Devyani is a 23-year-old, who loves Delhi, Ghalib and coffee alike. She writes what she feels and on her good and extremely bad days feels what she writes too. She runs a blog [www.devyanisrivastava96.blogspot.com] and an insta micro poetry page [www.instagram.com/green_hugs]. Her favourite writers are Rumi and Rabindranath Tagore.

• I have to tell you something!

  • I have to tell you something,
    But how do I?
    Do I wear a nice dress,
    To seek all your attention?
    Do I pour in some wine
    In the goblet you bought
    Last month?
    What do I do?

    No,
    My words aren’t enough,
    They have never been,
    With all the courage,
    I muster and all the air I breathe
    To be able to utter
    What I must,
    You, just hear,
    Never listen.

    In all these years,
    Months, days and hours,
    How have my words not convinced,
    Your soul to listen to my voice
    Which part of me will resonate,
    With you?
    Is there a part? Can you pick?
    Till when will the shards of my dreams
    Stitch your commands?
    Till when will my wounds bleed?
    Will my voice ever reach?

• If I had a fork in my hand..

  • If I had a fork in my hand
    At this time, I’d pierce it
    Right into my heart,
    To see what’s it made of
    Is it steel? Or glass?
    Or is it just stale blood
    That would ooze out of it.

    The warmth in my blood
    Is not there anymore
    Been a while I felt
    That heartbeat
    The one which dances
    To the tunes of dreams
    And not the one which
    Is made to fear wretched screams.

    Had you asked me a while ago
    About how I felt, I’d say explosive
    The one who’s head could explode
    But today if you care to ask
    I’d just say I’m too tired to even
    Acknowledge the numbness.

    The sleep and the smiles are not mine
    I didn’t know when sadness and sorrow
    Abandoned me in the middle of nowhere
    This breathlessness would kiss me
    And leave, as I crave for fresh air.

    I know, I told you I’m a warrior
    I am sorry, I am not, I failed
    Can I please get back to
    Being a loser self and a failed warrior?
    Please.

• You carry my photo in your wallet!

  • You carry my photo in your wallet,
    The brown color leather wallet
    That I gave you on your birthday,
    The birthday which we celebrated,
    Remember?

    We had got three cakes
    Because you and I couldn’t choose one
    Red Velvet, Rainbow, and chocolate,
    All big cakes were bought,
    You cut them all,
    I ate almost all,
    That birthday,
    When I gave you the wallet
    Which I wanted for you.

    You hate brown leather,
    I love it like none other,
    In that wallet,
    We had put our picture,
    The picture we took
    In Ireland,
    Your favorite country.

    Years later, today
    When I touched your wallet
    It was as soft,
    Our picture was not their
    You had put mine,
    It was as if you and I
    Weren’t together,
    But you still kept a
    part of me,
    Maybe I’m not your past,
    Probably, we exist
    In our present as good people
    But that is all.

    We are just people,
    Hopefully good.

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