Struggling

And my mother stood in the doorway
Smiling at me as I dipped pieces of bread
into egg.
While I giggled, she shook her head
Saying how happy she was
That I was out of bed
And laughing.

And later that night,
We were watching a show
on the TV.
It was so bad, it made me laugh out loud,
And again my mother said
How I hadn't laughed that much in days.

And I tried listening to music
But I was just reminded of the past
I tried reading books
But I was going too fast
I didn't have the patience anymore
To stop and read all the words
I was being absurd
I just wanted the task to be done
But my efforts to do it were none.

And I finally stumbled across one song
that made me happy.
But then I listened to it far too long
When I showered the next day
and heard it again,
I remembered all the pain.

And still later that night,
I looked in my mirror
As I ran my purple brush
Through my golden strands
And the reflection mimicked my hands.
A smile seemed to leer
on my face
And I thought it queer:
For I usually hated the girl in the mirror.
But not this time.

And the next day I told Him how
I didn't feel as miserable now.
How I listened to One Republic all night,
How I finally put up a fight
With my own self
And conquered my sorrow
At least until tomorrow.

What He Saw

At five, he saw with his eyes so wide,
A plane across the sky gleam and glide.
At five, he did wonder and think,
About these flying objects; didn't sleep a wink.
At five, he searched the sky, running around in his street,
Hoping to catch a glimpse of this treasure so sweet.

At ten, he saw his paper plane sore ever so high,
With envy the other kids did sigh.
At ten, he tore a sheet from his book,
Expertly folding down the corners and crooks.
At ten, he crafted a plane out of his hands,
And made it fly across imaginary lands.

At fifteen, he saw his mother carefully wipe
Her eyes, her smudged kohl left a wobbly stripe.
At fifteen, he touched his father's feet and asked for his blessing,
Told his sister he'd be home soon, she needn't be fussing.
At fifteen, he kissed his girlfriend goodbye (promising he'll see her again),
As he left home to train, and at last fly a plane.

At twenty, he saw his name printed on the uniform,
He had undeniably stirred up quite the storm -
At twenty, those twice his age listened to him when he spoke,
Everyone agreed his leadership skills could persuade and provoke.
At twenty, his fellow men marvelled as he led the forces with remarkable skill,
With fear, the hearts of his enemies stood still.

He never saw twenty five.

Pain

Soft hands, and arms pearly white,
It really was a heart wrenching sight.
Of this maiden so fair,
Her face now contorted with despair.
Left paralysed by the searing pain,
She tries to fight the agonizing strain.
Her creamy skin bears red slashes,
Her life before her flashes    
As she looks around at the blood her own,
Making her weak till the marrow of her bone.                    
Her head spins as she cries for help,
The world deaf to her wails and yelps.
She holds her hand still,
As the blood continues to spill.
She draws breath in through her teeth,
As the pool of blood gathers at her feet.
Her face now adorned with beads of sweat,
She thinks of her past actions with regret.
Down her cheeks, her tears do crawl,
To tumble down into the red waterfall.
Catching her pathetic reflection in the mirror,
She angrily looks around for her killer -  
But her bloodied razor lies forgotten, forlorn and sad;
At shaving her arms, she'd always been bad.

Stepping Into Shit...Quite Literally

Breathe.

That is all I can do.

And hope. And perhaps pray? You tell me.

Lovelies! Something very sad and disturbing has happened to me, and I can't even believe I'm still functioning on account of the fact that I recently went through severe trauma and doctors (mommy and daddy) have advised me to rest in bed and not think about the complexities of life and definitely stay well away from hazardous equipments like my Physics Part II book. Yet here I am, because of my extremely selfless and larger than ever heart. And good looks. But we're deviating from the topic.

Where do I begin?

Okay. So today, fellow buffoon and part time model, ie, The Kapoorni, participated in an inter school fest. I participated in a poetry writing contest and a group song competition (we sang Gone, gone, gone in case you were wondering, which I'm 77% sure you weren't, but it doesn't hurt to be informative), both of which were held within the school hours, but since the host school was pretty far away from my own, commuting between the two took a lot of time, so we reached back to our school with only about forty minutes of school time left.

So there we were, all of my fellow participants, walking from the bus that dropped us off, to the school gate, wild and young and free, not bothered by the dangers that were in store for us (well, me, mostly).

I was talking animatedly (like I always do) to my friend Jai, telling him how he never looks at the person who is talking to him and how annoyed I get by that, so I was going on an on about looking at the person you're speaking to, and to illustrate my point, I said :

Me : You should look at me when I talk to you
Jai : Mmmm. *looks at trees*
Me : ...
Jai : *still looking at trees*
Me : Hey, hey, hey, hey, listen, listen, listen, listen
Jai : *turns to me* Yes
Me : *cleverly looks other way* oh hahaha how do you like this do you see what it feels like now hahahaha I'm not looking at you I'm looking in the opposite direction ahahahah lol at you yay not looking where I'm going tralalalala

After having displayed my point wonderfully, I quite forgot to look where I was going...and I subsequently stepped into a beautiful patch of fresh cow dung.

I felt my left foot suddenly glide across the pavement, and judging by Jai's expression, (who said, to quote, "Wow you cut the cake") I knew what had happened. I couldn't bear to look down, because I was afraid of what I'd see. So I did what any logical person would do.

I squeezed my eyes shut, squealed very loudly, took the cow dung-d shoe off with the tip of my right shoe...and I left it there.

Admist the cow dung. I showed the wretched shoe it's rightful place.

I somehow managed to hop back to the school, and desperately went around asking people to give me their shoes. I even generously offered a few girls a hundred bucks for one shoe, which is a good deal if you ask me, but like every genius idea of mine, that got shot down too.

I even had to compete in a race for my P.Ed. grade, and I tried to explain my circumstances to my P.Ed. teacher (Sir, I have recently been cow dung-d and I cannot possibly think about racing and so on when I obviously require critical care ASAP) but I failed to get the message across, and ran the race, and since I'm the conqueror of the world, I won, because that is just how I roll my lovelies.

So that is the story of how I hopped back to school, sporting a dirty sock, one shoe, and a brave smile.

Legend says that the shoe is still resting in the cow dung, casting misfortune on all those who pass it.

A Box Of Doughnuts

A ribbon of silk tied with a bow,
A glossy wrapping paper, that shone and glowed.
In it, was contained a box of  eight fried treats,
Of glazed, honey-dipped, and sugary sweets.
He had her favourites - all
She had admitted only last fall
Blushing slightly, she'd confessed,
How she was obsessed,
With these fried balls of dough,
(He didn't hear much though,
Distracted by the speckles of green in her eyes)
But then she had sighed.
She hadn't had them for a year or two,
(Peer pressure does that to you)
She thought herself fat, when she clearly was not,
Who wants to be curvy when you can be hot?
She thence skipped meals, and cried when
Looked at her 'fat' self in the mirror then
She cried and ate, and cried some more,
Then retched and dirtied the bathroom floor.
She was ashamed, yet she spilled it all to him,
She knew he wouldn't judge her for her sins.
It was all done in the hope to lose some weight,
And maybe finally score a prom date?
She'd said the last line with a bashful gaze,
He'd been thinking about her pained smile for days.
He wished he could make her see
How beautiful she could be,
When she didn't at all try,
How mesmerizing her face was, when she laughed, or even cried.
Knowing she'd love them, he got packed a box,
He knew it would be perfect to knock off her socks.
He also knew she'd refuse to eat them, but thank him for being so kind
But maybe the personalized message on them would change her mind?
Thinking happy thoughts, he shifted the gear of his car,
He hummed to himself, and saw her house from afar.
He got ready to pull up, the rearview mirror he checked,
It happened all too fast, his car beyond damage was wrecked.
She heard the crash and ran outside her gate,
She sunk to the floor when she recognized the shattered nameplate.
His possessions were sorted through, the box of  doughnuts lay forgotten,
If only to the right destination it would've gotten,
The message on them was still intact to those who would see -
The eight doughnuts read, "Will You Go To Prom With Me ?"

Vlogging and all

I've started a vlog.
Instead of studying.
It's about my days as a buffoon.
Here is the link -
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ywLUDK2erUM

Ex-Husband.

She closed her eyes.

A teardrop was balanced neatly upon her wet lashes. As she angrily stomped her foot, the tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes tumbled down her face in gay abandon, past her pale cheeks, past her long, flowing hair, and landed into her now damp dress, which had been a gift from her husband...or should she call him that?

Thinking this, she clutched her face in her hands, losing her patience, and cried hysterically, stomping her feet up and down. She gasped and forced herself to stop crying, regaining her strange calmness.

She opened her eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the dimly lit room, now mixed with a sinister, almost metallic smell. She ran her hand shakily over her usually smooth, but now, wrinkled forehead, almost as if trying to even out the creases set deep within her skin. She limply tried to finger-comb her hair, scattered all over her (usually) peaceful parlor. Absentmindedly she chewed on her bottom lip, then said out loud to no one in particular (or so it seemed) :

"My marriage is over."

There was a muffled cry at this. Hearing it, she once again angrily stomped her foot. She inspected her right hand, looking blankly at the gold and white ring adorning her finger. She twirled it around and around in her hand, remembering how, twenty seven years ago, her husband, well, now ex-husband, had gone down on one knee, prior to slipping it onto her bony finger. She remembered how she'd blushed, how he couldn't stop smiling. How he had vowed to love her, to cherish her, to take care of her. Were they just hollow words? Empty promises, holding no meaning whatsoever? Maniacally she stomped her feet, chuckling darkly, thinking of all the lies, her husband, well, now ex-husband, must have told her, while he was busy spinning a romantic tale with some other wretched woman. How he must have lied to her, day in and day out, while she unsuspectingly woke up next to him every morning, how she faithfully slept next to him every night, until today morning, when she had found a picture of this other woman in his wallet, with her phone number and a heart (what where they, teenagers?) scribbled at the back.

Recalling that awful moment, she stomped her foot once more and she took off her ring. Angrily she hurled it to the wall, from where it bounced off, and fell beneath her feet, striking against the metal of her knife, before landing squarely in the pool of her husband, well, now dead husband's blood.

Calmly she removed the knife wedged between her toes from her husband's, well, dead husband's heart, not bothering to cut open the ropes tying him.

She reached into her late husband's pocket and fished out his wallet, looking at the dreaded picture. She carefully scanned the picture, making sure she memorized it. Her lips twisted into an ugly smile. Pocketing the bloody knife, she kissed the man she loved for the last time, before hurrying out of the door.

She had another job to do.