Nobody But You

I drink to forget…

Forget about you…

Your face, your smell, your touch…

I drink when the feelings get too much.

I still wear the pendant that you gave me,

Many, many years ago…

You paid for it from your first pay cheque…

Put it around my bare, young neck.

A sparkling diamond, shining bright…

How I trembled when you kissed me that night…

Have you ever lost yourself in someone’s eyes?

You want time to stop, but it just flies…

Now that you are gone, I keep myself busy,

Yes – busy twenty-four/seven…

I do it so that I don’t have the time to think…

‘Cos ever since you left, life just stinks.

I don’t watch romantic movies…

Or listen to sappy songs…

No, that would be just wrong…

When just need to move along…

It’s not like men don’t want me…they do!

They try to charm me, pique my interest…

But they lack that special something…you know it too…

The truth is….there can never be anyone but you.

I am known for being pragmatic…

But with you, I listen to my heart…

I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you…

And I’ll love you till death do us apart.

 


 

Love makes fools of us all.

Love,

Ladyhawk

P.S. Some of you have been reading my blog for many years and this is a special hug for all of you. *Sends invisible hugs*.

 

 

 

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3 AM – Part 1

This is a work of fiction. I don’t know how many parts there will be. Let’s see, shall we?

…………………

3 AM.

A year ago you would have been by my side, snoring softly. I would have gently nudged you and the snoring would have ceased, long enough for me to drift back to sleep. And I’d wake up to your head on my shoulder, somehow you managed to make your way to me every night through your dreams, across the distance of two feet that initially separated us on the bed. I was so content.

3 AM.

Two years ago we would have been talking into the wee hours of the night. That initial phase where you know, you want to spend all of your time with that ‘someone new’. Where being a zombie the next day is something you look forward to. It’s like a battle scar that even two cups of black coffee cannot cure. Ah. New love is bliss.

3 AM.

Today.

I’m lying on a hospital bed, trying not to panic. I’m alone. Where are you? I don’t see you as much as I used to. You don’t smile like you did in my company.

But for now, I’m scared. In this big city I’m all alone. The doctors told me to call for someone to sign a consent form. I’ve been hit by a motorcycle and have apparently fractured my ribcage. They want to fix it. I don’t know why it’s not hurting. Maybe the pain is numbing me out.

3:15 AM.

Today.

They decide not to wait any longer and operate. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with me, but I can’t feel anything, can’t move anything.

Everything goes black.

 

I Will Remember

I’ll never forget you, my dear…

Of this, have no fear…

Others may drown their sorrow in wine…

Here you’ll be immortalized in prose and rhyme…

Others may need photographs and keepsakes…

On material things I no longer fixate…

For time cannot erase how much to me you meant…

And every single tender moment that was spent…

Frolicking between sheets, breakfast in bed…

All the confessions and what was left unsaid…

Your hair between my fingers, your hands entwined with mine…

The way you made heads turn ‘cos boy you were so damn fine…

I’ll miss those cosy dinners and nights at the bar,

Picnics, quiet times together driving in your car…

The way I quivered every time you held me close…

Made me feel things of which no one else knows…

And then…when you left, the bleeding heart ache…

As if through it you’d driven a stake…

Yes, you are no longer here…You are no longer mine…

But through my words the memory of you will shine…

 

………………..

Fall in love with a writer but beware. Shades of you will echo in how she would write about love and so, you will live on, in a distant corner of her heart and mind.

 

She

When she was born,

You didn’t want her…

‘Couldn’t give me a son’…

You loved to berate your wife and taunt her…

And when you had a son, he went to the better school,

You personally drove him to his cricket coaching class,

While she didn’t even have dolls to play with…

Her smile annoyed you, ‘She has too much sass’…

You grudgingly sent her to college,

And made sure she felt guilty about the expense…

And even the fact that she topped her class,

Didn’t matter to you, not even a cent…

To your horror she said she wanted to work,

Be independent, stand on her two feet…

‘But what about your marriage plans?’,you spluttered…

‘I have arranged for a boy for you to meet.’

So you forced her to meet random strangers,

Put her on display, like she was a thing…

Settled what her future would be in one meeting…

Forced her to put on that engagement ring…

You ignored your wife’s million requests,

You ignored the muffled sobs from your daughter’s room…

‘I’m doing what’s right for her, we won’t find a family like this’….

And so withered a flower that was meant to bloom…

Marry him, she did – as per your wish…

And he beat her for what she couldn’t give,

All the things he had asked for in dowry,

And pain at the hands of a man she again had to relive…

Bruised and broken, she asked for your help,

But the doors to your house were closed…

You left her alone, helpless and bereft of a way out,

So when she died, the way the men in her life treated her was exposed…

But it was too late,

No one could bring her back…

Empathy towards its women,

Is something our country lacks.


Makes me ashamed to call myself an Indian. I am lucky to come from a well-educated family, but not every girl is lucky. Many are forced to marry at a young age or forced to give up their daughters. They face verbal and physical abuse on a daily basis and silently put up with it. Indian men need to treat their women better. Big time.

Over and out,

Ladyhawk

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Weary Heart

My weary heart…

Treads alone on this lonesome path…

Leaving you and what you brought, behind…

Your lies and your words, oh so unkind.

Tossed around like a rag doll,

No more…I’m not your plaything…

Common sense, this time to you I will listen…

I must get away from him…my footsteps quicken.

Your ‘love’ is a joke…

In my brain, it’s a chemical imbalance…

It’s not for me, not for me…

My heart and my brain whisper this to me.

Pain leaves a wet trail on my cheeks,

Breathlessness, a missed heartbeat…

My body screams out in distress to me…

So first, I must learn how to take care of me.

You have to be your own hero…

Watch out for those who dim the light in your soul…

My weary heart has had it too rough…

And finally I’ve had the courage to say ‘Enough’

For on my own I am complete, long before I met you,

And I don’t need anyone to mend what’s broken…

I’ll do it myself, I’ll shine – I’ll be ME!

Of your untrue love, my weary heart will be free.

 


 

Dedicated to anyone who is in a toxic or abusive (emotional or physical) relationship. No, I am not talking about mine. I am fine. I am talking to those people who need to leave the ‘soul – suckers’ and break free from the cycle of negativity. You do you! You can do it, you are strong. You are complete.

Love,

Ladyhawk

Ladyhawk says Hi & has an update

Hi guys!

This is my 6th year of blogging and after giving it some thought, I have decided to change things a bit for my blog. From now on, I will only be publishing poems or stories on this blog. The rest of my work, well…I will either move it to another blog someday or remove it in its entirety. It would help to focus on being more creative instead of being all over the place.

Most probably I will start another blog about issues that I care a lot about – sustainable development, human rights, animals and the environment.

I will keep all of you posted regarding this. Hope everyone is doing great. :)

Love and Hugs,

Ladyhawk

 

When you fall

The time was never right for us,

We never were really meant to be…

Even now I wonder who you are?

What exactly do you mean to me?

You are not a friend,

Nor are you a foe…

You don’t have my best interest at heart,

You’ve been an unhappy person from the start…

My love you spurned,

And later for it you yearned…

But those three little words you couldn’t utter…

So now in frustration you seethe and mutter…

I extended my hand once more,

Let’s be friends, you shrugged;’sure’,

But you knew nothing about being a true friend…

And even less about how to make amends…

Every time that you hurt me,

I took you back…

My fault was in turning a blind eye..

To the things you lack…

So who are you to me?

You are nothing at all…

And this time I won’t be here to pick you up…

When you fall.

Bloodmoon

She is a creature of the night…beautiful and dangerous…she’s been hunting for her soulmate and she finds him…but he’s not the same…alas!!


Bloodmoon…the time when passions surge…

You know its futile to suppress this growing urge…

To make you mine, once and for all…

These plans of mine, I will not stall…

You are mine, I claim this right…

I will make my move tonight…

Kiss you under the milky way,

Stay with you till the break of day…

With the first ray of sunlight I’ll flee…

But rest assured I’ll be thinking of thee…

And I will make you pine for me…

I like how I can make your eyes shine for me…

I know what I want, I get what I desire…

I know how to set your heart on fire…

And when darkness sets I’ll be by your side…

Your hidden secret, your vampire bride.

To the Sixteen year old me

Sixteen year old me…

Why do I smile sadly when I think of her?

A little flame that burned bright…

And eyes that always had light…

 

Sixteen year old me…

Loved music and books,

Maybe she should have focused on her looks…

But she was still a child.

 

Sixteen year old me…

Was too shy to talk to strangers…

Social anxiety my old friend,

I see you still are with me.

 

Sixteen year old me…

Was impulsive, unaware of the danger…

Of what opening my heart to love would mean…

But all I could do was wonder what could have been…

 

Sixteen year old me…

Knew what it was to truly love freely…

She could comprehend his fragile masculinity…

But only from a distance…for he was out of her league…

 

Sixteen year old me…

Didn’t know what the years ahead had in store…

Would they change her to the core…

Would she live up to what she thought she would be?

 

I had dreams…I had ambition…

I worked hard…harder than the rest…

I wanted to be the best…ace every test…

Did I try too hard? Hard enough?

 

I never fit in…I was a loner…

The cool kids stayed away from me…

‘She’s a geek, she’s such a bore…’

I heard those words more and more…

 

Kids can be pretty cruel you see…

They’ll make fun of you for having acne…

Or for a scar on your forehead that’s unsightly…

So you cut your hair so that they can no longer see…You try to hide what you think is ugly…

 

Sixteen year old me…

She had dignity…

She did what was right,

And when people hurt her, she hid it well…while she secretly cried at night…

 

She had a friend or two…

Her mother’s love made up for the rest…

Sixteen year old me…

She really did try her best.

 


 

This is a draft version of this attempt at poetry or whatever else one can call it…I could write more but I don’t know, I got a bit sentimental when I was writing this. This is one of the most heartfelt posts I have written in a while.

I don’t know if I changed for the better, but I feel that somewhere down the line I let myself down. The good news is I still have plenty of time to make things right. Do I regret anything…not really. Everything that happens in life happens to teach us something and we should learn from it. I have learnt things the hard way, unfortunately.

I was camera shy when I was 16. I thought I was ugly. I was a little chubby and I had this big dent in my forehead (i was born with it and it became more pronounced when I grew up). I was teased about it dreadfully in school to the point where I cut my hair and got a fringe to cover it when I turned 17. I am a Sikh and we aren’t really supposed to cut our hair. Back in the day, I was pretty religious so this was a big step for me. But it didn’t stop the teasing.

I always get really uncomfortable if someone shares/puts up photos of mine from my teens since my dent is visible and I struggled for a long time with being confident about my looks (I always looked grumpy in the photos) but no longer. I want to apologize to my younger self for not being more confident. Yes, cutting my hair made me look better but I will not be ashamed of the way God made me.

I was a shy kid – I still am shy though I can occasionally strike up a conversation with a stranger if I feel I am in a safe environment. Yeah, go figure. God has made me this way. :/

I hope in the years ahead I can be more like what I was when I was 16. Hard working, ethical, loving, quirky, kind and steadfast. I wasn’t perfect. No. I had quite a temper. But no one is perfect.

Over and out,

Ladyhawk

 

 

Perspective

I can’t live like this…’

Melanie’s voice cracked as she spoke to her friend, Nisha. It was 1 AM Indian standard time, daytime in the US, where Mel lived. Nisha was half asleep, struggling to keep her eyes open.

‘There there…what’s the problem?’ Nisha suppressed one of her many sighs as she anticipated half an hour of wailing to continue. She was right.

‘I had to leave my bungalow and shift into an apartment complex! AN APARTMENT COMPLEX. I feel so suffocated, I open a window and there are no green spaces…just buildings all around me. I live in a concrete jungle!’

Noreen rolled her eyes. Concrete jungle, AKA the most expensive apartment complex in that city.

Noreen felt a drop of water land on her forehead. She squinted, searching for her glasses in the dim, flickering yellow light. The only light that worked in her bedroom.

‘Damn!’ she muttered, ignoring Melanie’s rants but supporting them with occasional hmms and mmms…the roof was leaking again. The sad part of living on the top floor in Mumbai during the monsoon. But it was the only flat that she got. Single people, especially single women didn’t have much of a choice, if you were lucky enough to get a house in a decent locality, you’d better take it, leaky roof or not.

‘And my maid didn’t come yesterday! I had to wash all the dishes myself and ANDREW wanted me to cook! Can you believe it? He thinks we don’t need a maid, we should cook ourselves? I’ve never had to enter the kitchen in my entire life.’ 

‘Can’t you hire a part time maid for the days she doesn’t come?’ Nisha muttered absent mindedly.

Melanie pretended not to have heard her ,’AND so I cooked, I almost cut my finger and chipped my nails washing the dishes, now i’ll have to go for a pedicure all over again, its such a drag!!’

Nisha looked at her own hands. Nails? What nails? She had given up the idea of growing them out. She had soft, tiny hands, almost like a child’s. By some miracle all the cooking, washing and cleaning hadn’t wrecked any damage on them yet. But there wasn’t anything attractive about them. Her nails were as short as short could be. She filed them at home. Dishing out a grand for a pedicure which wouldn’t even last a day didn’t make sense to her.

‘I also have to walk six blocks before i reach the parking! I mean, can you imagine walking for six blocks on stilettos? My feet had so many blisters. I’m soaking them in hot water as we speak!’

Nisha smothered a chuckle. Stilettos were out of the question for her as well. Barring a few special occasions, she wore flat shoes, sensible shoes like her mother called it, to work. Comfort over style. Plus one really couldn’t walk on the street in stilettos. The potholes would kill them. Did she mention she walked to her office? It was a ten minute walk and she enjoyed it.

‘Why don’t you wear flats till you reach the parking?’

There was a pause then Melanie laughed loudly, ‘ Hey girl that’s a great idea I don’t own any flat shoes but it will be a good chance for me to go shopping and relieve myself of all of this stress!’

Nisha suppressed another snort and muttered some non – commital words of encouragement, as she endured another couple of minutes of wailing about the traffic, lack of space in Mel’s five bedroom apartment, the fact that they had only three bathrooms instead of five, that they had bay windows in only four rooms…that….

She was relieved when the conversation ended. She never had been able to understand Melanie. She had it all. A great house, a good, rich husband, a great job…she was living the American dream but she was always unhappy.

She looked around her one bedroom house a bit sheepishly. She had one cupboard, which housed all of her clothes, shoes and jewelry. A smaller closet had some linen. The kitchen was well stocked for one person.

There was a sofa, a desk with a chair, a lamp and a bean bag if anyone came to visit. She had a bunk bed, of which the spare bunk was seldom used unless a friend came over.

The house wasn’t great. She’d had to get all the electric points fixed when she’d moved in, along with fixing the plumbing. She had a maid who cleaned for her three times a week. But she was content. Material things didn’t really matter to her. They never had.

It really was a matter of perspective. You could have it all…and still feel unlucky. Or you could have nothing and be grateful for the little you had.

She chose the latter. Her eyes closed and she immediately fell into a deep sleep, her tired body giving in to sleep’s sweet call. She didn’t notice that Melanie was calling again, this time to complain about something else no doubt.