worn by the weather

she is swimming in an ocean of pain and sorrow.
she feels parlous when you stare at her with those malicious eyes.
she walks down the street with shuddering fear running through her veins.
yet, she smiles.

she was only eight when she was targeted by your nefarious intentions.
was it imperative?

she is in a sea.
a sea comprising shrieks and screams.
the waves keep thrusting her and
existence seems like a burden
because she grew up thinking we were equally sensible and equally half-witted.

ma asked her to cover herself up afraid of having her daughter's breasts ogled.
respect at stake.
clad in a sari,
yet all eyes glued to the tattoo on her collarbone.

that night, she was hoodwinked and hurled on his bed.
his unwanted grasp on her waist.
she did not want to.
he did it anyway.

she tried showing affection;
he threw her emotions into turmoil.
she whined; she groaned.

kept on beseeching.
to no avail.
her four year old heard her screeches.
he wept.

"do you think I enjoy being in agony?" she asked.
scared stiff to raise her voice.
bombarded with complaints.
his doltish character provoked her to slap him.

a truckload of exasperation, resentment and pain.
fuck the glass ceiling
fuck the smiling.
she yelled.
eventually, the undertones were audible.

taking a deep breath in, 

I belong to me.

to the shards of the mirror I threw a rock at. 

she roared.

              - isha

jitters

his face had the glimmer of a thousand diamonds reflecting under the sun.

he had the essence of a man like no other.

neon lights gleaming in the night;

pale feelings.

a tornado of thought;

a furious tempest.

he had her heart in this whorl.

he made her feel like she was under the sakuras during spring.

he was beautiful.

he made her heart run.

she hid in a jungle of dreams.

she knew he was the one.

     
                        - Isha

lost cassette

he asked me for a promise,
a promise i couldn't fulfill.
a promise so hard,

my screaming words got a chill.

forget butterflies,

he's like a flickering firework,

with even parts of exuberance and colour,

like the postcard from the hills,

like the music i dip my ears into every morning,

like the ambrosial petrichor emanating from drying grass,

like the novel i wish to read every evening.

forget fireflies,

he's mirth frolicking on the sand,

frolics coursing through each vein,

with too many tears pending,

and life slipping through fingers like rain.

i guess y'all wished for elements giving rise to a happy recital,

wanting to give him oceans in rolled-down windows,

watching his tired, ill at ease heart, chase the horizon,

where rests all that no one loved of him.

i gave it a shot but lost the first draft.

withering with the weight of goodbyes,

not making the promise made me miss him more,

i couldn't trick myself into smiling again,

for his presence i'd just adore.
   
                                         - isha.