MY FIRST HEART BREAK

A burglary happened on your lips while you had your eyes closed. Maybe that’s why kisses are stolen these days, not planted. You say heart breakers are bullies who will never be happy again, tell me, what do you truly know about being one? We can be poets for all you know, making you cry out to your pillow with metaphors that confuse you because you just don’t want to face the truth. Confusion is the antonym for courage, the courage you lack because what will they say upon finding out that you’ve broken hearts before? It all started when I was thirteen, broken and in search of true friendship. Every person I liked already had someone else, being second choice was a dagger I had been carrying in my heart forever. This was my heart and it went right through it resulting in cracks that resembled a thunderbolt; a mute thunderbolt, one that inhaled and exhaled pretending life was a yoga exercise where some days you ace it or you don’t. It was all about the chance we took and the one we lost. I saw people finding a best friend, I caught myself staring in the mirror, telling a lonely reflection that all she ever needed was herself. People blamed me for being full of myself but I ask them now, where were you when I needed you most? When I, instead of hiding my true feelings and confusing you; told you how much a friend would mean to me, where were you when I wore vulnerabilities upon my sleeve? You were busy finding creative ways to judge me so I left because I was mean, arrogant and evil. You were shy, kind and hopeful but I wasn’t so I packed my luggage – emotions I mean and left without a dagger in my heart because by now, you had broken it in two.

When I was thirteen, a girl in my class broke my heart and today I liberate her from the tangled mess of my thoughts. She’s free to go, and I’m free to use the lessons she taught me. Thank you for being my first heart break, I hope yours would skip a beat right now so you can know that once upon a time; you were one of the reasons why I wanted to stop mine.

Heart breaks can come from friends as well, it doesn’t always take a boy to do it.

AN IMPRISONED POEM

Butterflies perched upon lashes
The dark in my eyes is engulfing all
Stars in yours
A hiccup stung the memory of you
I knit a bag of lies to carry on
Shapely shoulders
Disproportionate bones break like
Twigs under weightless traumas

https://oliveskins.com/2019/07/an-imprisoned-poem/


My poem has been published on an online collective started by one of my absolute favorites! Do check it out and the other poems that will entice you with their surreal beauty & vivid imagination.

Mimicry

All this time I thought it was the devil corrupting my vision, turning my insides sour till my soul was a concourse of morbidity and decay. But when I looked in the mirror this morning, I saw my body reciprocate him. The toxic reflection taught me everything I know of self-hate. I mimic the rhythms of resplendent loathing he has for the light. I drench my soul in the abyss of my sins and squeeze all goodness from within.

-Nameera.


MINUTE HANDS

Time swishes past us
Like a hurricane headed
Towards destruction
The easiest luggage to carry
Are broken parts of me
Yet hardest to endure,
Minute hands tick away
Bit by bit
Water drops in the kitchen sink
Birds chirp after long pauses
A dog barks in the distance
My heart pulls away at the edges
It grows wings
Time stops
It flies
Far
Far
Away

NOMAD

Nomad: a person who doesn’t stay long in the same place; a wanderer.

Your eyes always traveled from my spine to the slender nape, I couldn’t see backwards but I felt your gaze. The way your touch would maneuver my back made butterflies flutter inside my stomach. My mouth was your secret keeper and my tongue, the seal that sat upon it. I wish you had stayed a little longer but I’m afraid my pastures ended too soon. I wasn’t all greenery and colorful lilies, my thighs were sand dunes changing shape; too quick for you to chase. I thrust my fingers in your wounds so that you could see for once and not turn away but a lost soul like you would never abandon your ways. The oases within me weren’t enough to fulfill your thirst; you looked for open blue skies but were met with the scorching sun. The more I tried to embrace you, the more it burnt your skin. So, you left one last time with hopes of settlement. My sands tell me that your eyes still harbor my face; your fingers tremble to write about me. She is the perfect pasture for you, I’m afraid not all travelers can withstand a desert like me.

DEATH OF LOVE

The button from your T-shirt fell somewhere

You’re starting to forget which way gravity works

Does it eat you alive or vomit parts of you

All over the space

Maybe the stars you see isn’t your dead grandfather

But pieces of you that could never survive on earth

How do I know that mother’s smile won’t cease

When I ask for a eulogy at my desire’s funeral

Then I recall that my mother died at nineteen

She threw off her face upon the wall beside

A mirror that showed her suppositions she believed

The bloody wall never caught fathers

Attention but I often gazed at it for hours on end,

Counting the drops that drifted from the splatter

I even conjured shapes out of it

One looked like a noose without a body to caress

And the other was an ill-carved knife waiting to

Mingle with the milk white skin and drink from

The vale of blood and bones

All these years I’ve been trying to redefine life,

To give it a name no other has experienced;

I call it the death of love

When my silenced shrieks shatter the heavens above

And loosely tied weft threads finally untie themselves

While I lose all buttons bit by bit

To the great unknown

And my white T-shirt swallows scarlet stains

Just like my mother, number nineteen becomes

The eulogy God writes for me

-Nameera

ORIGAMI LOVE

You know well the corners and
Folds of my paper body
You tear some apart and glue
Newer ones
Taking what’s mine and
Sticking your own

You think that ‘we’ can be
Origami love
Intertwined within each other
Like destiny

However you forget one thing
That ink has always flowed from
My fingernails
I taint everything around me black
Tell me, what’s stronger; your
Origami love or my black ink?

Things have come to a point
Where you don’t recognize your
Own hues
Black resides over all corners and
Folds that I never understood
But I can trace ink like the
Back of my hand

Origami, oh my love
You may reshape me
Cut me or fold me or mend me
But once I bleed
You and I,
Both turn into dark poetry

-Nameera

 

Silk Tides

They whisper to my feet
‘Walk, walk, walk’

The wind pushes me forward
I untie the folds of my sorrow
And weave the pain anew
A different poem
A different pain

My hair swallows sunlight
Leaving behind the heat
The strands are still dark
Like the beak of a crow
Building a nest out of dried
Brown twigs of melancholy
My Skin gleams like translucent
Lies craving to get to the
Heart of the ocean

Blue death sounds unique

Maybe I could fly down here
Where others usually die

Silk tides beckon me home
They’ve drowned submarines
And I’ve murdered blue skies
Together we could build a
Shelter out of our psychotic blues.

-Nameera.

POETRY ON DEATHBED

#1

My hands might be weak
Feet numb, paving for eternal sleep
My tongue may have become a
Graveyard of words
And my mouth will be covered in
The stench of goodbyes
Pools of my eyes will have dried
Long ago
Tears would’ve departed already
Waiting for me to arrive
I can hear mother’s voice saying
I’m home
I can’t wait to enter the kitchen
And tell her everything that went
Down at school today
She’ll be annoyed but I’ll keep
Going
This day was a long one
It has ended finally

Father will get me orange juice
While I go on about how easy
The exam was
He will pat my back & only
Happiness will reign

Fast forward to 2016
I’ll be in love harder than I realize
All odds will vanish in this air
Love will make me confident,
Bold and a rebel

Second time
I’ll fall for pain and
Write till I bleed to death
However, I shan’t die
Not until i remember this poem
With a satisfied smile
And greet the Angels with
Newly found peace

I pray that I’ve done my bit
Dear God
Take me home now
Take me to my mother
Tell her I’ve a long story
Her patient listening is the
Cure to my exhaustion

On my deathbed
Let my poetry be the last breath
That draws a veil between
Life and the inevitable friend

Take me home, death.

-Nameera. // POETRY ON DEATHBED.


Gone

I was listening to Gone by Gavin Luke, an orchestral beauty. It made me think of all that is gone. The strangest part was that the loss of those things/people doesn’t bother me anymore. A residual called guilt is still intact somewhere in the back of my head but slowly, I’m trying to heal myself by cutting out toxicity from my life. However, the future seems bleak when the ultimate source of toxicity is my mind! I can’t cut it out and neither do I have it in my hands, in the present situation to control it. You see, I’ve always had a habit of demeaning myself. The tiny voice inside my head is a pessimist. I wish I knew a way to wrap my head around this negativity but to tell you the truth, it’s been perpetuating ever since I actively decided to let it go. Letting go is a mess. An utterly profound mess that I sometimes write poems about. Writing helps to a great extent.

All is not gone now, there are still pieces of memories that hold me down.