Sunday, November 25, 2012


Maybe in this world
Together we won't again reside
But somewhere a part of you
In me I do still hide
As sunshine, as shadow
Or just a sign
In words, in silences
Or just a sigh
Miles apart
Yet the sound of your name sets sparks to fly
As your poet, I am yours
As my poetry, You are mine.

© 2012 Neha Choudhry

You're My Number One

Of everything said and done
there is this one thing I cannot shun
Years passed us by, moments spun
the once intertwined fell to none
Everyone singles out their own poison
I did too, you were the one chosen
Leave alone the tears or the hurt that won
As these eyes search the infinite gazing the setting sun
I still live by the dream wherein you still are my number one.

© 2012 Neha Choudhry

Friday, November 23, 2012

The Beginning of the End

I promised
I'd read it this one last
and unread then,
Out loud I said
that name
Saw his eyes
and my reflection
glisten in his rain,
Broke down
only to then pack life up
and everything that remained.
I walked out
yet stayed in
as fire
in his heart;
until the very end
of me
of him.

© 2012 Neha Choudhry

Monday, November 19, 2012

Things I'll never say

And I cried seeing your name today
And something in me breaks a little each day
I don't know what's still holding me up
I don't remember the last time I missed you so much
Was it yesterday or the day before?
Was it somewhere in the goodbye that I never sent at your door?
Am I in you, still?
Am I who you love, ever will?
Do words defy you too?
Do tears bleed in you?
Is there someone you see me in?
Is a memory or two enough for you to keep going?
Why I still freeze a second or two before smiling?
Why you never held me back when I said I was leaving?
Will the silences break someday or will it be me, again?
Will we sit back and laugh on today or the one mocking us would be time?
Would you recognize my voice if I called?
Would time, for a few moments, have the mercy to stall?
How once where echoed gales of laughter today is a cemetery
How as my shadow in the blazing sun you walked along and today here lies a paralyzed me
Can you bring yourself to shut doors on me?
Can we cease this fire feeding on the dreams we weaved?
Are our places haunting you or asking where am I?
Are there days when you shut the world out, miss me and cry?
Yet, as long as your presence still lingers on me, you're here
Yet, every sigh that you heave crushing promises in silences, I hear.

© 2012 Neha Choudhry

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Begin again

They kept yelling
They kept selling it as hot cakes
I had an inkling it was ending
yet, eyes closed, I chose to stand by it.

Maybe I was brought up this way
Maybe life taught me so
That if you make a wish, you stick to it
That no matter what, you don't just give up.

Persistently I latched myself to a life
With all my heart I called it mine
Unrealistic maybe cos I was hanging by the door
That one day, abruptly, on me could close.

I was too dazed to see
My world was already spinning in a different galaxy
And then it just got hard to breathe
So I undid myself and walked out free.

The above sounds too simple
No part of it hints a sudden death
Believe me it was a walk on dry ice
With a tearful volcano erupting inside.

Life, today, goes on
Life, today, still breathes
There are just a few songs I won't ever listen to
There are just a few places that won't get to see me.

They kept yelling
They kept selling it as hot cakes
"The world will end in 2012"
Guess I never bought it.

When that door did close, when home-evicted I stood
When dusk fed on my dawns to finish
I finally realized what they meant
It was my world that was to end.

And meanwhile,
In a completely different space
stealing a moment from time
A spark
A chemical reaction
Rising through ashes
I saw it begin again.

© 2012 Neha Choudhry

Estoy aquí

Nunca pensaba que puede llegar un día
Cuando palabras me van a dejar
Mientras de amarte los años volaron
al lado de ti mí vida se terminará.

Si yo vivo otra vez
cada día va a ser como en tus sueños
Si yo te conozco de nuevo
voy a quererte más
Si un deseo puede ocultame en tus abrazos hoy
yo te prometo voy a contar lo que yo no podia decir.

En tus ojitos azules yo voy a vivir
cada abrir y cerrar de ojos va a ser un besito de cielo como para decir 'Estoy aquí'
En los labios que te besarás, en el mano que te cogerás
Vas a encontrar un poco de mí.

Si yo vivo otra vez
cada día va a ser como en tus sueños
Si yo te conozco de nuevo
voy a quererte más
Si un deseo puede ocultame en tus abrazos
yo te prometo voy a contar lo que yo no podia decir.

Despedidas dan dolor
no me digas adiós
El amor como de nuestros, sobrevive siempre
En la música de tú corazón
En tú sonrisa fiel
En los deseos que tú oras
En las promesas que tú juras
Estoy aqui.

Si yo vivo otra vez
cada día va a ser como en tus sueños
Si yo te conozco de nuevo
voy a quererte más
Si un deseo puede ocultame en tus abrazos
yo te prometo voy a contar lo que yo no podía decir.

Estoy aquí...
Estoy aquí...

© 2012 Neha Choudhry

Thursday, November 1, 2012

It's only words and words are all I have...

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
― Ernest Hemingway
More often than not I am found in that one corner of my house where the birds still sing, where the stars still come visiting, although the smog makes it pretty messy to spot them, where I can just sit and do nothing or maybe revise the course of life, revisit places my feet tend to stray away from, un-break some promises I had to tear myself off from, un-cry the tears that washed away tonnes of memories, undo some mistakes or two maybe, and maybe at the end of a few seconds or a zillion, unveil myself. At times it gets unbearable and a list of regrets starts to build up. But then, uncanny as it may sound, no matter how many times I have traversed this very situation, this very path, his name never shows up as one. Being happy has a sound, it has a rhyme. One begins to hop a little, dance a little, hum a little when the heart is doing somersaults inside. And being in a state like this for a person like me is somewhat a little too overwhelming. If at all my brain shuts up for a while, if at all I can close the doors to different moments in my life that I let ajar, if at all I can smile and not search a why to it, if at all I can let go of things that I've embraced too hard that now I can feel their claws all over my heart, I might be happy. 'You made me cry', 'Wow that was heart-wrenching intense', 'You just broke a million myths altogether and walked this cemetery of a world like you own it', 'Why so serious?' are things I've been associated with since a long time now. Does it hurt to pen pain? Is there a looming fear somewhere inside that out of the hundred and twenty three posts in here, each carries within a splinter of my heart, broken in times unknown, still living by the grace of the sun? Will I ever shy away from giving it all for I've seen the world from the eye of the storm? The answer to all is a [caps lock on] NO.

Pain is a driving force, the very push needed to bring out something I can hold on to, call mine. It percolates through the rusted door still waiting for a knock, grayest graveyards of a few faces I let fade to past, a bright treasury of a place wherein butterflies live, a happy little room wherein every once in a while 'Hero' plays, a gorgeous scenic salty ocean flows within, the source of tears you can say and dreams, a lot of them, some laid to rest while some forever live. Conceiving a piece is the most beautiful feeling I've known. Writing, rhyming, reading, searching and doing this dance over and over again. Sometimes it is minutes, sometimes it is hours. Hunger, thirst and all the possible humane necessities fade when words buzz around flirting, enticing to create that perfect fit. For the world, I am lost. For them, I am obsessed. Deep inside I know I am in love with this writhing pain. Somewhere while wordifying it, I have found myself. Found in a way that I want to remain this lost for as long as I can be. Obsessed in ways that insanity would be proud of me. Some sixty seven books I share my room with. Arranging them I involuntarily leave a space between two of my favorite titles for my book, the one I will pen someday, the ghost of which haunts my days and nights, pleading me to pen it for it wants to finally breathe in this world. As procrastinating as I am, I pacify it that I will, one day. Everyday I rise, take a plunge in the reds flowing inside, rise up to the gray shores, dry myself in the black smothering smog, put on a rusted cloak, spray a little green envy, a little pink blush of love, a thin film of moisture brightens the dark chocolate eyes and I step outside in the world walking the gait that sings 'Baby, I own this.' And as the night falls, I take to my corner. The birds are asleep. The stars are somewhere there awake with me. I feel the air on my face, let it cleanse, let it linger. There is something about that moment. A rush of thoughts is as intoxicating, as exhilarating as that of adrenaline. A puzzle is scattered before me and I reach out to pick the first piece. That action is liberating. The search for balance, the yearn for perfection is magnetizing. Can't escape it. It clutches till the very end. That pen glides, that paper in moonlight shines. I breathe life in myself as I finally, closing the world down, muting the voices out, tearing my soul a slight, Write.

© 2012 Neha Choudhry