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Monday, 5 March 2018

#53 Survival.

He created a map of trails
with every one of his touches.
She left him poisoned with love,
and she was the only antidote.
They were like the sky and the sea;
every time they met, the world
watched, wild with excitement.
They were so right together,
it was almost too good to last.
But some stories do survive
against all odds, because love
seeks strength in hope;
and that they had in abundance.
- shwethabhat /Survival/

Saturday, 3 March 2018

#52 Etched in my heart.

It's been quite a while since I stopped believing in love. But when it starts to feel like I am losing parts of me, I'm drawn towards the few memories that I have kept of you. I sift through the pages of my old diaries to find poems I had written about you. Those words that I had put together with a conviction, and the undying faith I had in love amuses me now. Because the kind of love I once sought after, is the very kind that scares me to my bones now. And I'm often left thinking I'm better off without you; because my love for you made me vulnerable. And neither of us wore vulnerability like a cape, we saw it as a hindrance. Over the years I have lost faith in the existence of the kind of love that I once believed we shared. Yet I catch myself off guard, thinking that if love existed, it would look like you.
- shwethabhat /Etched in my heart/

Sunday, 25 February 2018

#51 It takes a while.

Don't chide yourself
for remembering him
quite too often as yet,
your heart needs its time
to unlearn how to love
him; to forget the way
he looked during sunsets,
or the way he locked eyes
with you and smiled.
But when you do get over
him, please don't let hatred
tarnish that heart of gold
that beats within you.
- shwethabhat /it takes a while/

Wednesday, 21 February 2018

Home.

Every time your eyes meet mine, I see the same question lurking behind its layers. 'Why me?' you have always wondered, but somehow you always manage to keep it within and look away. But I want you to know the truth. We don't choose whom we fall in love with, that's not how it works. You can't plan it, and you can't make the other person fall back in love with you. It just happens when it does. And to answer your question, my heart chooses you over everyone else because you feel new to me. After wandering through streets unknown, meeting you felt like magically being brought back home. And that is why, as we dance to the tune of our racing heartbeats tonight, I tell you again the one thing I keep telling you over and over, 'you feel like home'.

- shwethabhat • /home/

Friday, 29 December 2017

Let go, by Shwetha Bhat.

You have known a person for a long time but all of a sudden you start to see just the things that you adore them for, things they have no control over; like the way their eyes turn golden in the sunlight, or the way their smile is a little lopsided. And then it hits you, that you have been looking for this very person. That you belong to one another, and to a world where things are much simpler and love is not judged, but is allowed to breathe freely and survive. And in a moment of weakness you will want to bare out your soul in front of that person, hoping they will know exactly what you feel. But you will sidestep, because you know better. You know how the world is, and how it has corrupted people's hearts. You know how next to impossible it is to find another one like yours, a heart that has survived through the bitterness. You know the odds pretty well. So you tell yourself to give up before you give in. And again, you unclench your hand and let go.
                   ©SHWETHA BHAT | Let go.

Thursday, 27 July 2017

The time has come.

These last couple of months have taught me how beautiful staying up can feel, especially when you have the right company with you. The appeal that darkness had in my eyes faded, it was those little fairy lights that you had put up on the walls that kept me mesmerized on those not so rare occasions when you fell asleep before me. I always told you that I wanted to witness the sunrise with you, and although that couldn't happen literally, we did catch many metaphorical sunrises. Those times when you would ramble in your half asleep state, those words that you would render senseless come morning, I still remember each one of them. For they were the reason I stayed up past my bedtime, in hope of getting to glance into your soul through the tiny slits that you somehow kept hidden during the day. I tried staying up after you left too. I would shut myself away from the world, and stay up looking at those very fairy lights that were a part of our little universe at night. But they don't shine enough to keep me interested for long, nor does the darkness hold much appeal anymore. That's when I realised it is not the absence of your soul, or the void you left behind that is haunting me; it is the solitude of the night that scares me the most. And that's why I have started to keep my windows shut, and my lights off when I sleep. Because everything about the night - the moon, the stars, the cool breeze, the serenity, the feeling of being accepted - it all reminds me of you.

- shwethabhat //And it's time to move on now.//

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

I am the girl you grew up with;
The one you call your best friend.
I am the one who had to stay up
listening to your endless rants
varying from the burn you got, to
the second glance your crush gave you.
I am the one who always complained
about your annoying habit to over share.
How was I supposed to face that
call your parents gave me yesterday,
asking me to tell them the reason
behind your decision to take your life?
I couldn't find my voice, nor words,
to tell them I had no idea, no clue,
that you were gone; forever.
Your note, it read, "I need peace,"
and everyone began to decipher it
the way they wanted, because that is
how vague you always were with everyone.
But me? You had never let me assume.
You always had had answers for me,
for every one of my queries; unasked.
And now, you left me with an unanswered
question, which shall never be answered.

I had read many times before,
that suicide is such an ugly word
but, thanks to you, now I know
how ugly it actually feels, too.

©Shwetha Bhat


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