DIVYA GAUTAM - POEMS

Divya Gautam is an undergraduate student studying Mathematics and Economics at the University of Delhi. She writes in her spare time, and is also an avid debater. 

---

Directions 
​

​It is the hurry in the wind
That makes me contemplate my direction
For till now, I owned no compass
And traveled with empty pockets.
But when the gales grab at each other,
I am forced to resist the uncertain,
And stagger towards mud tracked paths
Offering samples of success and monotony.
The wind will leave me stranded here
On streets of stone, in blackened nights
With flashbacks of my fearless self
Making me veer into alleyways, suddenly.
Even then, I will not be content,
With this meaningless meandering,
And so, I will turn to the night 
For answers to questions I was told to ask
And listen for signs that defy the blackness.
 

The House that Crazed Me
​

​Misfits don’t have much to worry about,
Rooms tilt about their axis 
To accommodate singular beings.
The windows become unhinged
Like the minds of the dwellers
But even the wind hesitates to keep them company.
They sprinkle holy water on the walls
After the goners have gone away
In an attempt to lure back sanity.
I remember the summer days,
When the fans couldn’t cut through the saturated air,
And madness accumulated in the utensils like grease.
No amount of reason could cease the unraveling.
The plaster peeled off the walls,
Suicide brought upon by humidity,
And the naked house stood smiling at its own lunacy. 
The holes in the floor filled up over time,
With cement sacrificed by the ceiling,
And paved a path to insanity.
 

​Unraveling-

​Like a soldier falling into line in his fleet,
I fall into the shackles of rhyme and repeat,
And march onwards, follow the leader they say,
For it is at his feet we all bow down to pray,
I inhale the atoms of ruin and rhyme,
Each breath brings me closer to death every time,
Each comma is waiting for the next line,
I scribble searching for some sort of sign,
To tell me where this is going in mind,
This page, this life, this wondrous disarray
Of inhibited inhabitants all looking to say, 
That the reason they fell and fall every day,
Is to search for embers unwilling to die,
To search for the fire hidden inside,
To unlock this story, unravel this tale,
Know the ending before that chapter prevails,
And lock up the secrets, bury the clues,
Don't let another discover your hues,
Leave untainted, frail and calm,
Tread lightly here, do less harm,
For the last scene is yet to come,
The last thought yet to become,
So, I lie down and pretend it’s that time,
Maybe pretending is part of the crime,
I'll plead guilty to say the least,
Maybe I'll be excused from the final feast.
 

Tiptoe
​

​It is here
Between the quiet places in my mind
That I find records of time
Fading at a slow pace
So as to not dispel the harmony 
I have so carefully replicated
With delicate hands 
I have carved reality from the clay of the Earth
And tread softly upon the surface
Of my dreams
For if I awaken from this slumber
I do not know what will greet me.
 

Airports
​

​I have always felt at home in airports
There is a sense of purpose that permeates
All the halls and the grey speckled walls.
 
The windowpanes show me heavy wings
That will soon defy gravity
While I walk on shining floors polished with footsteps
Leaving behind closed chapters.
 
Suitcases with shiny shells and handy handles
Drop like bombs onto baggage carts
Their fate forever trapped in the transience of transit.
 
The air cooling systems take their job too seriously
As if they can freeze time in this airport
Making fleeces fall out of backpacks
And cover up all that is left behind.
 
 
 
The overpriced food is an inevitability
That I will succumb to
For I cannot greet the skies hungrily.
 
I lead myself to the gate
Which is an apt name for the threshold 
That I will soon cross, never to look back
For what lies ahead may be uncertain
But the future beckons via the clouds.
 
Finally, it is time for departure.