Roses are blue,
Violets Crimson Red,
You noticed my bruises
And not my heart that bled.
Roses are blue,
Violets Crimson Red,
You noticed my bruises
And not my heart that bled.
Roses reincarnate,
Violets born,
My veins all red,
My heart’s so torn.
Roses are cursed.
Violets divine.
My thoughts afloat,
My heart’s a shrine.
Has it ever been that you’ve stopped just a step before you were about to do something? Have you ever stopped being yourself, caring for yourself and cared about others’ opinions instead? Have you ever stopped dreaming? Have you ever stopped living?
Deep down, you’ll realize…that yes, it’s true. You have, each moment, each minute, each second of your life, stopped doing what you’ve wanted to. Stop trying , for what you could have achieved and won.
People will speak the shit they wanna. Will let you down, will try to chop off your wings. But don’t listen to their opinions. Fly, as above the sky you can. Swim the deepest of oceans. Spread your wings like an angel, and soar above the sky. Run, walk, crawl, but just don’t stop moving ahead.
In this little world where everything’s expensive, my heart was available for free; unused, full of feelings, full of emotions.
And yes, you took it all by yourself. I expected you to give me yours but you left me bare, all bare.
But for all I could have ever known was that I was gonna get it back one day. All used, all shattered, all torn.
My heart was torn, so you give it back. Hers wasn’t, so you took it instead and kept it all by yourself. But in the midst of all this, it wasn’t just my heart I realized that I was regretful of giving you. It was more of my trust. My trust, not in you though. But in me. It had been my faith in myself that had compelled me to give you my heart. Now it lies here, all shattered and ruined.
Your love tried to take the credit of my poetry. But unfortunately, my dear, it were your scars that compelled me to write.
I wonder if you look at yourself in the mirror and feel the same. Do you feel the way I feel? No, you don’t. You don’t have the scars to hide, or the marks to run away from.
I was never ever so pretty as much as you made me feel one day. Just like I was never ever this unfortunate as much as I felt this day.
You never ever even touched me. Yet, you left your marks. Now your scars lie all over my hands and legs, marks on my face, and bruises on my neck.
Do you have anything to regret? I hope you do. And I hope it’s the scars you are the most regretful of.
Night 1,
I knew sitting alone at the corner of my room at midnight in dim lights would do me no good. Nor would thinking about you would. But it would give me enough reasons to write about the pain. The pain given by you.
Night 12,
We may not be a thing anymore. But I will assure that your memories stay in my poetry.
Night 25,
My mom kept asking me what happened to me the other day. I did not have the guts to mention your name.
Night 37,
I wonder if you stay awake at midnight too. Remembering me. Regretting me.
Night 59,
You used to be my only one. I used to be only one of them. I still remember.
Night 73,
Missing you, I feel was like my duty. But wanting you was my passion.
Night 82,
I wonder what made me like you in the first place. Just like what made you leave me in the last.
Night 100,
There was a time I used to write for you. Now I kinda write about you.
Roses are flawed.
Violets are blemished.
The people I loved and cared for,
Are the one that actually vanished.
© Khushi Suneja
I have never been loved.
Why do you feel so? Replied the boy.
I don’t have a hand to hold this fall. With the leaves that are shedding, shed my self confidence and hope. No one to wipe my tears and say that I’m pretty. Look me into the eyes with utmost love, embrace my flaws and promise to love me till the next fall and many more. No one. None.
But what if you’re not able to see the love through your despairing eyes?
Am I really that unfortunate to not sense the love that exists? Am I really that flawed to not notice the one who loves(me)?
Not unfortunate, my love. Just despaired. He thought.
Look at those unfortunate trees, shedding the leaves with teary eyes but with the hope that they’ll retreat the next spring.
Well I have no one to hope for to come back. No one to say goodbye to, with the hope that they’ll come back.
The one who actually loves, will never leave, Susan. You wouldn’t ever have any goodbyes to give, a kiss to spare, or a hand to wave. Believe me. He’ll stay. All you have to do is remain like a tree, waiting for your hope and love to grow back like the leaves. Said the boy to the girl he loved.
Well, will you?
Will I what?
Will you stay?
Yes, had I loved you. He said, with a voice almost cracking, sweaty palms and teary eyes.
She cried a little and he smiled.
As he left for Vietnam, he waved at her as she waved back and he turned his head. She waved while muttering a love you behind his back.
As he muttered a love you too.
And so she waited like a tree in the fall, seeing her favourite flower gloom, waiting for the spring to come and bring him along.
©Khushi Suneja
Roses are dead,
Violets gloom,
My heart’s in pain,
My life’s in a doom.
© Khushi Suneja