Realisation of a selfie

While taking a selfie,

I’m not so good at tilting my head in a perfect angle. I’m too bad at drawing a perfect smile on my face.

But each time I take a selfie,

I gaze at me so close, so fixed

I observe how peacefully hollowness slumbers in my eyes.

I see how my eyebrows have become wayward as if there is none to guide them.

I feel how my nose breathes imperfection so perfectly.

I notice how my chapped lips are tenacious enough not to vent out the volume of my heart in front of everyone.

I touch the pimple on my cheek to know if that full stop is going to fade away nearly or continue as an ellipsis.

I run my fingers on the alleys of my parted hairs and shivers with the thought what if oneday like this parted hairstyle the people I love so much will go in their own ways to never cross my path again.

Reading my face this way made me realize why I can’t fit into anyone’s definition of beauty. I realize how hard I am to be loved by someone.

And before clicking the selfie, I smile a little cornered thinking how this Abhisikta reigns her own little realm happily

with the flaws she possesses

with the elegance, she lacks…

©ruchiabhisikta

*Abhisikta is a Sanskrit word that means enthroned girl👸

Sea & Sky

Tangerine Sky was staring at the sea
solemnly

The slothful sea was humming in its own symphony

Quivering waves were kissing the Sun toasted sand gently

Drenched shore was greeting and leaving the waves in harmony

Romance of nature whispered something to my empty heart

The ink of my pen started drizzling on the pages of my diary

Then my deserted diary got flooded with pacific poetry

©ruchiabhisikta

Menstruation

Thousands of thorns piercing her abdomen

Continuous disturbance between her thighs

Even after swallowing forty-eight hours of deadly pain

Every month she cherishes her rebirth and magically survives again

Menstruation is the tears of grief of her aching body

Menstruation is tears of delight of her soul celebrating womanhood

She is the mysterious creation of Almighty

Poignant yet powerful, tender yet tolerant

©ruchiabhisikta

Voice of vibes

Sometimes my heart seems so hollow to float in the ocean of agony,
to be packed with garbage of frustration.

Sometimes my heart seems so tightly filled not to give an inch of space for hope,
not to contain a pinch of happiness.

I can’t express how fragile I feel at that moment. Then I just want to cut the whole of me into small fragments so that I can vaporize from the lives of people as soon as possible.

But at the next moment, I visualize fragments of me joining with each other in the shape of poetry. Tears cascade down my cheeks carrying all the negative vibes.

And then the whole of my soul gets enthralled with the fragrance of each fragment of mine that emanates positive vibes.
©ruchiabhisikta

That night I explored myself

“Sunken are your eyes
Nubian is your nose
Lacklustre are your lips
Pale is your complexion
You can’t sing melodiously
You can’t dance gracefully
You can’t act brilliantly
You are just good for nothing stuff
A personification of imperfection you are.”
Reflection in the mirror pointed at me sarcastically.

With a shrill voice, I murmured
“I know that in this world of makeup, show off where each one tries to cross the other in grabbing the attention of the crowd, very much backward I am. I feel low, crestfallen for that. But I am not sure if I want to change or not.

I had no courage to face the mirror for one more second. I ran to the rooftop, my favorite place just to cry breathlessly in front of shimmering stars. Cool zephyr wiped away the drops on my cheek before my lips sense the saltiness. I just closed my eyes, put my right palm on my left breast. I felt each of my heartbeat saying something.

“In this world where the relationship has become synonym polygamy, you still wait devotedly to pour all your amassed love on your would-be groom.
Nowadays people make friendship just to gain some benefit. But you avoid those friends for whom you really care, just fearing to get attached with them mentally. Maybe because you don’t think yourself deserved enough to remain in their lives forever.
In today’s age photos are clicked with a filter just to post and grab likes in social media. But you do what! You still caress some precious photos in your gallery, feel those moments before you sleep.
Girls don’t attend functions without dabbing makeup. And you don’t know how to apply even kajal. Maybe you don’t want to hide your natural aura under the layer of artificiality.
Now Youngsters don’t find it necessary to ask their parents for the suggestion in any matter. But you consider the decision of your parents as your confirmation in smallest to greatest matters.
People don’t even think twice to behave rudely with others to attain their mean motive. And you still shed bucketful of tears for hours if you contemplate that you hurt someone unintentionally.
Each fraction of your soul breathes uniqueness. Each inch of your heart is filled with selfless love. Why do you consider yourself as a misfit!
Why do you bind yourself in the rope of inferiority complex!
Never expect love from others by showing them the ‘Fake You’. Love yourself accepting all the flaws you own, all the qualities you lack. Don’t estimate your happiness in the view of others. Redefine your own happiness darling!”

No words can express how I was feeling at that very moment. Maybe then and there I explored myself.
©ruchiabhisikta

A devotee of nature

Jar of colours she is.

With crayon of bounty, she paints smile in his lips sometimes.

With crayon of loss, she draws lines of worry on his forehead sometimes.

She is his Goddess. He is her devotee.

She is the mother earth. He is the farmer.

She can change herself to the extent unexpected.

And he is destined to accept that unexpected.

©ruchiabhisikta

Dear diary

Sometimes everyone turns deaf to hear the thunder arising from my heart.

It seems everyone is blind to see
the flood in my eyes.

I find no hand trying to control that flood.

I trace no footprints coming for my rescue.

The entire world becomes handicapped to comprehend my plight.

Helpless me

At that moment I feel an eye gazing at me from the corner of my bookshelf. My diary

My pen flows ink as if it has been the patient listener to the thunder of my heart since long.

I locate the metaphors of positivity busy in making bunds to manage the flood in my eyes.

I notice a poetry rushing
to escape me from the calamity of my mind
to show me the sunshine of delight.

And I perceive the true essence of pen and paper.
©ruchiabhisikta