Whole

I have had so many conversations in my head which I’ll never make. So much about friendships, so much about friends you make by sharing books can go wrong too. All who read are not here to stay. All people sharing books on Instagram are not what they read. All people who are kind won’t last, all people who are kind will runaway to save themselves. I have always waited for the dark to walk around I have never wanted people to recognise me. It is best to just live and let live that is what I have learnt. How tiresome it is to be human who are slowly degrading may be reaching to an end. How pathetic it would be to survive only to deceive in one way or another, sooner or later. I am happy but what a foolish world we live in cutting down the songs someone hums out of love of life.
Trying to break walls out of curiosity.
But we live anyhow assembling broken pieces of ourselves or else where is the joy in being whole?
Ashima Binny

Secondary

Because I live in India the post is about Indian society.So why does Indian society emphasize on respecting others mostly elders more than self respect or why does it give …

A boy and a butterfly

If a butterfly saved a man
A boy, a man or a boy
Or anyone far from being myself
Should I believe to be saved
One day too?
There’s shade of gray
And black
And white
But I wonder about the colours
Of a butterfly
When it’s dark
When I think of writing a story
Shall I, me, myself
Be the protagonist?
Would I know, the dread
The death, the friend
The boy lost or made
Or should it be the butterfly
Instead?
There are notebooks
With torn pages, with haunting dreams
A filthy crowd but something good is there too
Like icecream? Like wings?
Like rainbows?
But what should I rob him off and then save him
From?
What is the price a butterfly could pay?
How am I to know
Distinguish him/it from me?
Anguish is same as happiness
Nuanced
Ragged
Broken
Yet
There is a happy ending
And there’s not
The parallel World is fucked up
Because I want to override
Decieve GPS and stay only on the happily ever after path…

Half a year

They taught us in dictation
How distance forms
D-I-S-T-A-N-C-E
eight letters
And a bit of accent
While we recited
One by one
I crumbled between the
Mass of letters
Forgetting a , c or e
Or the pronunciation
Distance weighed heavy
Then while learning
While learning to speak
That dead looking eyes
Wet in shame
Mouthing words, my imitation
Like DISTANCE was a destination
And I’ll never cover it in time
Now it’s different
When I learnt it’s meaning
DISTANCE
Measuring it in units, time, place
And then people
DISTANCE
Became longing
And I couldn’t separate them
In morning it perches
Slowly on my eyelids
And it’s heaviness
Settles down at the bottom of my heart
DISTANCE
becomes craving
An empty shell looking for
Its skin
DISTANCE
becomes a photograph
With coarsely grained filter
Muffled sounds of us in background
DISTANCE
In its vagueness
Asks for a home to stay
And I cannot, any longer
Stand its stench…
…

Boat in a Puddle

Hey readers!

I launched my first book

A collection of poems

https://linktr.ee/ashima.binny

In hope to find kindred spirits…

Check out the link above to get your copies available in paperback and ebook format. Thank you ☺️

Voices

I remember Being conscious about the blood in my veins Running for their life Making noises like A sharp voice fading into nothingness So it stays And I reach out …

There’s a city

There’s a city I found on map Of lakes and bridges Of people and palaces.. / .. ..If I could run around In the city Up and down the hill …

Of dreams

Scattered thoughts
Brought together
I thought of sky
You of dreams
A baby cried somewhere in the room
Birds flew carrying wind on their back
No time to look up
Someone yelled love
And we never cared
Too busy to take a breath
A baby blinked at the moon
I closed my eyes to think of tomorrow
You counted days on your finger tips
Someone cried
We searched for napkins
And maybe little words
Broken in pieces to forget
A baby laughed in sleep
I drank myself to sleep
You kept the volume high
For night isn’t to sleep
Someone spread rumours
A baby listened to lullabies
Someone couldn’t jump out of window
A baby played with her thumb
Someone had a fight
A baby learned to say ” mama ”
Someone read scripts
A baby smiled
Someone did something..
And a baby something , something
I was out of job
You quit yours
Under the moon light
We had a dream .

After the chaos

Where the chaos in my mind stops
There is a vast stretch of greenery
And a tiny house
Painted in bright yellow and white
Next to it stands a tree
Very often in purple and green
Through the window
I can see mountains and alpacas
And bush of wild roses
Swaying with the wind
In what we call our backyard
Inside
Walls are painted
With murakami words
And pictures of our fantasies
It’s alluring
The place
And I am kind in the silence
You look happy
And I look lovely
We don’t have tea parties
And sandwiches on Sundays
But instead I read my favourite phrases ,
you stretch your body on the sofa
And we eat the leftovers
Sometimes we drink to sleep and
Forget we made love that night
So we make up in the morning
And we giggle
And giggle
And laugh to sleep again
For five more minutes
I hold you back , you hold me back
And it’s late afternoon
We are off to the woods
And mountains and streams
Away is the war
Or smokes in the clouds
And away is the
Chaos
Away we fly
Away we run
From the questions
Once troubled
Our mind
We are happy
And we never need to ask again

Peace

How peace comes in suddenly
Amidst the stretch of a paragraph
As shower of breezes
chirping birds
Flowers of spring
And a brighter day
then slips right into another line
And I am lost again
Between the words
I didn’t choose to read …