_nishtha

it leaves me barely human

Grid View
List View
Reposts
  • _nishtha 149w

    There are places in your being
    that are yet to be visited;
    why do you say that you are
    an empty distortion?
    If there was a coin for
    every (untrue) fault you
    find within yourself
    there'd be a pile too big
    to go through,
    if I could tell you of the
    poetry that I find within
    your eyes, how many
    tries will it take for you to
    really believe me?
    There are thoughts inside
    your head that you've
    hidden for too long,
    afraid of what the world
    might think of them;
    if I tell you that the world
    is only waiting for you to
    take a step forward and
    breathe, will you come to
    believe yourself?
    I wish I could tell you
    that someone has it easy,
    but nobody really does.
    Aren't we all trying to
    simply breathe
    and not give up?
    If you only try
    and see it for
    yourself, you'll
    find that there is a
    silver lining,
    still there.

    ©_nishtha

  • _nishtha 158w

    Shaky hands can only do so much harm.

    Read More

    Grey

    It oozes out of my brain folds
    and keeps going back and forth
    from my fingers to my throat,
    it keeps me from speaking
    but doesn't let me stay silent,
    leaving me a stuttering mess of a person.
    This hopelessness, I call it anxiety.

    It takes hold of my thoughts and
    keeps me from moulding them,
    rekindling them, forgetting them
    or even repeating them,
    it doesn't let me breathe easy
    and inevitably creates a thought plague.
    This madness, I call it anxiety.

    It keeps me from looking up
    at the sky and the trees
    making me walk so fearful
    of everyone around me,
    it holds a grip so tight around
    my heart, squeezing and
    releasing it discontinuously;
    sweaty palms are my forte.
    This uneasiness, I call it anxiety.

    It keeps me from forming
    coherent sentences, this deleria
    forges fear with roots so deep
    I can only think of erasing the traces,
    it puts out all lights that
    I could use to get myself
    out of this dark pit;
    I am getting grey at the edges
    and at the core of my being.
    This helplessness, I call it anxiety.

    ©_nishtha

  • _nishtha 159w

    ��

    Read More

    How do you tell a butterfly to not flutter its wings?
    How do you tell a heart to not waste away sometimes?
    -n

  • _nishtha 160w

    नूर

    Roses
    The first time a thorn pricked you, you swore you would always be careful while talking to people. A past lover taught you how fresh rose petals if kept in the dark for too long, wither and deepen in color. They start slipping down death's lane. There's a rose pressed between the yellowed pages of a journal; a rose that you've kept for someone whose name means the color white.
    Bubbles
    The comic books you've hidden under your bed have little conversations on the insides of the covers. The annual fair you visited with your brother remains to be your most cherished memory. You had once seen a dog trying to bite a soap bubble in a playground.
    Letters
    Watching your father pen pages full of stories and experiences and sending them to his childhood friend has been a frequent occurrence at your home. Waiting for the mail with a patient smile, he taught you that no digitalized communication can compare to handwritten letters. The last letter you wrote still lies in an envelope, waiting for the year's end.
    Music
    When words don't come easy, it is the musical world you turn to, to escape. You've seen people humming to themselves in quiet solitude, and lesser known bands singing their hearts out at midnight shows in abandoned places. There is someone out there whom you'll sing to sleep someday.
    Warmth
    You've had countless dreams full of flower fields and meadows. A polaroid tells the story of the day she took you to a meadow two miles north from the city you've grown up in. Sunburnt skin and content hearts is what you deem summer to be. Apricity and you have been friends ever since you remember.
    Love
    Your four legged furry friend comforts you on nights when you do not know what to do with yourself. A simple hello from him makes you smile for the entire day. When familiar hands cover your eyes from behind only for you to recognise their fragrance after months, you remember the promise the two of you had made all those years ago. When you go home and fall asleep on the couch, I think you know who wakes up in the middle of the night to put a blanket over your sleeping figure.

    ©_nishtha

  • _nishtha 160w

    Skylar

    Read More

    Sunshine

    She is all shades of deliria
    adorning a monochromatic tippet
    Painting sunrises within irisies
    and thunderbolts as lucky charms
    she is a vagabond who's been
    caged for too long
    If I tell you that she's pretty
    it will be unfair on my part
    for she's a ray of sunshine
    that can't be belittled
    On an average day she
    plays the guitar on her porch
    and on the not-so-good days,
    her mother's violin till midnight
    If I told you that she fades
    like petrichor and lingers
    in your memory, you might
    remember that you saw her once
    running through a sunflower field
    I'd like to say, she's an
    unadulterated thought
    that you can't skip
    A silent rebellion and
    a paradox of sorts
    she's a melody you can't bound.

    ©_nishtha

  • _nishtha 161w

    If I never see you again
    I will always carry you
    inside
    outside

    on my fingertips
    and at brain edges

    and in centers
    centers
    of what I am of
    what remains.

    -Charles Bukowski

    Read More

    सारंग

    0501 a.m.
    You are running on the race court all alone. The sun is yet to rise but the sky is getting brighter by the minute. The shoes you're wearing today have Bukowski scribbled all over them. You saw her yesterday and her smile is sending shock waves through your being even after 17 hours.
    Blue
    The painting you left incomplete in fear of ruining it by making it concrete has a blue tint in the background. The graffiti on your town's bell tower screams faith and hope in shades of cerulean. The letters you've burnt bled blue.
    Seafoam
    You remember the very first time you went to a beach like you remember your morning prayer. You were 10 years old and it was a saturday. That was the first time you made a sand castle with flowers climbing up till the very top. Going back home, you counted the milestones you were passing; they were 14 in total.
    Violet
    There was a girl in your school who had a cloud tattooed on her wrist. She was teased about it, and yet, sometimes you could see a silver lining around the edges of her cloud. The last time you saw her, she was walking towards the cemetery in the autumn rain.
    Crimson
    Someone once described the changing colors of the sky to you and you haven't looked at the sky the same way ever since. Your favourite coffee mug has a crimson butterfly made on its handle. The scars on your arms have faded now, but you remember the red dripping through your fingers.
    Coral
    You remember a warm twilight you had spent with all the books you own. Your first poetry had fallen out of an old edition of Romeo and Juliet. A summer evening spent walking around the town clicking polaroids with her still makes you smile fondly.
    1201 a.m.
    The ash tray lying next to you is almost full and your coffee has gone cold. You pick up your shoes and lock the door behind you. Even while running, you end up laughing at the way Bukowski keeps you company.

    ©_nishtha

  • _nishtha 163w

    Faith? Maybe.

    Read More

    voir

    Tiptoe past society's curtain
    and see the world in its bare glory
    See the joy on people's faces when
    they see the sky changing colors,
    unafraid of the dogma that society
    laces with their skin tone
    See the hope reflecting through the
    eyes of worshippers who aren't stopped
    on the very steps of holy places due
    to their caste or religion
    See the bravery in people's eyes
    when they battle difficulties they thought
    they couldn't go through and reach
    the other end with a bruised body
    but undeterred courage.

    ©_nishtha

  • _nishtha 163w

    Rainbow.

    Read More

    She was a shade of scarlet
    you and I could never be
    She was a fleeting moment in time
    you and I could never see.
    -n

  • _nishtha 163w

    25.11.2018

    Read More

    Like the bridge of a song
    that always breaks your heart
    I have stolen a few moments
    from a life unfettered
    In a tiny vial there is happiness
    and devastation
    swirling around each other
    Existing vehemently
    circumscribing the dance of
    possibilities.

    ©_nishtha

  • _nishtha 164w

    I'll regret later.

    Read More

    बेबाक

    River. An indentity you try so hard to constrict within the societal norms, a thought you try to forget even when it keeps nagging you like a recurring nightmare, a half-sought story you abandon in fear of coming too close to reality.
    Daisy. A gush of air that leaves you befuddled, a train of thought you can't quite catch on, a tingling of the wind chime that leaves you breathless, a philosophy you can't impose on your falsely opinionated mind.
    Blue. An image of a paper town you saw once in your childhood, a song you can't sing along to, a little bird taking flight for the first time, a rainbow broken in places you can't fill up, a tawny twilight that urges you to get out of bed and go for a run.
    Ruby. A scrap of paper that contains the love of a lost person, a word spoken in an empty room that comes out as a timid whisper, an oak tree under which you buried all your milk teeth, a leash that reminds you of the pupper your mother once had.
    Sunny. A wish to take the blame for the spilled glass of milk by your younger sibling, a patch of soil in your garden that always looks a little damp, an old flower wedged between the pages of a sad paperback.
    Black. A scream that always dies in your mind, a secret buried within the confines of the four walls of your local church, a letter you never posted and still wait for a response to, a polariod showing you and her underneath the same sky.
    Smoke. An urge to cry in the middle of the day, a silent plea to the greater entity for a moment of quiet, a thunderstorm that has left your city wounded, a little boy hoping for his parents to wake up the next time his uncle touches him inappropriately.
    White. A field of lavender you just ran the length of, a journal that has seen you go through your teen years, a corner of the local library where you always smile at, a moment in time you will never forget, a new day.

    ©_nishtha