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[suryanshukedar]

"I hope when the time comes to lay down my life for her, I don't tremble.

God take my soul but let my hands be for my lover.

For they are hers and hers alone to hold.

My eyes?

Take them

but let my lungs be so I could breathe the air around her one more time.

Ruin this face but let these lips be,

to speak her name again.

My skin?

Scar it as much as you wish to,

But let it not shed,

For I wish to feel her touch again.

My feet?

Break them into pieces

Equivalent to the pieces of my heart,

Yet give me the strength,

To walk up to her,

One last time.

Take my heart

only if you were to give it to her.

And let me write down my last words to her with nothing less than pleasing expectations that if not me,

my body finds my home to her.

And in her name.

Let my flesh be adorned like jewels at her feet."

-S.K

[suryanshukedar]

I quit writing.

A statement I make,

Nonchalance Dripping through my voice;

The demons that I kept running away from,

Now holding me in their embrace,

Their laughter, I echo

Words they spin my head with;

I join them, now.

Being afraid of being seen through their eyes,

I'm now more themselves than they ever were,

Why shldnt I be,

What's there to lose?

My heart?

Shattered ages ago.

My soul?

Sold, to feel some fleeting lies.

My mind?

Damaged beyond repair.

My home?

Broken like all those promises.

Myself ?

Lost like my childhood's innocence.

You'd hold my hand,

Earnest gaze urging me to

Look up, On the bright side;

It only burns and scars on the bright side.

It's shattered, unlike a puzzle;

I can't assemble,

I can't assemble me again.

I'm a mosaic of all things,

That I could've,

Would've,

Should've been,

But never did.

I'm a bittersweet melody,

With the hyms of you,

I carry you in all my fragments,

And love parts of you that you never did,

If only I could love the parts Of me that you once adored.

With you,

Trails my life;

Bleeding, a slow death

Of what it should be,

Would be,

Could be

If only.

And here they snatch me back,

Quiet lovingly

The demons Ofcourse

They stayed and now I stay with them,

Seeing me through their eyes,

Echoing their laughter,

Lying in their embrace,

Nonchalantly dripping through my voice,

Making a statement,

The Statement.

- Lila G. & S.K

[suryanshukedar]

Perhaps you were too pretty to be mine,

And I, too wounded to be yours.

[suryanshukedar]

And just like every other night,

She asks about me again today, 

And I, as usual will lie to her. 

When I say "I'm okay,” know that it's the fragile kind that will break apart into screams of obessesion and adoration for where I am.

I don't own the words necessary to describe the kind of Hunger some children are born with or how am I to tell you that of those children,

I am the one that is starving.

But when one fine day she'll ask 'How are you?',

I'll let her know

That I no longer seek death,

Or that I was born with an insatiable hunger.

She birthed me through the pain and her rotten ambitions of her life,

From the moment I was born I was nothing but the loudest of reminders of her unhappiness.

It's true what say about mothers I believe,

Because I have realised that

I'm nothing but an extension of my mother's grief.

[suryanshukedar]

I have stopped dreaming,

I don't dream about you anymore.

I don't dream about the night when you walked me home,

Dancing our way to 'The Night we Met',

Or the time when I used to wake you up to the scent of your favourite coffee,

Or the time when you decided to spend a weekend in my favourite hoodie cus I was busy being away from you,

Or the time when you jumped and cusped my face  because I got you your favourite pair of earrings that you had on your mind,

Or the time when you rested your head on mine,

Listening to me talking my heart out about the things that I love about you,

Or the time when I got you flowers and waltzed in the kitchen room the entire afternoon,

Or the time when I let you paint my face so that my colorless life could finally have some of them to it,

Or the time when I wanted to run away,

But you were the one that I wanted to run towards to.

You see, 

I don't dream of you anymore,

And I don't know whether I have healed

Or lost hope,

But 

There will be pieces of you,

That I'll always carry with myself,

The stories that I would like to write using ink 

of your favorite color,

In hopes of putting 

more of you into my poems.

In hopes of getting 

More of you out of me.

-S.K

Excerpts from ' I have lost you but I'll keep finding you in pieces that I carry with me'.

[suryanshukedar]

Today I revisited our old apartment,

The one that still smells like you,

The coffee stain on your favourite table besides the window reminded me of those August winds and the Winter hues,

That are never going to be the same anymore.

The ashes of my cigarettes,

Reminded me so much of you,

I watched them fall on my ashtray,

The way I watched you go.

It's funny, how I wished my memory to fade away,

But the polaroids near our bed decided to let go of their colors first.

I saw the vinyl record in the kitchen and started reminiscing about the time,

When I used to get back home a bit late and had to dance to 'Lag Jaa Gale' with you to make it up to you.

The armchair in the balcony stood still,

As if it was lifeless,

I kept looking at the dried up orange leaves on it,

The way I once used to look at you looking at the orange sky.

I stepped out of the room thinking that I'll leave you the way I left the room behind,

But,

I will never convince myself that you weren't worth it,

Or wish that I never met you,

Because there was once a moment,

When you were everything that I ever needed.

You are a thing of the past, but,

You still mean the world to me,

But you're just not worth the fight anymore.

-S.K

[suryanshukedar]

"What exactly is your definition of love?", they ask me,

How am I to answer a question that is nothing but a mosaic of different parts,

An accumulation of various theories,

Love to me is acting cold, heartless and distant at a glance of her at rich balls,

Confessing my obsession in an abandoned castle whilst simultaneously insulting and looking down on her family,

Love is having cancer and saying 'Okay' everytime they said it,

Love is accepting what we think we deserve,

Love is remembering the name they gave you and naming your jazz bar after it,

Love is meeting a stranger in the train and exploring the city with them,

Love is marrying a high maintenance woman and spending the rest of your life 'maintaining' her.

You see, it would be unjust to restrict the boundaries of love to a specific extent,

For love is nothing but a mosaic of different parts,

An accumulation of various theories.

-S.K

[suryanshukedar]

All of my poems are apologies

The scars on my body vulnerable to see

The people I've left to save my own life

The people I've forced to stay selfishly

All of the people holding a place in between

I only leak emotions when I'm frozen

When my tongue and heart can't meet

I manically throw my battles together

Hoping individual victories win the war

The war I'm at with my own bones

The war I'm fighting in a cruel world

The war I'm at where past greets present

I'm a solider who never sleeps peacefully

I only write to create apologies in the dark.

[suryanshukedar]

I've been reading 'Shoe Dog' a memoir by Phil Knight (the guy who founded Nike) since the last 2 days and came across a quote that is bound to stick with me for years to come. It goes like 'In order to learn yourself, you must first unlearn yourself.'

It happens to be a simple line, but still somehow persuaded me to drop my book and try to contemplate and comprehend the depth of this sentence. As a kid I was often asked to perceive the world in a way that would make things simpler for me in the near future. Little did I know that irrespective of the circumstances that I might be finding myself in, it was always going to be a matter of perception. I learnt things to a specific extent thus not knowing how I could have transcended beyond human limitations. But as I grew up, broadening my horizon, I kept letting go of things, concepts, and theories, stripping away the layers of acquired knowledge and inherited beliefs, in the pursuit of liberation. A simple yet impactful sentence, that's Phil Knight for you folks.

[suryanshukedar]

And my mother will ask "How Are you?" and how am I supposed to explain that even though I no longer seek death that there is an insatiable hunger within me that I was born with. That because she birthed me through the pain and rotten ambitions of her life it is what made me -from the moment I was born I was nothing but the loudest of reminders of her unhappiness- I cried, as a newborn, more than my siblings ever would When I say "I'm okay,” know that it's the fragile kind that will break apart into screams of obessesion and adoration for where I am. I don't own the words necessary to describe the kind of Hunger some children are born with or how am I to tell you that of those children, I am the one that is starving.

[suryanshukedar]

The creation of an artist has always been a mystery to me.

Are they born or are they made? It wouldn't be much of a matter for they are neither born nor made. They are created. For no one will ever see them from where they came from but for what they've become- or rather for the beauty they've made.

Is misery what makes an artist? Was beauty born from curse?

Did the painter first have to see the ugliness of the world before he drew something majestic for the world to see?

Did the singer first have to hear the voices of the dead before he sang a melody to rid the sorrows of ghosts?

Did the dancer first have to shoulder the burdens of the world and stand still in front of the storm in order to immortalise himself through his steps?

Did the writer first have to see his hands ragged and shabby before he jumbled words to astonish the reader?

[suryanshukedar]

Even if it is

madness to do so,

I will let myself feel you.

And even if it is through

madness to find you,

I will search for you.

And no matter how far

and wide we wander,

How. Desperately.

we lose our way...

I will look for you

in every lifetime,

Until we finally stay.

[suryanshukedar]

She happens to be a distinguished element of the human race,

A poetry,

An accumulation of unsaid words,

A constellation of stars that failed to align,

A series of waves

That almost hit the shores

But missed the embrace for a bit.

A flower waiting to be appreciated for her thorns

And not the scent of her petals,

A canvas

Waiting to be painted with melancholy,

A stain on the moon

Who loves not her undying beauty

But the flaws that distinguish her from the herd,

A deceiver

Constantly on a run

From the limelight

For it's the darkness that she finds solace in,

A hopeless romantic

Wasting her life on immortalising the love she never had,

On pages of old worn books,

A barista who knows her consumers' pick

Better than them

For the scent of caffeine happens to her liberation,

A cigarette waiting to be lit and fiddled with

For she craves nothing but the flames,

She somehow ends up being all kinds of wrongs

Yet everything about her just feels right,

Why do you still chase her if it's always going to a matter of 'almost'?

They ask,

For she is

Indeed

A distinguished element of the human race.

-S.K

[suryanshukedar]

The ashes of my cigarettes

Remind me so much of you

I watch them fall on my ashtray

The way I watched you go.

Look how the colors turn from white

then red

then It reminds me of gray.

When we settled for white paint

instead of blue

because you claimed that blue was too sad for you.

And then the red came

and made it gray.

The ashes fell, just like I did

Hopelessly,

With no hidden intentions of igniting a fire,

Almost instantly,

like the flick of my lighter.

The ashes of my cigarettes

Remind me so much of us

Fallen,

Hoping they would go to back being a whole

They way we once used to be

Whole,

Complete,

A part of each other.

[suryanshukedar]

Don't you think it's a misery?

The way I used to look at you knowing I knew you,

Smiling at the slightest mention of you,

That I used to be someone you shared your stories with,

Sitting under the stars,

Conversing about old bookstores that would serve the perfect coffee.

Oh! don't you think it's a misery?

The way I still look at you and don't recognize you,

That you still have the my petals with you but don't have the courage to return it or maybe you keep it because you want to?

That we meet under the same stars,

Our eyes meet at the roads that we once used to walk together,

Knowing we once knew each other

The way I still look at you but don't smile,

My eyes, they don't try to find home in yours anymore the way they once did,

Don't you think it's a misery?

[suryanshukedar]

I let myself drown

when people are in love they often say

they simply fell,

tripped over their own two feet face forward

and into the arms of their beloved.

I did more than simply fall onto the ground of your love

you, for me

were an ocean

and I dived

headfirst

roughly

harshly

almost painfully

into the waters of "you"

I knew I could not swim

but I did so anyway I was drowning

entangled in you

surrounded by this being of "you"

engulfed in this feeling of "you"

and did not know what came over me

But I let myself drown

I did not try to swim back up

because if I went back to land,

releasing myself from your grasp that would mean losing the feeling of "you" and after

submerging into the depth

the love

the passion

of "you"

how could I ever leave?

[suryanshukedar]

You're not mine anymore,

Yet, then again, never you were.

Not as some kind of

Possession, at least; not as a

Collectible, or commodity.

But as a dream; as an epiphany;

The discovery of a dormant idea,

And the confirmation of a long forfeited

Heart-hidden ideal;

Yes, as

True love, experienced and

Exemplified, you are mine.

My girl, my person, my love;

The word 'my' still precedes every

Signification of your name or being in me.

You are not mine anymore,

But at the same time

You will be mine

Forever.