Maybe tomorrow, I will say
             My goodbye, to you and to us,
             For my soul still wanders in
             The world that we created.

             But tomorrow never comes,
             Does it?

5. The Eyes

            The eyes, however quiet they may seem,
            They always speak, louder than the voice.

            They make a person naked even before they take their clothes off,
            Especially before they take their clothes off.

            Because what really are clothes?
            Just mere materials of fabric covering the gifted body parts,
            As if it was a crime to show them.

            But no amount of clothes or even make-up can cover a person’s eyes,
            For they were meant to be naked, seen and observed.
            You don’t even have to look closely to see the truth in someone’s eyes,
            You just need to observe and the eyes will do the rest.

            It’s a gift if you ask me, for being able to read someone’s eyes and acknowledge,
            The reality that they hide through their mouth, clothes and actions.

            Because the people may never speak about all the sacrifices they have made,
            Or all the pain they went through.

            But their eyes, they will always reflect the story,
            Precisely in a way that not even words can.

            And it is magical to be able to see different shades of
            Light, pain and sorrow through nothing but just one look.

            It seems tragic but it is true, that it takes
            One set of eyes to feel another set of eyes.

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