A Letter To Myself That Will Remind Me To Be A Good Daughter.

Dear Self,

You’ve been so brave this year. Yes, you can applaud yourself. It’s known to be uplifting and pleasing. But have you been loving your loved ones enough? Hmm. That is something to ponder over.

You talk to yourself a LOT. And when the phrase ‘a lot’ is being used, it refers to the fact that you constantly over-think, critique and analyze yourself. It could be in front of the mirror, or while staring at the ceiling of your bedroom or just looking out of the window.

But amid all this, how do you leave out the most important thing to think about?

So think: we always choose to take for granted what is already being given to us. Things such as food and emotions such as love. Like, you feel the swift rush of love in your heart when your Mother says something that is sweet and intrinsic to her maternal nature. But sometimes, you fail to reciprocate and then you end up becoming the worst daughter this Earth will ever host.

You forget what her favorite food dish is.

You forget her shopping list.

You forget what makes her tear up.

And, you forget that apart from being a person who caters to all your needs, she is also a brilliant woman who has desires of her own.

You forget that sometimes when you go shopping, she furtively expects you to come back and surprise her with something she has desperately wanted for a long time. It could be her favorite lipstick that just ran out or the fancy shampoo she has wanted for a long time but is somehow hesitant to buy by herself because she hates Materialism and loathes high maintenance even more.

You forget that your decision to help out in the kitchen should not be born out of obligation but out of compassion.

You forget that rambling on about your life and your miseries sidelines what she is feeling.

You fall. You fall like an ill-prepared solder on the battlefield. And so this letter should help and serve to you as a reminder to not view your mother as your mother ONLY.

View her as this goddess who experienced such visceral pain while giving birth to you that she almost blacked out.

View her as a woman whose mind is filled with drowsy dreams and candid curiosities.

View her as someone with a cerebral mind and a warm heart.

View your mother as a human being and not as a refuge to dump your emotional baggage in.

View her as your everything.

Yours truly and sincerely,

Conscience.

Renovatio. 

Probably the lengthiest poem I have ever written! I hope you like it. Please give me your honest opinions in the comments below! 

P.S The title of the poem is in Latin and translates to rebirth. 

She was made up of words,

They all said. She was meant

To be an author, they proclaimed.

But her mother, Mrs. Smith

Cooked dreams of an early

Marriage and a crawling toddler

For her. Thus, she ran.

 

She ran, leaving a world

Behind only to step into another.

She would paint her own life,

Embellish it with colloquialism,

Flowery words and further,

In her haste, she could only

Collect what her greedy hands

Touched. A toothbrush. A

 

Satchel and not as much a

Glance to the lady who was

Constituted of belligerence and

Hostility for her shaky career.

Betty was the bird emancipated

From a wooden cage. She would

Flap her wings around a strange

 

Place. She would grasp the

Feather and let it sink into

The welcoming ink and let the

Words spill out on an otherwise

Blank page. Oh! The jolts of

The train were like droplets of

Water flicked hurriedly after a

 

Nightmare. She was in a rocking

Carriage with people carrying

The burdens of their own stories after all.

She never batted her eyelashes

At another. Her concentration

Was pinpointed on the leather

Of the ledger she had managed

 

To gather. Her dexterous fingers

Groped the skin of the new diary

And her heart beat faster by

Imagining what would go in it

And which magazines her work would

Travel to. She was the witch and

This diary was her wand. She

Would cast enchanting spells

And thrive from it all.

 

For once, she heaved and a

Bizarre fear settled in the pit

Of her stomach. She knitted

Her brows deep in worry and

Anxiety for the thought of

Starting over. But the word

‘Valiance’ quivered in her mind like

Trees from an arrogant wind

Before a storm and she felt

Bolstered again. Because, she

 

Knew that no matter how harsh

The wind howls at the tress, they

Quiver but they never crumble and fall.

Lovey-Dovey Poems Galore!

Love is a stubborn and unseen force but it is felt by all.

Due to taking part in a contest, I have been submitting my love poems to the respective website. Are you ready to read them and provide your feedback?

Was that a chorus of ‘yes’ I just heard? Good!

Here you go! The Silence That Gorged On A lover

I am going to be uploading so many more love-related poetry in the coming weeks. Please support me and read my work. You can like and comment on the poems too. The big, red cherry on the cake is that you can participate as well. Let me know your thoughts!

“Ma, I put lipstick on and I feel so pretty!”. 

Grip the brush with the tightness
that a  warrior exhibits while holding a sword.
Dip it in a powdery box much like a king
does after a war. Except his fingers
caress the crimson Tilak and gently
graze his forehead. You are no less than
a king or a queen, for that matter. Spread
the colored powder across your skin,
with the delicateness of your mother
who watches with fascination as her
fifteen-year-old daughter lives out
her dream to look more beautiful
than she already is in her dressing
room. Now, smudge all the sprouting
blemishes that might have bloomed on
your skin, it will cover not only spots but
also your imperfections. Apply
lipstick now. Brush the tip across
your dry lips with the artistry of
an artist who has ample experience to
recreate Mona Lisa in his basement.
You are ready to face the world.
You wear a mask on the outside and
conceal yourself from within.

A lengthier poem, this one.

I have so much on my plate right now and this is why I come bearing some of the contents that are on my plate.

I have devoted myself to the empowerment of teenage girls. This is why I am going around interviewing young girls around India (virtually, of course) to document their life-changing experiences and interesting discoveries.

Check out the Facebook page and hit like-  Teen JWB

For any writing assignments, comment below or just email me-avantikainghal216@yahoo.in

 

 

 

 

 

 

What does it feel like to move on?

It feels like exactly how
it sounds. You move
three steps ahead of
a force that was once holding
you back. You break
away from shackles that
were rooted around
your wrists and ankles.
You had fallen down
and now you have gotten
up-stronger and with
much more vigor. Your
mind can conjure images
of a healthy future. And
you can actually smile
without feeling the torture.
You can look
back now, it’s safe,
because what you will
see won’t be a mistake.
It will be a lesson of a
lifetime. And you will
remember his face
without fear or tear
streaks. You are not
reading these lines. You
are reading between
them because you know
exactly how it feels to
have moved on.
Yes, you have conquered
the art of moving on
and looking back with
courage and not scorn.

I am talking to you. Yes, YOU. The beautiful woman who fell head over heels over someone who does not give a damn. I want to help you move on. (I rhymed here too. Give me a cookie). If you are feeling down for any reason (related to boys), feel reassured after reading this poem because you can do so much better.

Personally, I never moved on because I have never fallen in love, (But does falling for Nutella count?). And, this was only my imitation of a sanguine woman who feels that she is strong enough to forget.

Thanks.
Good night.
I love you all.
Stay blessed.

My first ever poetry slam! 

Stop.
Did you hear that?
It was the sound of your fear.
In the form of short breaths and tiny beads of sweat.
You are terrified. And you are foolish.
For you binge-watched Criminal Minds for two hours straight.
In the middle of the night.
And now, your primary fear is a fast approaching attacker.
Hidden behind the curtains or huddled up in your attic.
You contrive plans to beat him. Beat him with all your strength.
Until your fist is tainted blue from the punches
And cheeks ruddy from all the rush
But wait!.
All of this is fictional and inside your head.
For you had bolted every door before
you made it to bed.
But some woman out there screams with a
clay tongue as the ingress to her innocence is shattered by someone.
And here you are, lamenting about gender bias, confined within four walls.
I have faith in challenging.
So challenge the age-old convention of casting women as  Mary Janes with doe eyes in those horror movies and drab shows.
The fear that had blanketed you earlier should be gone by now
You should be able to get up and adorn the cape of bravery
And stand up to these loons while spewing profanities at them articulately.

Hi! Did anyone miss me? No? I figured that out by myself. So yes, I participated in my first EVER poetry slam and this was the poem I performed. Like it? Hate it? Tell me.

Read the interview I took of the organizer here-  http://jaipurwomenblog.org/post-jaipurs-first-poetry-slam-vriddhi-plans-to-have-a-comedy-night-soon/

THAT’S ME.
Bye!

Urgent Call for Submissions to a spectacular Literary Magazine and More!

This is an urgent call to all writers, photographers, and artists who wish to see their work published in the elite and gripping magazine called Red Fez.

Click here to submit-https://www.redfez.net/submit

I am the Fiction editor there so just ping me if you have dropped an engaging story to the magazine and I will give it special consideration. Hurry, the new issue comes out in 26 days!!

Now to the poem…It’s about a family member who currently suffers from cancer. I would love your humble wishes and genuine blessings if you could just drop some.

A craving of creamy pasta.
or the succulent juice of mango.
My deceased-self conjures
visions of this past. When I could
walk the earth without a cane, 
when I could eat whatever I wanted
or when I would go to work only
oo come back home to kiss my
wife gently. Now, I decorate the
bed, just like the other showpieces.
I acquire dust at an increasing rate
and I think I might rust. I cough out
misery and suck back more disease.
I rot away, I rot away.

No matter how morose my poem is, you don’t forget to smile and breathe in positivity from anywhere you can. ALSO, COMMENT ON MY POEMS. I need to know what you all people think. If someone actually reads my works, that is…

Refulgent Resistance..

Feeding a flame to a candle,
Is a task known to be complicated.
The stem of the candle struggles
And turns away; it stays still, yet
It is trying to say-“No more.”
The flame persists and there it is!
A flash of light-brilliant and bright.
It shimmers in the dark cavern of
My hope and I yearn for the
Candle to not turn away; to not
Struggle and to give way.

The flame is intimidating; it’s fiery red
With an undistinguished blend of
Orange and yellow along the ridges.
And so I lose myself in the radiant
Beauty, forgetting the stem of the
Candle and how it turned away.

Just like my dreams and future.

Can you believe that I’ll be in college this year? I can’t get over that fact. How has life been for you all?

I am watching one of my favourite sitcoms of all time-How I Met Your Mother. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Let me know on my twitter-@avantika97. I post funny excerpts from my already awkward life there.

Avantika.

 

 

 

Lies That Last for a Lifetime.

The after taste of a lie is
Like that accidental gulp of blood
Inside your mouth. The eccentric
Taste of copper and salt could
Never rival that of a lie. The
Wrongful sentences are plastered
Upon your teeth and your tongue
Procures syllables of deceit. You
Even try trapping your tongue between
Your teeth to stop lying. But old
Habits die hard and slow. You have
Lied now and gulped that pint of
Blood. The after taste is unpleasant.
Disgusting, even. And now you don’t
Know whether to feel guilty or happy
for lying and getting away with it.

Wassup, yo? A little counrty-ish greeting never hurt anyone, right? How have you all been? Be in good spirits, dear WordPress Family for I bring to you a very exciting news.

If you are scrolling through WordPress, there is a huge chance that you are looking for reading material to soothe your mind and nerves. Look no further. We bring to you a phenomenal novel sale that will allow you to browse through thousands of novels at very cheap prices. (It’s a family business, I take pride in it :))

Here is the link-

https://www.facebook.com/events/995211427221378/?ref=1&action_history=%5B%7B%22surface%22%3A%22permalink%22%2C%22mechanism%22%3A%22surface%22%2C%22extra_data%22%3A%5B%5D%7D%5D

Whoa, that’s one lengthy link.And, in case you feel the need to buy a novel at excessively cheap prices-think, it could either be ‘In the Skin of a Jihadist’ or ‘A Thousand Splendid Sons’, you can also contact me here-avantikasinghal216@yahoo.in

Just drop in a friendly email and send in your queries. They say I am a nice person.

Bye, for now!

 

 

 

 

‘Flushed’ and a friend’s graphic design blog! 

Before you start skimming through the poem, I’d like you to do me a small favor.

This is a dear friend’s graphic designing blog and I would be grateful if you would give it a look-

https://www.instagram.com/thechronologicallyvivid/

Okay, you can go ahead and read the poem now, if you are not bored out of your mind already, that is.

My aversion to dating started when

a boy of eighteen looked at me funny.

I melted under his gaze and had no

idea of what to do. The red that I did not

know about until that moment rushed to

my cheeks and my words were jumbled

when I spoke. I spoke of Albert Einstein,

I spoke of the misery in Syria and while I

did so, his eyes were otherwise occupied.

His eyes were pools of lust as they zeroed

in on and below my collarbone and neck. 

I was on my feet before I knew and 

penned down this poem before anyone 

could know of my “embarrassment”.