Vaishnavi is a 20 year old University student pursuing her bachelors degree in English Literature and Political Science. She describes herself with 4 words POLITICS, POETRY, PHILANTHROPY and PUBLIC SPEAKING. She wishes to bridge the gap between Politics, Activism and the philanthropic aspects that Literature posses. She has been an orator for past 11 years now and has served as a youth ambassador working for equality and education among underprivileged youth. She aspires to become a lecturer of Human Rights and International Relations. "Rest in Reason, Move in Passion" is the line she swears by. Attached is a photo of mine.
Infants smiling at the vacant corners, eating and sleeping. Young boys feeling the death of an action figure, crying and being clingy. Girls draping dupattas on frocks, swirling freely and breaking their mother's lipsticks. Infants grew into teenagers; Reading poetry Raising banners Smoking weed Questioning life And struggling to breathe between expectations. Boys grew into men; Emotionally numb Squeezed in the Subway crowd Bruising their fingers with dollar bills Falling in love Burning photos of past lovers And left dead by masculinity Girls grew into women; Wearing shapewear Taking acne treatment Speaking low Partying loud Working nightshifts Justifying their political opinions And carrying pepper spray in their handbags. Teenagers imprisoned the innocent infants in cupboards. Men abandoned boys behind closed bathroom doors that hear silent cries. Women sacrificed the girls for an hourglass body and a picture perfect life.
In all the deleted words and torn out pages imprisoned are his memories Printed on my fingers is his last message screaming his vulnerability? The sun now conspires with the darkness to intoxicate me of my guilt On the confluence of every dusk and dawn I’ve resisted to type down his history I blinded myself to that Saree, liquor and forgotten birthday that now grips my spine injecting fear He is creeping down my gut making me nauseate and puke his unsaid words and buried tears I scribbled out not just June but that year and burnt my calendars I walked his path, felt the dust, bruised my feet, collected his hidden agony I visited the room where his body was hanging from the ceiling He stopped breathing that day but my ignorance suffocated his soul long back
June 20 Half burnt birthday candles from my mother’s birthday smelled fresh of icing My glare was caught by a message from my uncle Tottered sentences and a cry for help masked under some habit of pretending Blame on my memory negligence escaped the crime scene It must have killed him enough to see his niece being casual for all the feelings Within a week my phone vibrated again but on a different frequency It wasn’t alarming but quiet embarking some storm’s conclusive passing “He killed himself” my senses were numb I didn’t cry I was rather stressed to take a leave and go to the place that held forbidden goodbyes He went out, he sneaked in His mother’s Saree that once protected him from the world dutifully did its job It went around his neck and freed him from his existence that rejected his odds His body hung still for two days Everyone looked out for him assuming it to be one of his attention seeking plays The dog kept quiet and didn’t move from the door That’s when they opened the room that hugged his dead body and lost hopes Gravity failed to ground his other worldly soul without his will It succeeded in elongating his body that hung there lifeless and still His feet touched the ground His footprints are still visible I never allowed them to carpet the sign of something that unleashed the bound I didn’t see his body for I carry his living image Wondering he just went to some long escapade I went to the room locked the door sat there inhaling all that he might have thought I placed my feet on his footprints I touched the Saree that absorbed his last breaths I drank the liquor that often delayed his desired mélange I cleaned the fan that became the door of his death
Years later on the same day I lost sense of time and space My life was concluding I was willing to abort the mission and leave this complex maze I tried and tried and tried My soul clung to my body indicated me not to add another unsaid goodbye His death then crossed my mind I cried how he died to give me life
I don’t mourn I celebrate his liberation For I am living through him correcting what led to his immolation.
I fell in love with his vibes A stranger he was, smoking insouciantly in the dark Spilling his hands out in the rain he allows callow raindrops to read his fortune lines I fell for an emotionally consumed friend He was collapsing and I inhaled every bit of his tottering demeanor Love didn’t bloom but dried up Between me and my alter ego like associate We stopped leaning in while laughing I still cherish the warmth of his handshakes I still wear those reckless raindrops on my bruised wrist I still prefer his insecurities and arguments over country music I still hold that moat like distance close to my chest I often have rendezvous with haunting solitude I wear his evil love on my sleeve My animosity absurdity gullibility It’s a tattoo engraved on my throbbing heart and its bleeding Put this to an end Heal my wounds with your seraphic love Tame my demons and I’ll surrender my deceptions
I have seen ties burning down to clutches For it was a bond that we cherished but now it holds me down to chronic grudges I met a man who had tasted freedom His shirt had the smell of mountain air and rebellion His chest was bruised with the open air he breathed But like mine his body was not made to be free His arms were diaries embedded with souvenirs of wars This man never slept and used to sing to the water on shores He wished to narrate a story But he was a vagabond when I was seeking glory I walked through days, months and years in search of legendary allegory I felt hands caressing my thighs and rejecting to tell their stories I met many in search of love but they didn’t know of any Serving their lust on my chest they scratched my injury My heart was beating fast I misunderstood it to agree Their drunk kisses tinted my lips and fueled me of animosity I received letters that felt like music Alas I played harp and the letters weren’t Irish I ran from one doomed town to another in search of history All I found was broken walls and tales of lovers dying in misery I was in a town of grand forts and open skies But I never fell for the stars they reminded me of forced goodbyes I wrote epics I wrote poems and stories But I never wrote an end I was a medley of rhapsodies With the ashes of my rhymes I searched for a sea Ashes in the water I lost the hope to love and be free There I saw that same man building castles out of my burnt stories He touched my crude epics and created a melody I felt my heartbeat it was slow enough to kill me I didn’t fear death as his heart was in sync with me He looked into my eyes and found a lullaby to his lost sleep His hands held my face and like a dove my spirit was set free I never treasured malice for all who didn’t love me They helped me seek this man and allowed him to kiss my poisoned lips with fidelity.