Roses are fine\\k.s

Roses are fine,

Violets upset.

My body is numb.

My heart so dead.

© Khushi Suneja

My Scars\\k.s

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.

©Khushi Suneja

Roses are flawed\\k.s

Roses are flawed.

Violets are blemished.

The people I loved and cared for,

Are the one that actually vanished.

© Khushi Suneja

Will you? \\k.s

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

In A Labyrinth \\k.s

I looked up to the sky.

Clueless.

Not knowing what the next chapter of life would unveil.

I looked up to the clear sky, though not with a clear mind.

Voices in my head, calling out my name.

Demons of my past, chasing me.

My fears approaching me, like a nightmare.

I shook my head.

And once again looked up to the sky.

Pointless.

Monsters in my head, screaming.

I was tumbling, falling.

I was being chased by the nightmares of my past.

My future self hiding under the tranquil of anxiety.

My present self trapped by the dreadful chains of loneliness.

I was helpless.

I looked up to the sky.

Demons of my past, chasing.

Monsters in my head, screaming.

©Khushi Suneja

Tuxedo \\k.s

Classic bowtie.

Rado wristwatch.

White shirt.

Black Tuxedo.

The entire arena stood in silence to listen to the beats of his expensive footwear from Woodland. The room blossomed with the aroma of his Gucci scent. The audience silently admired his Armani white shirt. The ladies were left in ephemeral ecstacy; the gentlemen in absolute envy.

He walked with pride, without a care in the world. He was never neck deep into women; nor was the wine his cup of tea.

Ignoring all the masculine glares and the feminine stares, he came to a halt and ordered a lemonade for himself. He sipped his first and looked around himself with his beautiful brown, kohl-smeared eyes. He stood apart from the rest of the arena. No matter how rich he was, he did not fit in even the slighest bit wheresoever he went.

“The outside world is a cruel place.” His dad always used to say. After all, he was the one who used to understand him the best. He was the only one left for him since he turned 14, as his mother departed, for someone even richer, leaving behind a rich single father and a rich young kid. Now what only remains of his dad, is his words. The ones which he spoke before he allowed the alcohol that he had consumed, consume him.

He was not the friendliest kid in highschool. Nor was he the heartbreaker. But definitely someone with a past and a story of his own. Perhaps, which made him stand apart from the rest of the world. Everyone knew that he hid a secret within those wonderful eyes; a story behind that attitude.The world soon, accepted as he was. But he could not help but wonder, if it was okay to be the weirdest of all.

As he pondered over this fact, he recalled what his dad once averred. To be the number 1, you gotta be odd. He smirked. There comes the answer to all his queries.

He finished sipping his last…. and with all eyes on him he strode. The world now beheld, a confident, young man.

The man in that black tuxedo.

© Khushi Suneja

Faint Traces Of Your Memory \\k.s

It was a Sunday morning, I distinctly remember.

I sipped on my coffee as I hummed to myself,

While you laid on the other end of the saloon.

We locked eyes, for what seemed like eternity,

Before I looked away and perhaps, you didn’t.

It was a Sunday morning, I distinctly remember.

When you took me out for breakfast for the first time ever.

I could feel your eyes admiring my face as I savoured the waffles that you had ordered for us.

I remember how I blushed while you complimented me for my dress.

I remember how you made me smile for the first time in weeks.

I remember how your gaze never left my face all day.

But just don’t remember how you did that so perfectly.

It was a Sunday morning, I distinctly remember.

When you held my hand into yours and looked right into my eyes.

I could feel my cheeks turn red as you pulled me closer and lessened the distance between us.

I remember how I felt the butterflies in my stomach while you looked at me with so much affection.

I remember feeling your breath on my neck while I looked down to the ground.

I remember how you cupped my face, making me meet your gaze before you pulled me into your embrace.

But just don’t remember how we fell in love that quick.

It was a Sunday morning, I distinctly remember.

When you knocked at my door, early in the morning.

I could feel my smile grow wider as you handed me those lovely, red roses.

I remember how you made me blush, yet again, with your wonderful compliments.

I remember how you made me fall deeper in love with you, so perfectly.

But just don’t remember how you managed to do that so effortlessly.

It was a Sunday morning, I distinctly remember.

When we finally exchanged our vows,in front of our families in the Church.

I could feel your eyes on me as I walked down the aisle.

I remember how you took my hand into yours and murmured yet another compliment.

I remember how you looked into my eyes as we exchanged our rings.

But just don’t remember, how we grew that strong within a year.

It was a Sunday morning, I distinctly remember.

When you stepped out of the house, with your luggage right beside you.

I could feel my eyes getting teary as I saw you leaving.

I remember you telling me that you’d return soon while holding me in your embrace.

I remember you giving me kisses on my cheek, trying to make me feel better.

I remember you taking your first step out of the house, promising to return soon.

But just don’t remember how soon, you said you’d come.

It was a Sunday morning, I distinctly remember.

When I kept myself preoccupied in the company of a dirty liar named nostalgia.

I could feel the pain and sorrow while switching through our pictures in the gallery.

I remember smiling through the pain, watching you hold my hand in the photograph as I smiled to the ground.

I remember recalling our moments, day after day, trying to miss you a little lesser.

I remember crying myself to sleep, praying that you would come back soon.

But just don’t remember how all of my prayers went unanswered.

It was a Sunday morning, I distinctly remember.

When you locked eyes again, but this time not mine brown, but her black ones.

I could see your grin grow wider as she whispered something in your ears as my heart stopped for an instance.

I remember, you making her blush, like how you used to make me.

I remember, you calling her ‘beautiful’, the same way you used to call me.

I remember, you holding her hand, as if it were mine.

I remember, you loving her the same way you loved me.

I remember, tears rolling down my eyes as you broke my heart into a million little pieces.

I remember, my soul leaving my body, gradually, as it no longer had enough strength to hold on.

I remember, missing you.

Loving you.

Wanting you.

But just don’t remember, leaving you.

© Khushi Suneja