SOMEONE ELSE (05-09-2019)

We clothe in appearances
while wearing the skin of someone
dressing, draping the best of what can be seen,
assembling to arrange a semblance
of an outward best and free

Parading over remonstrations,
for this heart is shallow, vain
it tunes to fiddle over naysayers
to complain over reasons
not carved in our niche
We cry over pain caused by someone,
choosing to wallow over wounds engraved—for expectations that hail,
reside and crawl in someone else

Take a minute, will you?
Stop and take a deep clear breath.
Inhale the goodness around you,
feel the naked air touch the pores of your flawed imperfect self,
draw away the disapproval of others,
While, most of us are occupied,
trying to connect and pry
While, most of us bury, hide
in chests and drawers—that we prefer to shut ourselves in,
only to preserve and save shedding
a little of ourself to someone other than our own.

– Shweta Kher


Dodging away formed prejudices,
while eyes roll and snide comments brush past us—
To abasement that leads to despair and destruction;
In fear of which, most of us, subject ourselves to the drudgery of flawed impressions

Lest parting ourself;
We hide into the scent of others, while shedding the scent of our truest self,
We inhume the living skeletons in a closet of our buried lies
to exhume and let fear inflict on our pride

Let me tell you now this now:
The truth we turmoil our hearts in;
We submit at the behest of preconceived notions and dismaying nods that speak unjustly for,
while many of us cast our shadows with the reflections of anticipatory insolent remarks we fear of
Lying underneath which—
is a shallow garb,
while the outer shell chaffs leaving alone to be it our nameless devotion.

– Shweta Kher


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