Fragments.

Published June 10, 2016 by Shreya Rajvanshi

You would call me a fool for
Making fun of his messy hair,
His huge hands, his raspy voice,
The way he rolls his eyes and
How his shoe size can fit an
Entire town, and his broad back,
But the truth is
I like it – all of it, because
I can ruffle his messy hair
Any time, shamelessly.
His hands are just the right size
For me to envelope mine
Through them;
Or he could do the same.
His raspy voice is a weakness for
It compliments my squeaky one,
Oh, and how a little giggle escapes
His mouth each time he playfully
Rolls his eyes at me.
I like that I can hide my feet in
His shoes to keep them warm and
Then put them away
Just to spend a little more time
With him, and
I don’t mind his broad back
Because I could always climb
On it, or hide behind it;
My own safe place.
I like him for the way these
Fragments move together to
Make him who he is, and
How I like him for this,
Hoping the feeling is mutual.

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E-Love.

Published June 8, 2016 by Shreya Rajvanshi

Heartfelt words picked
With such care and time
Caressed through the receiver
As my fingertips dazzled with
Words my heart spoke,
Beamed right through the wire.

My dreams dance, rocket,
Spark in the cables,
The cords catching and unveiling
My encrypted feelings,
Sending them to the sky,
Stars shining, doubts untangling.

Each phrase dances at the
Edge of time where all
My fears fade when I imagine
All my desires melting on
Your screen in the form of
Blinks and flashes.

After a couple of beats,
The clock ticks again when
I glance at the brittle metal
In my hands which beeps with
Your text and all I see is
My glowing cheeks and
Your waiting smile.

Yearning.

Published May 29, 2016 by Shreya Rajvanshi

Hundreds of unseen messages,
A dozen calls unanswered, and
Plenty of unread mails ended in
A night’s drinking and a
Couple of bets gone wrong,
Watching romantic movies on a loop,
From Titanic to Casablanca,
The Vow to Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Giving ways to dreamy sighs and
And frustrated cries,
Hearing Damien Rice on repeat,
Singing along off key but with
The same longing and love
That rises after reading
Jane Austen at night, and
Waking up thinking of the
Magic created by Charlotte Brontë,
Having memorised all the
Love poems by heart, till my
Energy was drained and all
My emotions rained, but
Cupid still won’t return my calls!

Shelter.

Published May 26, 2016 by Shreya Rajvanshi

The purple umbrella moves gently,
Trying to keep the rain at bay
Making sure it doesn’t touch
The vibrant palette which gives
Colours to my day,
The purple umbrella spins slowly
To keep the sharp light away
So that it doesn’t dry the
Palette that coloured it,
The purple umbrella, yet again,
Shelters me from the autumn rain
When the sun has shrivelled
Giving way to the cold days, and
I know this because all this while
Your fingers were holding on to it,
Never loosening the grip,
Never letting my palette run dry,
Or wash away,
Like the purple umbrella was
A paper lantern to your
Starnight sky.

Colours.

Published May 17, 2016 by Shreya Rajvanshi

Sitting under the Red Maple tree
Mindlessly playing with the fallen
Leaves, auburn skies teasing
Warm sighs, I felt bright titian
Dance lightly across my
Bare shoulders,
As I heard a whisper asking me to
Use my colours before they fade away
Like emerald memories turn into ash
When they touch summer’s gold waves,
Or before they get lost under
Abandoned worn and torn cushions,
Or get drowned in loud
Off-beat melodies,
And I began counting all the shades
Of purple in their panicked rush,
Streaks of white in the clouds above,
The yellow sun, the red rose,
And a heart so pink,
The orange leaves hiding in my hair
Waiting to turn green,
And the rainbow mist around,
Creating seasonal striations
In the colourful air.

Notes.

Published May 11, 2016 by Shreya Rajvanshi

Her fingertips touched the keys
Slowly, like a walk in the mist
And sweetly, like her lover’s story
Strung out from his heart,
Strong, like wild fiery roads
She was so used to walking on,
And musical symphonies exploding
In a thunderstorm, confidently,
A little wildly, like sensual fire
Orchestrating from every single note,
Focused, her mind ran like
Mozart’s fingers,
Her fingers ran like
Beethoven’s mind,
And she wrote her own poem
On the keys of her piano.

Metanoia.

Published May 7, 2016 by Shreya Rajvanshi

Avenues filled with stories
Created by the those who have
Carved their footprints on the
Very sidewalk where walls are
Covered in graffiti, and
Your feet take you towards
The sidewalk magicians who can
Draw their charm on everyone’s
Minds, and a few steps down
Come in sight beautifully lit
Cafes brewing with the
Bittersweet scent of coffee
And freshly baked cookies
Coated in hot chocolate syrup,
Directly facing the wide bridges
And tall buildings that
Come alive with all the buzzing,
Humming and laughter of
Lovers and friends,
And you keep on walking,
As the wind smiles in your hair
When you stand against the rails
And slowly sip your coffee.