Silver and Cold

I saw him
when the sun was dim
when frost slept blanketing the earth
when the heart faced yet another winter alone, unloved.

I saw him
across the room, smiling
across a sea of dementors, shining
across lifetimes, searching.

I saw him
making an effort to re-ignite the ashes my eyes bore
making music in the silence even if all I ever answered was 'I'm not sure'
making me look life beyond the pages I kept going back to, unfolding the folds.

I loved him
when the skies rained an ocean
when tears turned stardust
when I woke up to our fingers intertwined.

And,
I will love him
when our hair are silver
when dreams we live
when our wrinkled hands go cold.

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

Born

Escribí este por su cumple

No shimmer showered down the sky
No sun or star graced with an extra shine
No premonitions, no dreams
No signs or background chimes
No lyrics can voice those frozen seconds in time
No quote would do justice fitting just fine
No one saw those stolen glances, that glint in my eye
And not how I was finally waking up from a deep slumber, melting seeing you smile.

In random memories that sleep clinging my heart each night
There is no white horse, no shining armor or knight
In those haphazard words in the last pages of my notebook that keep me company at nightfall in a torch's light
It's no distant scarlet letter, no XOXO's nor declarations of undying love flaming bright.

It's you walking right in through that door
It's me looking up from my mess of a life to see who it is
It's you searching a familiar face
It's me smiling a little for I wanted to be chosen for once, this time.

I don't remember the colors that were worn
What I do remember is how your eyes danced, how your fingers played on the table, how your hair sparkled gold in the sun, how that December just thawed in your warmth
I don't know what words were our first, what moment we clicked, what note life's playlist adorned
What I do know is how in my life that beautiful morning you walked in, how in my heart you were born.

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

Stars

One thing he never asked or answered me is Why;
Why are we what we are today
or Why were we what we were back then.
How did we get here?
I can't even begin to begin.
He took my hand and ran my fingers on the freckles on his nose, around his cheeks and asked, "What about these? Aren't these imperfections?"
With the palm of my hand I closed his eyes and asked him, "What do you see?"
"It's dark with a hint of bright light" was what I got.
"Nothing is perfectly immiscible..." I began. He cut me out with a "Don't go chemistry on me, babe." But I still continued "...you will always find the world in shades, shades of colors you may not even know names of."
"How does that answer me?"
"Had the night sky been a plain boring black it would have robbed us star-gazers of the magic. Your freckles make you beautiful. It's like god-defined patterns whereon I have to plant kisses all night long. Don't be surprised if some night I go on making crazy constellations on you with a glitter pen like those joining-the-dots we used to do in play school and you wake up all sparkling. Our imperfections match us. I love how after a lot of coke we play a burp-oops-sorry and then do it intentionally for the craziness of it, how in midst of crossing a busy street you take my hand and I just go on trailing with you demanding every possible thing that we stroll pass by; be it an ice cream, shoes, jacket or a baby pink colored rosary. You know what I really like about us? It's how even after teenage passed me by a couple of years ago I still get to be your baby. How I get to be hugged mid-street just to say 'Hi' or play 'what color is it?' with gems or drink all your coffee, make a kitty face and get away with it or...

I can go on and on but the truth is no matter how close I get to expressing it, I won't ever be able to tell you how we got here. I'm just glad we got here."

...fifteen minutes later...

"Is this top too body-hugging?"
No response.
He is no where in sight. Obviously would be with that video game again. Urgh.

I feel his hands, slowly finger-walking closing in on my waist, enveloping me from behind.

"Not any close to the kind I am."

I turn around.

And... *stars*.

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

Three Steps Above the Sky

It's refreshing to not wanna go back to the years that just went by
It's a peaceful submission to let things be, to not re-live, re-cry
It's beautiful when you silently take my hand in the crowd or even after a petty fight
It's kind of cute to see you fumbling for the perfect words when at all I dress up a little bit and all you let out is an amazed sigh
It's an unworded thanks to sometimes find you reading my poem or two with a smile on your lips and glint in your eyes
It's a constant somersaulting universe in here, in my world that lies three steps above the sky.

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

I saw her by the sea

Her locks were a perfect veil
Her eyes never left the shore
Her hands were curled around her dress
Wearing the rainbow as anklet on water she walked.

Her skin was translucent gold
Her bracelet tinkled from somewhere within the white folds
Her breath was the ocean's sigh
And when she looked up, I swear right then and there I could die.

Her smile, that I imagined to be the universe, lacked the sparkles
Her pristine self gathered composure as if something was not so right
Her eyes in mine gave me the chills of a tornado's touchdown
And when I finally blinked, the sad mermaid vanished leaving behind the tinkling of her bracelet and her song.

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

He likes it hot, I like it strong

I stayed under covers for a while
In the aroma of a psychological petrichor
The coffee-maker still held in his share
Unmade sheets spilled enough beans on the wait I lived through a night before.

I rose to two roses laying by my side
A tiny place between waking up and dreaming I traversed for sometime
Humming a tune while he played piano on my neck, I was too much in a trance
Jumbled lyrics from here and there fit perfect in his song.

I turned to face him, he smiled
I smiled and in unison we blinked twice
Free falling is one, through a whirlpool is another
To look in his eyes and watch your chocolate melting in his ocean is love.

And we stayed under covers all day
In the aroma of love, of dreams, of us
The empty coffee-maker graced the corner counting moments pass by
How the coffee slowly vanished while his lips devoured it off mine.

P.S. All for the mutual love of COFFEE ;-)

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

Find me

As ripples in the ocean of my being
He strode through the stars and landed just where I could see
I looked, he looked back, I looked a little more intently
A little of the sky, a little of the corals in the sea
A hint of glitter is what greeted me
The world would swear it was just an innocent blink
I tell you I saw a flash and he captured a part of me
Today as he opens those beautiful eyes of his
Sprinkling wishing dust on his dreams
Dancing to the music of his heartbeats
Veiled in his eyelashes
You could
find me!

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

Hands That Mold

Do you have a pet tearjerker that true to its name can always get you all dreamy-eyed, trying to contain in the rain, promising yourself that you would let just one drop escape and what follows next is a repetition of a million times like these. You are later found either by the basin, washing off the remnants of your monsoon or in some corner of your room bawling your eyes out still. Does that ever happen that a random picture breaks loose floodgates to your pent-up memories, the ones you re-live as your head hits the pillow and an involuntary hand hits the PLAY on a paused memory you left off somewhere in the interstitial voids of time only to pick back someday, scold or love yourself for what you left off or embraced.

Do you have a pet refuge you know you can always run to when nowhere in the world you would fit or when those cliched walls come closing in on you? What do you find there? Is it a part of you that you once left behind in here, safe by these shores, when the world propelled you to grow up a little too soon? Is it someone or something that makes you want to come back once again in hope of taking things right from here, yet again? So, is it really your last hope of magic happening in real life in form of self-resurrection or well, just a place you have loved too much to ever let go of?

Do you have someone in your life who you will always regard as the one person who made you who you are, ever will be? The one person whose words have been your initial spark for the many miracles you have undertaken in the course of your life till date, whose face you somehow imagine right in front of you, be it in a moment of pride with happiness gleaming in their eyes or with all the love in the world for you when you are so low that you can't even pick yourself up to match up with what the world expects of you.

If you answered a YES for all the above, you have everything in life to thank universe for it. You already have what someone somewhere can only dream of, keeping you a little sane in the insanest of times, holding your feet in the sand while your head weaves a story in the stars and hiding you, recharging you and being the reservoir of enormous strength and unconditional love when everything seems to go against you, when each tidal wave seems to carry your name as its final destination.

Why am I penning this?

I was randomly browsing through a popular social networking site when I came across the page of my school principal in there. What followed was some two minutes of smiling-to-self, remembering that time and almost as a ritual, wishing to pay best of regards to her. With that, remembering each person who has been a part of my making.

Dear,

Papaji
Mumma
Mrs. Kiran Gulati (Class teacher in Nursery)
Manitasha (making 'forever' more than just a word)
Mrs. Nalini Rajeev (Science in grade 5 & 6)
Mrs. Bedi (Social Science in grade 4 through 7)
Mrs. Sikka (English in grade 6 & 7)
Mrs. Shukla (Hindi in grade 4 through 7)
Mrs. Suniti Bhalla (English in grade 8)
Mrs. Preeti Manchanda (Maths in grade 9)
Mrs. Geetanka Bahl (Maths in grade 8 & 10)
Mrs. Seema Kapoor (Science in grade 10)
Mrs. Rama Joshi (English in grade 11 & 12)
Mrs. Meeta Khanna ("Love for the written word")
Mrs. Sadhna Bhalla ("Life 101")
Mr. Rajeev Sharma ("Being a warrior, his Ms.WW")
Mrs. Pratima Sharma ("Invisible Rock")
Mrs. Sarika Sharma ("Hugs that heal")
Tamanna Sharma ("Standing up for what needs to be done")
Friends who have stood the test of time
Rajat Arora ("We talk literature, cats & more buddy")
(More than just a cousin) Anubhav
Sr. Sergio Bermejo ("Loving a language")
Enrique Iglesias ("Love and more love")

and...

that darling of a person who holds my hand each day and tells me he loves me.

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

Stop the clocks

No.

He doesn't quote Nicholas Sparks every now and then trying to sweep me off my feet. He is strong enough to actually do that.

His compliments don't sound like any long lost cousins of beautiful or pretty. He will just stand there with a 'Wow' expression gleaming in his eyes, fumbling for words and end up saying the sweetest "I love you." Every time.

He lets me cross the road on my own despite knowing I am a little shaky when crossing in traffic and when I have reached the other end, his face beams of triumph in the purest sense while I look at him all dazed and puzzled and utter 'Idiot', loud enough for just him to hear.

He buys me ice cream and then counts the number of days I have bunked the gym this week only to turn around and see me making a lost kitty face. I get an extra ice cream after that. Don't even bother to ask. It's his ice cream, of course.

I share a million tumblr pictures with him and he doesn't get irritated. Not the slightest. In fact, the very next day one of those is his 'Wallpaper of the day'.

He plays me the songs I once used to sing and recolors the memories I have cherished over the years. Re-visiting my past and strengthening my foundations to make me believe in the dreams I dreamed as a child, to instill in me the curiosity to soar up high and see the world from up there.

He makes me want to demolish the clichés and create something of our own. To not wait for a kiss in rain but play soccer with him as it pours.

He introduces me to versions of me I never knew existed. Every damn day there is something new, I tell you.

And if I started collecting the butterflies he ever gave me, I would have been a proud owner of a huge Butterfly Sanctuary by now.

It's by far the best jigsaw I've played. Being chosen to make that perfect fit.

It's the best chess of my life. We lay the board, stare eye to eye. Smile.

He stops the clocks for me.

Him.

I love.

© 2013 Neha Choudhry

Died in your arms

It was like being on a high rise, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. She was his prisoner and he guarded the doors. The sunlight sometimes entered the little place she had started to call home and reminded her of the world she left behind the day she saw him. He never really saw her or talked to her. She was wherever he was, waiting to surrender to gravity but he never really let her. She loved him. The kind of love that at first clings to you, casts spells in promises, makes you see stars a little more brighter, sugar a little more sweeter and before you know it, becomes the one thing that can break you in pieces you won't even want to find. For finding them would finally end the search. Everyone but her knew she wasn't in love with him but the pursuit of him. The chase kept her alive, she had an aim. Him being a distancer made it all the more exciting. She lived for those stolen moments wherein he sat by himself, drawing in the curtain between him and her, gulped down a few shots, sighed taking another's name and let her crawl out. She mattered then, she thought. The moment she met his lips, her existence shattered. The sudden change of pace shined her fogged winters to an early spring. She felt loved. She swore it was somewhere there. Her death was his sanity. He felt better every time she fell. And then locked her back where she belonged- in his eyes.

Closer to him than anyone would ever reach, being born in his heart and dying in his hands.

Being the tears of the man she loved. The man who didn't.

© 2013 Neha Choudhry