Writer’s Block

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Words escape.

One moment they are at the back
Of our minds-

Like heartbreaking stanzas of a eulogy,
Or the lyrics of an unrequited love song.
Like the strokes of paint on a painfully
White canvas.

And in the other moment
They just disappear.

Writer’s block is actually a warning.
Preventing us from uttering the right words ,At the wrong time.

Beautiful words, But the wrong time.

Because the beauty
Of the poems you wrote for them,
Won’t stop them from leaving you.

It is better the poems disappear,
The songs lose their inspiration,
Or the canvas catches fire.

It is better the words escape,
Than being used in a beautiful piece of art,
Dedicated to someone,
Who will just walk all over it.

Smiti Mehrotra

Falling in Love or Falling to your death?

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It’s scary.

Falling- It is fucking terrifying.

 

One moment you are on the edge, and before you even know,

You are going down.

 

You don’t know the velocity with which you are falling,

Or the time or the distance. You just know that you have messed up really bad.

 

You have fallen for someone who might not be ready to fall as hard or as much for you.

Maybe he loves his bones too much; maybe he loves himself more than you love yourself.

 

But it is for the best, because that way he will teach you a lesson.

 

You might still hit the concrete with full force. You might lie there bleeding.

But in that moment you will thank him nevertheless, for because of him-

Your first thought will be cleaning your wound, and thinking about your recovery.

Rather than slowly dying, hoping that he would turn up and help you.

 

He will teach you self reliance. He is almost Gandhi, if you think about it.

 

He will at least make you realize,

That the only person who has your back after a mighty fall-

Is yourself.

 

– Smiti Mehrotra

 

 

 

 

Mend Her Heart

The roses you brought are beautiful.

But no flowers could ever cover the betrayal that she reeked of. So there is no use in trying and mending her, for you are here now, but you will leave when she becomes too much to handle.

She is happy alone, in a house she made from her broken pieces- her broken heart the centerpiece. You will be nothing but an invader.

You would pertain her as a challenge and you will try to fix her. But she finds solace in her sorrow. Her sorrow is all that is left of him. And she will guard it like a child. She will never allow you to fix her.

You will never understand her reasons, you will want her. You will render vows of loving her for eternities and infinities. Maybe you even mean it.

But you see love is not what she needs. Her body thrives on hatred. If she feels even one ounce of love in her blood she will collapse.

She doesn’t want to hate you. She doesn’t want to hate anybody else, other than him. Too much poison is fatal, too little poison is worthless- she has just the right amount inside her.

So stop right there! Don’t talk about loving her.

Because she and you both know how it ends. It starts with love, sure it does. But we all know where it ends.

 

-Smiti Mehrotra