Thursday, April 20, 2017

What If?

By Sunaina Patnaik at Thursday, April 20, 2017 0 comments

I've always wondered what is it that I wanted from you,
the questions were many,
the answers, none,
so what is it that I wanted from you?
did I desire the luxury of first taking your name every morning?
the roundness of your name, the simple joy of pronouncing it, syllable by syllable,
maybe I did want a little more than that,
for instance sitting across you with coffee and newspapers between us,
the mundanity of life that would have seemed better with our quirks,
actually, your quirks,
so what did I really want from you?
not certainty and never a peace of mind,
maybe I pined for the lavish comfort of just looking into your honey-coloured eyes at nightfall,
or count the stars without the worry of the daylight,
see, the problem is,
even after all these years, I'm still unsure and nonplussed about what I'm looking for,
in you,
the person who makes me want to abandon all my whims and caprices,
but then, stop, listen to the silence between us,
it's only growing and sometimes, growling,
are you feeling what I'm feeling?
or is this just a figment of my silly little imagination?
I don't know what tomorrow brings,
but what if it brings me?
maybe that's what, that's really what I want to know.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Language of Heart.

By Sunaina Patnaik at Sunday, April 16, 2017 0 comments
What name do we have for the language of heart?
that no other can decipher but only ourselves,
do we call it love or do we call it a mystery?
do we name it as a certain pining or do we name it with something that words cannot describe alone?

What name do we have for the language of heart?
the one that's truly beautiful,
but embarrassing enough to keep it underneath the show that we grandly put on,
do we name it as a vulnerability or do we call it our safe space?

What name do we have for the language of heart?
the one that's written with our own fingers but has the power to write and rewrite our fates and stories,
do we call it poetry or do we name it as a piece of destruction that we willfully take?

What name do we have for the language of the heart, I often wonder.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

We’re a Generation of Self-Absorbed Individuals.

By Sunaina Patnaik at Thursday, April 13, 2017 0 comments
We are a generation of self-absorbed individuals,
Every morning, we soak in narcissism as we soak in Vitamin D,
Standing in front of the mirror, we admire our facial features, and maybe slyly ignore the ones that aren't so good after all,
We strive, we strive really hard to live the lives we carefully paint on our social media profiles,
But it's hard and often daunting,
Because the perfection we achieve on social media isn't a cakewalk in real life.

As a generation of self-absorbed individuals,
We live on gratification and seek validation,
Even when we claim we don't, we do,
We just don't say it, because we're too vain to admit
that our egos are bigger than our hearts and souls,
Our mess isn't ours alone, our heartbreaks aren't ours to embrace,
We break and heal with others,
We love and learn with people on the internet,
Our secrets are broadcasted in the daylight and we turn our lives into a mockery overnight.

We're a generation of self-conceited individuals,
Too broken to admit we're broken,
Too full of ourselves to see beyond our flesh and bones,
We watch as our lives fade and emerge between the newsfeeds and timelines,
Unfolding gently between the pretentious mornings and melancholic nights, we build constellations of our own,
We write stories for no one to read,
We laugh, half in love and cry over lost loves,
But in the end, we survive,
We breathe,
And we just live.

Monday, April 03, 2017


By Sunaina Patnaik at Monday, April 03, 2017 0 comments

There is a girl who loves you silently,
underneath her banter is a fervent hope,
that you might notice her in the hallways of
the school,
as you walk past her,
In library, she sits just two seats away from you,
she slyly glances at you, as you fill pages and pages with your
illegible handwriting,
maybe you don't realize it yet, but during lunch, as you both share
your tales of the first two periods, along with your other friends, of course,
she hopes, only hopes, that you'd read in between the lines
and understand that sometimes, silence has a voice of its own,
but only if you could hear it,
she constantly reminds you of the evenings you'd walk her home
after school,
and how you've stopped it for reasons she couldn't fathom,
maybe for old times sake, you offer to walk her home some day,
the day which never comes again,
between being tangled with her emotions and untangled with you,
her silence has a language,
that wants to be deciphered, deeply and desperately,
because she is only a girl who loves you ever so silently.

Sunday, April 02, 2017

Those Days.

By Sunaina Patnaik at Sunday, April 02, 2017 0 comments

I still remember those days,
when my life was different and
I was a different person,
the biggest problem then was a boy
breaking my heart,
or me breaking his,
following days and weeks of regret.

I still remember those days,
when it was summer and
the Sun was either at its best
or worst,
both of which weren't a reason worth celebrating,
confined to the darkness of home where
even sun rays refused to reach,
I hoped to bid Summer a warmer goodbye soon.

I still remember those days,
when it's raining, and the raindrops on my windows
lure me into the world, outside,
as I step out into the balcony, the water forms a
little puddle around my feet,
the memory so fresh, it still feels like this morning,
I get drenched in the rain without an iota of worry,
I might suffer from sinusitis tomorrow but today,
I am wild and free,
and as these thoughts form a little castle in my mind,
I hear my mother's voice from the kitchen, downstairs,
"Your coffee is ready."


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