FELLOW TRAVELLER

Greetings from a fellow traveller I see everyday
who carries the whisper of a childish gaze
When our eyes meet,
we greet—
in nods and wordless sentences
breaking at every minute by the hour
and to bylanes that intercede us to town,
I patiently wait—
to see this unusual fellow traveller

The fellow traveller holds my attention,
like every stop made—
to accommodate passengers that glide in;
He acknowledges the spot I reserve everyday by the window seat of the bus I take,
catching by the very sunny hour I make

I take an hour’s journey to study him;
convoluted features that express a heavy heart,
with so much to convey and deposing no commonness,
He wears a smile that would give a toothache on a sweet candy,
And, a face—
to that of sunlight that pours itself on a windowsill
only to give warmth and sunshine on a summer day

As I feel our plausible unretired relationship,
I temper my misgivings and care about this unusual fellow traveller,
He seems to have had something on his mind,
For, I cannot figure nor explain.

In another time, another day,
We broke our wordless sentences—
He asked me the time,
Engaging my eyes onto the words chosen carefully
I accorded my reply

I’d never lose sight of that childish gaze
I’d tell him but wouldn’t that make him run away?
So I stuck to my short answer which I chose very carefully,
with the intent of continuing our ever long unretired relationship—
I resorted to my reticent self
And, so did he,
to the guise of an unusual quiet fellow traveller

But one day, he went so far and away,
I waited by the same spot I take,
the sunlight did not pour on the windowsill that day

My apprehensions of where this fellow traveller might be—
grew into that one queasy long hour,
Seemingly longer than the usual,
It was the longest one hour, indeed.

To this day, I don’t find the unusual fellow traveller,
For, wherever this fellow traveller may be—
I remember our elaborate sentences,
the bluest shirt you wore,
the brown strapped satchel you held onto;
co-ordinating the colour of your hair—
You made the mark of an unusual fellow traveller,
A fellow traveller that I long to see,
wherever this unusual fellow traveller may be.

– Shweta Kher

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VALIDATION

We have lost touch and sense of those close to us—
the scent of flowers and rain seems to be a distant memory,
the unfiltered open laugh is just a pretense
the unfettered thoughts have been dungeoned in the corner of our minds,

In ruination of our own opinions and dearth of approval,
have we crept in to wear longer hours of solitude—
a shallow priced self esteem looms over,
we tidy and tailor our demeanor only to appease those that surround us

Oh, what world hath become!
We gnaw at our own happiness; creasing upon pages of bliss found in little connections,
we are confound and caught in our own man made puzzle—
while most of us, devour upon joys found in seeking and preserving validation.

– Shweta Kher

SHADES OF YOU

Crimson red soaked in a glass of wine,
you flavour the moods of everlasting longingness,
with a heart so inanely simple and generous
I remember you in my tipsy appearances

Strands of gold, you dazzle and shine,
never shying away from the charisma you wear
drawing me thus, closer
and the faint smile you not -so- subtly carry,
lingers upon your cherry red lips,
I remember you and feast upon deceiving ideas

Creases of yellow and of orangish red,
a flare of light burning—
the unwavering passion that you cause within me,
I remember how I am to remember you

Blue like water,
beaches and the resonating sound of waves that greet us ashore,
where the sands meet—my heart soils into this unknowing ache dropping a beat less steadier;
the rhythm of my strung heart is no more in compliance
I remember you in my deceptive self

Perhaps, this memory I make of you
is not the memory I am to picture;
for this strung heart is a fool of romances and ideas that never seem to subside
I remember you and feast upon it
In my, for my, deceiving ideas glorify.

-Shweta Kher

PAIN

We bequeath ourselves to it each time and upon its realisation—we are fettered by the chains of happenstance and incidents,

A feeling more intensely and elaborately felt,

previous in its time— it precedes each time and hits with a greater intensity than once ever felt,

An expectation taking a wrong expedition,

belonging everywhere and to each one,

it has its own time,

to move and pass through;

for such time has to pass by,

it is a word that carries weight of a heavier thing than we used to know.

– Shweta Kher

DUST AND WIND

The mist

the glow

and the ruddy pink sky sails

befalling us, one all, in a pit of emotions

that we seek to preserve

not to alone perish and die

Unbidden thoughts
dawn over

sending us lullabies of a far away land we seek to pursue

not to alone perish and die
Humans are we,

our bodies linger and ache

over the graves of people we were once tethered to

bound by sentiments

we cry

for death may cost us

not to alone perish and die.

– Shweta Kher

LOVE, MAYBE 

The grass imbued stains of our dear days;
whilst we lay together through this lonesome night,

I held on to the collar of his white cotton shirt,

toying the ends of it,

we talked endlessly into those stars that bore our heavenly bodies

To momentary happiness that lies within;

we all know it somehow

we guile ourselves to reach this end

we stray amidst the same

don’t you ever learn, love?

And there was I,

pledging us our tales of vow

that never stay the same

I knew—the guilt tricked us each time,

for every good has an end too.

– Shweta Kher

SILLY, FICKLE HEART OF MINE

Is this how we have come to love

past those insecurities, that we shred ourselves daily

propagating our so called chaste love,

while we lust more than we come to love

and we cry,

for the fear beckons our loss

it is a loss,

to have found love this way

it is no gain,

for we endure such pain

We seek love for the mere cravings that surface our ever longing desires,

for it is a loss that summons us on the insides,

And there are some of us who love only to endure such pain

the claim that we hold so dear;

we often delude ourselves and habituate to this faulty notion that we seek comfort in,

or perhaps we like to somehow

Oh dear,

you foolish heart of a fellow!

shall we come to love ever

I wonder not,

Never.

– Shweta Kher