Posted in Airplane Poetry, NaPoWriMo, poems

Five Tips to a Healthy Heart

Prompt: Title your poem 5 tips to a healthy heart.

~ 5 tips to have a healthy heart~

As I shut the door –
no, shut YOU out –
my heart heaved a sigh
longer than our two years
and heavier than our commitment.
It didn’t quite know where to head from here,
but that’s okay.
It’s been a year since
and I’ve come far.
First, my heart recouped.
All the pieces you’d left
I collected diligently
and gave to my heart.
It decorated me with a mosaic.
Second, it travelled.
For three months,
my heart told my feet where to go
and my brain who to listen to.
Neither led to you.
Three, it made friends in seconds.
Friends it drank wine with
and talked about everything
that is, was and can be.
It allowed my brain to have
intelligent, cross-cultural sapiosex.
Four, it expanded it’s idea of beauty.
I am now what they call queer.
But as far as my heart is concerned,
beauty doesn’t have a gender.
Nor does intelligence or bravery.
Five, it laughs at us now.
At you, for doing what you did.
And at me, for allowing you to.



Posted in Airplane Poetry, NaPoWriMo, poems, Uncategorized

Under the Banyan Tree

Prompt by @airplanepoetrymovement : Start your poem with the title of your favorite book. Book chosen: The Old Man and His God and other stories by Sudha Murthy.

Chawl = cheap, basic accommodation in cramped spaces with very less carpet area; typically occupied by poor but employed working class.

~Under The Banyan Tree~

The old man and his God
spent hours under the Banyan tree, talking.
He couldn’t see his God,
but if he was here,
it was time for the old man to go.
> Why did you put me on the warfront
when one, two, three, four sons
stepped out of her lap?
>> Because your duties
as the son of the nation
were still incomplete.
> When we moved to the City of Dreams,
why did you put us in a chawl
that stifled our breaths?
>> So you would break out of it
into fresh air.
Each of your sons have a house now.
> I didn’t see the first step
of my sons, or first words,
then why did you deem it fit
to take my eyesight away,
to plunge me into darkness?
>> You had seen enough of the world.
It was time to see beyond it.
> I could eventually get
my bearings without sight
but then you took my wife away.
>> She had fulfilled her duties.
> And I hadn’t?
Was loneliness a punishment for some sins from my past?
>> You were never alone.
You had yourself and me.
You only had to look within.
At last, you found me.
> And now where do we stand?
>> The Banyan tree is long gone.
We stand before the end,
And now, we must begin.


Posted in Airplane Poetry, NaPoWriMo, poems, Uncategorized

Sunrise on a Machaan

Prompt: Sunrise

Machaan = a wooden platform temporarily made a few metres above ground as a human shelter for hunting, to keep an eye on fields or to have a safe ground from animals in forests.
Chaddar = bedsheet/quilt.

~Sunrise on a Machaan~

One sleepy, puffy eye
strained to break
it’s eyelashes from their embrace.
Yesterday had been harsh.
I had spent hours
crouched at the shrubs
under the mango trees
picking chubby beans
from anorexic ones.

The wooden planks that supported my weight
rocked with the rhythm
of the howling wind
that was a lullaby
to my tired ears.

The machaan was more crowded
than a Mumbai local,
but safer.
To my left, I could feel
the warmth of my mother.
To my right,
my sister’s bony elbow
and further, hear
my father’s light snore.
I snuggled deeper into my chaddar.

A suggestion shift in the wind
jerked my eyes open.
For the first time, I saw
a halo dispersing ink from the sky;
light chasing darkness;
the sun engaged in hide-and-seek
with other stars.
Until I was lulled back into darkness
by the promise of bliss.
And that is the story
of how I missed
yet another


Posted in Airplane Poetry, poems, Uncategorized

Part 8 of 100 Poems in 2018 Challenge by Airplane Poetry.

Prompt: Introduce yourself under 50 words.


I am a force of nature.
There’s a whirlwind in my brain.
Fragments of spirituality.
Half-chewed ideas.
Strings of words, spinning.
An echoing laughter.
Opinions that are ripped apart,
strung again
with stitches showing.
I push myself too hard
too fast.
Sometimes I stop
and drop everything.
The center, calm.


The whole idea was to avoid hiding parts of me that aren’t pretty. To bring out the essence of who I think I am, the good and the bad. To say who I just *am*. It’s a step towards accepting myself with all my faults, and trying to see that my limitations and faults are what bring character to my personality. That it’s okay to not be an ideal anything. To accept myself for who I am.

Posted in Airplane Poetry, poems, Uncategorized

Part 9 of 100 poems in 2018 Challenge by Airplane Poetry.

Prompt: Use your favorite movie quote as the first line.

Quote: “I believe in as many as six impossible things before breakfast” from Alice in Wonderland (2010).

I believe in as many as six
impossible things before breakfast.
Periods are natural.
I don’t need to hide them
from temples,
behind doors,
or excuses of
“my stomach is aching”.
Clothes are irrelevant to character.
They’re a protection from the weather.
A form of expression.
A personal choice.
Sex is acceptable.
If men can do it,
so can I.
It doesn’t make me a slut.
Stretch marks are beautiful.
They are medals of valour.
They tell stories of battles I survived.
I exist beyond my body.
Intelligence, courage, strength and wit
can be used to describe me.
There’s a Devi inside me.
And she’s waiting to be unleashed.

Posted in Airplane Poetry, poems, Uncategorized

Part 5 of 100 Poems in 2018 Challenge by Airplane Poetry.

Prompt: The last river on Earth writes a poem.

My sisters didn’t commit suicide.

They were murdered.


they were poisoned.

Then choked

with a plastic noose.

And finally,


Then came a day

when they rose Heavenwards


at their failure

to provide enough for their children

who would suffer without them.

Today, I am committing suicide.

I wasn’t enough.

I couldn’t be the hero

who single-handedly saves you all.

And now that you’re gone too,

I rise Heavenwards

looking down at the Hell

we’ve left behind.

Posted in Airplane Poetry, poems, Uncategorized

An Empty Basket of Apples

Part 3 of 100 Poems in 2018 Challenge by Airplane Poetry.

Prompt: Begin and end your poem with “I promise”.

I promise.
One day, you’ll go apple picking.
There will be a red-and-white checkered tablecloth
disguised as a picnic blanket
spread on the grass
still wet with dew.
It may even be greener
on the other side,
but you wouldn’t care.
The tree will be boundless,
to give you shade,
Laden, to give you fruit, and
Sturdy, to rest your back against.
You could spend hours reading a book,
A pencil in your hand
to capture wandering thoughts,
the end sightly nibbled,
Or climb the ladder
propped against the tree trunk,
basket in hand.
The luscious apples, yours.
If you choose them to be.
You could bake warm pies of them,
or fresh juice.
Would you share some with others,
I wonder.
But I suppose they’d prefer
fresh apples
to do with as they please.
If you went apple picking,
the day would be
the first of Summer.
The sun would be a sunflower,
the breeze, wind chimes,
and maybe a White Rabbit
would shiver
his whiskers at you.
You could tell him the time
from your pocket watch.
One day, you’ll go apple picking.
I promise.