Confessions from a poet's heart: Recent Episodes
Yashika Doshi
Poetry holds a different level of comfort, especially in the knowledge that I will always have it by my side, despite everything life has in store. I write because it feels like coming home and exploring a different world of stories at the same time. Being able to write became sacred over all this time, a process of healing sometimes, alongside a feeling of elation.
because love likes playing hide and seek sometimes, relishing in that attention, not to be found...
It's a strange feeling, isn't it? To be smiling while being surrounded by a sea of people, and yet yearning to be next to that one particular person. Right in the middle of a meeting, or when you see a extremely relatable meme, even when you're lying awake unable to sleep, a small voice in the back of the head is always wanting to talk to them.
The day when time felt like a fictional element, the purple-red sky seemed to have been coloured to match the mood of our mind, you gave me something to come back to...
All of my emotions carry a side dish of anxiety nowadays. As I'm on the brink of a new move as well, I'm more filled with nervousness than excitement. New city, new career choice and a new reality, how much time is apt enough to process all this?
The pandemic brought with it a silence I couldn't find my way out of, the clock hanging in the room became a remnant of a time of our lives when happiness was still around...
These are a f๐ฆ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด ๐ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ช๐ค๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ค๐ข๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ง๐ต ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ข๐ต ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ...
It makes me wonder if maybe we are more fascinated by the idea of falling in love, rather than falling for a person. That for us, this idea is so romanticized, painted in such beautiful colors, that we feel an aching emptiness without its existence in our life, and thatโs why we continually starve for it, be it in the smallest ways possible.
There are situations, days even, where someone tells me that Iโve changed, in a better way, probably, in a worse; changed from the person I was ten years back, from five months back and maybe even yesterday...
Countless nights have gone where I had only you for company. On the couch, in the dim glow of the moonlight streaming in, staring out at the ceaseless activities on the road, when I listen to you, I feel peace.
Rainy days that end with the sunshine sprawling on my floor, eyelashes that fall on my wrist and my wishes on them, feeling lighter, but emptier...
I thought I'd spare you the trouble of being beside me on a day like that, where my real self is probably miles away, even she choosing to walk away for a bit.
In the moments just before you call, I think of all the things I want to say to you and even more so, of the ones I probably won't.
I know how it feels when you're feet-deep, sitting at the edge of the ocean, but it's empty inside you.
There has to be something special about a person with whom you had witnessed all possible seasons together, right?
If I could be anything else for a day, I'd like to be the sun which lights up someone else's sky.
With some, we laugh. With some, we forget time. But I think with some, we find those pieces of ourselves we didn't even know we'd lost.
The confines of my mind are playing tricks on me once again; they confuse memories with mistakes, just because those words start with the same letter.
This story is not about asking for happiness, it's about just a little less pain. This story is not about being tired of making efforts, this story is about the world righting itself.
I am slowly learning that I am terrible at finding the right words to describe moments.
It's an ironic experience, this getting distracted by you, this getting distracted by the idea of you, this idea that there exists a tomorrow for us.
Once in a while, in the middle of life, I try to forget the expectations and responsibilities. Tonight, I walk under the stars, I fall for the moon again and set out to carve the road lying ahead myself, because it is okay. It is okay to get lost while searching for myself.
Sometimes you ask me how I'm doing, and I cannot bring myself to tell you that I'm losing sleep, that I'm falling head first into a mess of uncertainties, so I tell you that I'm not scared of the dark.
The air around us is full of thoughts to acknowledge and things to say, all the permutations and combinations of words just waiting to be said out loud. But to explain how we are better when not together, will our silence suffice?
When someone asks you what difference did you make, tell them that you managed to live and smile on those days when even survival was a task.
how can there be an end when, there are yet so many beautiful beginnings to be a part of?
How convenient it is that you try to hold onto the belongings of the person in the name of love when you couldn't hold onto the person themselves.
Sillage: French // the scent that lingers in air, the impression made in space after someone has gone, the trace of someone's perfume. //
This one's a dedication to all the old souls out there, trapped in a 20-something-year-old's body. You exist as one among few :)
I spent all seven days of the week searching for my utopia in various places in and around me. Tune in to find out where, at last, it was.
What would you do if you could do anything? Would that give you access to power or bind you in a spiral of self-questioning?
Endless adjectives, metaphors, colors and expressions have been used when we talk about someone we love, but what comes to mind when someone asks us to describe the way we love ourselves?
Love, such a weirdly beautiful feeling, right? It changes all your definitions of happiness and takes all you have to offer. But that last sunset is a witness, that togetherness can be everything, but never enough. But in this process, love lives, and when I say it lives, I don't mean it as the opposite of leaving. Tune in, to know why!