A Piece of Me by Ambreen

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First things first, thank you for choosing to read my poems. You already know my name so not going to bore you.

So, I am just another engineering student juggling between online classes and corona stress, and if it hadn't been for all this free time, this 21 year old ambievert would have never come into public and would've probably continued writing poems in her diary and sharing some with her closely knit circle

These are 30 poems I wrote as a part of National Poetry Writing Month.

(NaPoWriMo) All the poems are very dear to me and carry a piece of me in them. Also, if you liked what you read, do let me know (please do!) on my instagram account @mycookiediary

Happy Reading! ^_^

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1. Gentle

when the tides rise, and you feel you are drowning in the blues of the sea, and you can't seem to stop yourself. pause. it's okay to drown. it's okay to drench in the sorrow. but after that, when the anchor of hope drops by, you will also hold on to it and sail across the bliss.

when you anxiously tap your foot, waiting for your date at the café, trying your best not to mess it up. pause. it's okay if you mess up. it's okay if it turns out to be a bad one, even when you didn't. for when the right one comes your way, you will have learnt how to love.

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when you decide to walk the path of your dreams, let me tell you, it will never be an easy one. you will be mocked, doubted and sabotaged.

A little hesitant now? pause.

It's okay to be laughed upon, once in a while. it's okay to not have an easier route to everything. for what is life, without an adventurous rollercoaster, right?

when nothing is in control, your life is going haywire, you are baffled,

trying to fix everything up. pause. it's okay to let things fall apart. it's okay to let things be.

For once, embrace the imperfect and find gentle in the chaos.

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2. Pattern

i. morning you are, the welcoming smell of freshly brewed coffee, the softness of just baked croissant, the strange tranquility of reading the newspaper, the boastful moment of a creaseless shirt. you are, the chaos of the traffic, the anxiety of running late. you are the morning I want to wake up to.

ii. noon you are, the rage of the blazing sun, the excitement of the kid hearing the school bell, the bashful smiles walking in the lovers' park. the happiness of a home cooked meal. you are, the enthusiasm of the busy shop owners the escapism through a book you are the noon I want my mornings to meet.

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iii. night you are, the drowsy ride after work, the soothing silence while walking home, the comfort of the pajamas, the pure bliss of a dinner with family. you are, the relaxing meditation to my stress the vulnerable thoughts at midnight, you are the embrace of my day, caressing every minute very fondly.

and just like that, I try connecting, my days and nights with yours. but little did I know, the criss cross patterns, of yours, will never match with, the split piece patterns, of mine.

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3. Distance

have you ever wondered, what distance tastes like?

It tastes like unspoken tales, the lips ache to tell. it tastes like one step, between you and everything you wished for. it tastes like silence.

You are staring at the phone screen, your grandfather on the couch looking at you hopefully, And the eerie silence sighing in between. it tastes like expectations, you are tired of living upto.

have you ever wondered, what distance sounds like? it is the happy song, reminding you of ugly days. it sounds like the giggle,

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you haven't had in long time. it sounds like a lie masquerading as truth. it sounds like a call from your conscience, you are refusing to take. it is a forced laugh, your bruised tongue was made to.

what distance looks like? it looks like a ray of hope, our anxiety longs for. it looks like the falling star, we wait to wish upon.

Distance is, you and me, together, yet worlds apart.

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4. Unsolved

as soon as we were born, expectations were clasped in our delicate hands. when we started going to school, grades were stamped onto our forehead, that henceforth defined, our whole purpose of existence. careers were re-written on our palm lines. our palms bled, we clenched our fist, out of pain, dreams and talent, still oozing out. you put a bandage of self pity, and let your bruises heal. we were inducted into

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this rat race, that we've to keep running, that we've to keep winning, until we run short of breath, and succumb to death. let us for once, stop running, and solve this unsolved dilemma. remove that bandage, wash away all the stamps, drop all the expectations, and chase what we love. the poet, the artist, the dancer, the painter, the photographer, the best in you is calling you, with open arms. embrace it, as soon as you can.

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5. Home

The ​normal​ day, 6am.

I wake up to witness a different morning. I didn't have my daily morning blues. There is a grand celebration in the country because the world has finally gotten rid of a pandemic. The celebration is huge and grander like never before. It is a celebration of solidarity. About how the world came together and lived through a tragic history that would be read and celebrated in the books till the end of time. The whole country is decked with flags, flowers, balloons, paper decorations. the tantalizing sound of banging t​ haalis​ actually make me happy this time.

I can hear the sound of fireworks(in the morning?) and I'm not surprised. I hear my mom from the kitchen telling us to wake up and eat the special breakfast. It wasn't Eid today. But something much bigger than that. The delicious aroma of s​ heerqurma​ from the kitchen pulled me out of my bed. I open the main door and sit in the garden with my journal. I say hi to my neighbor who is making beautiful r​ angoli​ outside her home. On the other hand, I see my mother sharing some s​ heerqurma​ with my neighbors in exchange for a yummy plate of obbattu​. There is a long line of people outside the bakery waiting to buy some freshly baked plum cakes. "SIX!" a child screamed. I slightly bend over the gate to see kids playing cricket.

Their faces dripping happiness of being back together. There is no breaking news on the news channels that day except for the celebration of victory. I can hear laughs and giggles from my drawing room as dad cracks his old knock knock jokes. Everyone is celebrating in their own way. Gentle breeze, birds chirping, the doggos wagging their tails, and I am here penning everything down in my journal. There is tranquility everywhere.

I feel happy and that moment I know we are all home again.

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6. Suddenly

I don't know when, I started liking the menacing thunder, more than the soothing petrichor.

I don't know why, I now love the cacophony, as much as the melody.

I don't know how, I found my peace in the chaos and hope in the dark.

I don't know when, black had become dearer to me, than the colourful rays of the bow.

I don't know why, fairies no longer excite me, like the way witches and wizards do.

I don't know how,

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I cherished the thorns in the rose, and the unpleasant in the mess.

as soon as you walked in, your blue scars seemed as beautiful, as the flowers growing on your skin did. and suddenly it all made sense. for is it even love if we just love the lovable?

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7. Advice

To my daughter, birthed from the womb, lined with wrought iron.

The marks on your hand, are there to remind you, you are a fierce warrior, clad in the courage armour.

An amalgam of grace and mess, flowing in your veins.

But girl, here's an advice.

Never be the good girl, the world always admires, meaning the world will adore anything but the audacious.

So be the free spirited, bold and as audacious self as you can be, the only limit is the sky.

Your heart is warm and welcoming, like rain on a scorching noon.

But girl, here's an advice. your warm will comfort many, and some will find home in that comfort.

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But learn to differentiate between those who are there for the warmth, and those who are there for you.

When I say books are my best friends, believe me when I say that, because through books, I've travelled across places, met new people, lived a thousand lives.

So read books as much as you can.

There will come a time when you feel you are not enough. you will wish for that hour-glass figure, that perfect freckle-less face.

When that time arrives, always remember, you are much more than your body.

Embrace yourself and you'll see a whole new world.

Because wanting something is not bad, but thinking you need it is bad.

You will meet a lot of people in life, some will make you, some will break you,

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some will teach you, cherish them all but there will be some people who will throw you in the fire. for they never knew, you are a phoenix who'll pave her way out of the ashes and fly higher than before.

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8. Lines

I want to read between the lines, but how do you read the blank spaces, if the lines itself are blurry?

I want to read between the lines, but how do you read a language you don't speak?

I want to read between the lines, but how do I find them, when I don't know where they are?

And when I eventually find the lines,

I want to read between the lines, meaning I want to solve this mystery, meaning I want to see the hidden, meaning I want to understand the unspoken, meaning I want to understand the language of stillness, meaning I want to caress the confusion and embrace the uncertainty. meaning I want you to know that, you are still a mystery,

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I am trying to solve. meaning I want you to know that I will understand your silence. not today, but one day.

I want to read between the lines, all I meant to say was, I will love you, on days you don't love yourself.

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9. Silence

Silence reminds me of things left unsaid, unfulfilled and unfelt.

i. an apology of a previous lover. a compliment from a stranger. the undelivered letters in the bin. doubt of a student. death of a loved one. the deleted messages. promises of the politicians. guilt of a sinner. the numbness of a burnt tongue. the sigh of a begger.

we long for the day when the, the unsaid is said, unfulfilled is fulfilled and unfelt is felt.

Silence reminds me of things left unheard.

ii. the joy of a painter. the grief of a poet. the anxiety of an actor. the burns of a chef. the fractures of a dancer. the torn voice of a singer. the frustration of a scientist. the worries of the doctor.

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the anger of a mother. the playfulness of a child.

all of them narrate stories that we've never been quiet to listen.

But some beautiful firsts are cherished in silence too.

iii. the first cry of a newborn baby. the first success of life. the first injury. the first hug. the first kiss. the first fight. the first apology.

Silence reminds me of us.

I was the cold silence in the hallway, and you were a brutal storm passing by. my cold couldn't calm you, your brutal couldn't break me.

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10. Yesterday

In my mother tongue that is Urdu, yesterday is ​kal​, today is a​ aj​, tomorrow is ​kal​, again.

I often used to wonder, why are two words, meaning different called the same? today i've figured it all. yesterday and tomorrow will always remain the same, unless I do something to change it, today. and that is how, it is ​kal, aaj and kal​ again.

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11. Comfort

a haiku on 'comfort'

comfort these days is, a call, a text message or an embrace through screens.

a haiku is a japanese form of poetry consisting of 3 lines having 5,7,5 syllables in each line respectively.

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12. Poetry

In my poetry, i've lived a thousand lives. and been a thousand things. from a broken heart, to a cheerful soul. from a pattern, to the cold silence.

In my poetry, i've lived a thousand emotions. from happiness, to melancholy. from undying love, to aching hate.

In my poetry, i've stopped time, touched the stars, drew rainbows

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and found gentle in a mess.

In my poetry, i've met myself, in the most vulnerable form and held it closely through the happy and gloomy days.

In my poetry, i've dreamed

a lot.

So next time you ask me why I write poetry, I will ask you, "why do you breathe?" your answer is my reason too. " to live, live and truly live."

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13. If

a haiku on 'if'

we could hear better if we just chose to listen without any condition.

a haiku is a japanese form of poetry consisting of 3 lines having 5,7,5 syllables in each line respectively.

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14. Summer

under my skin, i have unwavering hope mapping it's way to happiness. under my skin, there are flowers blooming through buds of kindness. under my skin, i am weaving dreams with every strand of courage. under my skin, i have blood of wrath flowing everytime I see the reign of injustice. under my skin, i am wearing worries like jewellery. under my skin, there are treasure chests of memories and stories, of everyone i've met. under my skin, there is resilience dying with every cell,

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only to rebirth itself with another. under my skin, i have fears cloaking themselves. under my skin, i am a summer shining bright.

under my skin, i am an untold story of bravery, of how battles are fought with kindness.

under my skin, i meet myself.

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15. Mother

her gentle caress solves all the dilemma I've been carrying in my mind.

her words are magic how she manages to calm my storm everytime I feel I'm going to drown.

her embrace feels relaxing like coming home after a war.

her harsh scoldings then, now make sense for now I understand how silly I was.

her patient ear heard me, when no one wanted to.

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her assuring arms held me, believed in me, even when I didn't.

her love is what eternity feels like.

for they are angels in disguise that god never told us about.

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16. Green

when I think of green, I think of the love between the wind and leaves and how the wind caresses a soft goodbye every time they meet.

when I think of green, I think of you, your mysterious eyes and the stars twinkling inside, that I'd stop time to gaze at.

when I think of green, I think of the frock my ​nani​ sewed for me with threads of love.

when I think of green,

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I think of its shades, emerald, olive and parakeet and recollect stories in each of them.

when I think of green, I think of the frontliners, battling in the hospitals, to keep us safe.

when I think of green, I think of the masks we are wearing to cover our fears.

when I think of green, I think of the burnt forest of Amazon.

I remember how we are taking the nature for granted, again and again.

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without green in our life, we are just bodies in a barren world.

for it is the green that completes the incomplete.

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17. Window

a haiku on 'window'

if life is a house we are like broken windows seeking some light in.

a haiku is a japanese form of poetry consisting of 3 lines having 5,7,5 syllables in each line respectively.

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18. Normal

Somewhere in the parallel universe in a place called humanity, the normal there looked very different from the normal here.

period blood is no longer a shameful taboo, but communal blood shed is a subject of shame. where love is bounded by no differences of gender to religion or colour to identity. casual sexism isn't so casual anymore and patriarchy just exists in the history. your dreams are your careers, and education is much beyond the degrees. the environment is improving, simply because people are being considerate.

people meet, hug, and talk, cherish every minute of life as if it's their last. where being vulnerable is not a weakness, but a display of immense strength. mental health is treasured,

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and therapy is just another cure. there are no gossiping whispers behind backs, because everyone is busy living their lives.

their normal is our struggle. our struggle is a revolution we are living today. and one day someone would be living the normal we dreamed of, and will write poems about how the normal was once a revolution.

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19. ​Blind

who is blind, the one who cannot see, or the spectator of injustice who decides to keep quiet?

who is blind, the one who cannot see, or the naive lover who gulps down pain in the name of love?

who is blind, the one who cannot see, or the preacher who lives a life of hypocrisy?

who is blind, the one who cannot see, or the ones who don't want to open their eyes? blindness of eyes isn't as blinding as the blindness that is ruthlessly engulfing the heart.

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20. Fragrant

​a haiku on 'fragrant'

in the end, we are nothing but tainted souls yearning for a fragrant life.

a haiku is a japanese form of poetry consisting of 3 lines having 5,7,5 syllables in each line respectively.

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21. Surprise

in a hidden corner of the universe, there are surprises in places we least expect that we'd never see if we hadn't stayed.

if we hadn't stayed, we'd never know the bud blooms into a flower, the butterfly emerges out from a cocoon and the seed grows into a plant.

if we hadn't stayed, we'd never cherish basking in the golden hour. we'd never admire the beauty of the moon. we'd never know what a rainbow looks like. we'd never relish the smell of petrichor. we'd never taste a juicy ripe mango.

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we'd never get to see the magical fireworks on new years' and we'd never feel the world after a mountain climb.

if they hadn't stayed, the billionaires would've just been small kids with big dreams. we'd never know behind a palatial mansion was sweat and hardwork and that the huge chain of hotels was once just a small cozy diner.

So, stay.

stay when you feel like leaving. stay when you cannot find hope. stay when nothing feels right, and everything seems to be falling apart.

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Stay, for the good days are just beneath the bad, you are about to emerge out from your cocoon your surprises are on the way.

Stay, for yourself.

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22. Restless

restlessness finds its way to our minds, even on our most busiest days, through situations we cannot escape from. it found me here; in this poem i can already feel my palms sweat restlessly, while i write about it. it finds itself in -- the anxious students, biting their nails off before the result. the hopeful lover, anticipating acceptance by counting rose petals. the kids with eyes tightly closed, praying ardently to have their ball back from the neighbour. the puzzled sudoku players, tapping their foot and thinking hard. the fast texter, glaring at the screen waiting for the reply. the sand artist, on the last stroke of the painting. the fitness freak, after relishing a plate of steak.

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now the pandemic has quieted all that, and has bought with it a strange silence, that is making us restless, more than before. we are now restless to feel the old restlessness again. for we have now found calm in that, and chaos in the new silence.

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23. April

April reeks of merciless deaths, May feels like the apocalypse racing towards us to shove itself down our throats. but we are here smearing hate on each other. pandemic-0 and hate-1, again.

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24. Pause

pause. before you talk, think.

pause. before you judge, know.

pause. before you argue, listen.

pause. before you react, understand.

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pause. pause. pause. and breathe, before it's too late to live.

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25. Dreams

I find dreams in the fireflies and their radiance on a dark night, the blooming spring flowers and the fall leaves, at the sight of the cheerful smile of a toddler and in between the tiny fingers of a new born.

I find dreams in the shades of pink, the glittery stilettos at the mall, the mesmerizing aroma of biryani, with prateek kuhad songs after a tiring day.

I find dreams in the way the snowflakes softly brush past my skin, between the pages of an age old book, the walls of my room and in the first bite of samosa at iftaar.

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I find dreams everywhere, in the smallest of things, in places I cannot fathom, and in people I cannot meet.

For what is a dream, if not for finding hope, in hopeless of places, times and people?

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26. Emergency

the dissent is on mute, the wrong is worshipped and conscience is being consumed, one truth at a time.

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27. Recipes

an acrostic on 'recipes'

r​elieved from the burdens of the world e​verytime I come home, I c​omfortably relish peace i​n a plate p​erfect for two. e​verytime I try to find love, s​urely, it is in the food my mother makes.

an acrostic is a poem in which first letter of each line spells out a word which is the message or theme of the poem.

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28. Languages

here's a list of languages, that are spoken and understood, by everyone around the world.

i. the language of love, has no words. it is spoken in moments of silence, admiration, loyalty and respect. it is spoken in touches, butterflies, and racing heart beats. it is spoken in everything that translates to selflessness.

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ii. the language of revolution, needs no translation. it is spoken through tears of the oppressed, courage laced wounds, songs of truth, and in the torn voices of dissent.

iii. the language of pain needs no explanation. it is spoken through wet pillows, purple bruises, and swollen eyes. it is spoken in lost hopes, broken hearts, and numbing injuries.

iv. the language of kindness can be spoken in

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a humble demeanour, words of affirmation, gestures of solidarity and sometimes even a genuine smile conveys a lot.

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29. Map

a haiku on 'map'

the map of life, doesn't come with a destination. the journey itself, is.

a haiku is a japanese form of poetry consisting of 3 lines having 5,7,5 syllables in each line respectively.

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30. Goodbye

goodbye is a falling leaf, desperately searching for the ground, see you soon.

goodbye is a 11:11 ticking fast, and whispers of heartfelt wishes, see you soon.

goodbye is a train passenger, waiting to get down at the platform, see you soon.

goodbye, is an ardent lover, the quest for his love, see you soon.

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goodbye is a nightmare I saw, your comforting embrace, see you soon.

goodbye, a yearning and see you soon, a hope, they are two fingers intertwining in a promise.

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