All posts by sanjana_dembla

Dreams. Desires. Goals.

Different.

Trust & tornadoes, humans & home,
A fortune teller of the mistakes you are yet to make,
The philosophy we adopt, the philosophy we discard,
The thoughts we nourish, the thoughts we kill,
The emotions we contain, the emotions we set free,
Even if it doesn’t makes sense, you’ve got this.
Those witty moments,
Magic & mysterious, candies & colours,
We always lived in the little things,
A purple unicorn on a rainbow cloud,
Sometimes it takes me ages to decipher codes,
It’s you and your own mind,
Yet all so different.

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The overrated & the clichéd.

Hazy nights, lazy mornings,

A stolen souvenir, the quiet walk,

For the distance so binding,

For the minds so convinced,

There is somewhere I am trying to get back to.

Freedom was making a mistake,

With an ocean of metaphors and an empty backpack,

Vanished without a trace,

Blinking in the piercing sun,

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Hazy faces, jumbled names,

A lost forsaken childhood memory,

Rebuild yourself, read between the lines,

getting less obvious with time,

Maybe some people like destruction and call it love.

Running out of words and rhyme,

Hoarder of infinite thoughts and countless emotions,

Memory is a strange beast on a lonesome night,

Forgotten maybe but never lost,

As in this world, we don’t get goodbyes,

Living by the moments and not days.

But broken things could fix.

A mystic Oblivion.

We are the powerhouse of Oblivion,

Dreaming and believing,

We slowly become the people we love,

Choosing joy over regrets,

Spewing words after words as an escape.

We all are prisoners of those thoughts we can’t erase,

Writing lousy poems once in a while,

Because they said misery makes you write your best.

Heart is a dingy graveyard, that never allows human intrusion,

The cryptic kind,

Tracing lines and curves

Making way to poetry through ocean waves.

On some days miracles sounds like bullshit,

But all the broken things are beautiful,

Shed all the camouflage and show your vibrant colors,

Dreaming and believing,

“Alone” comes as a necessity sometimes.

Bonfire & Stories.

A beautiful work of art,

Failed to find a better companion than filter coffee during dusk,

Just struggling to figure out what could be wrong when everything seems perfect.

What you see isn’t what you preach,

Cold and dark outside, warm and bright inside, 

A lot on your mind, yet very little in your heart,

Suddenly, when melancholy starts to recite it’s poem in my head,

A thought is born to unify the mixed bag of thousand emotions,

The world isn’t as simple as it seems,

Close to perfect,

It makes us question zillion things,

Making it hard to stay intact,

The painters beloved and the writers muse,

Will you spark hope this time around ?

Grace.

A promised Sunday morning breakfast,

The warmest hug and the hardest goodbye,

Making the way up to the streets,

On good days, stringing alphabets into quotes,

And on the worst, broken and vandalized,

Defining solace to the world.

You are never the same twice,

But certain things become lifelong habits,

One of those hours, being familiar with the emptiness,

Tomorrow I will be quicker,

If only procrastination had a cure,

Selfishness isn’t a dark trait,

With no cushion to fall back on,

Poetry finds me here,

With grace, more beautiful than ever.

Chase!!

A little too drunk,

A little too sober,

Caught between fear and disgust.

Emotions, memories, people,

Mythological tales about magical souls,

Ask us about anything, we will speak about it.

Life-death and everything in between,

Gloomy being the comfort zone,

A lot familiar turning into a stranger,

Our flaws, our scars,  our laughter,  our chaos,

When rest of the world strangles with it’s inflicting jokes,

Let’s let ourselves fall with the creepers of doubt,

Let’s chase who we are.

An Effortless Reverie.

A lone Wolf,

Slipping into this day dream,

Often hit by this sudden feeling of insignificance that makes us question life.

Does it has a purpose behind it ?

Or we are made up of emptiness ,

Determining the rights and wrongs from the greys,

On some days we drive to the hill forest,

On some days we drive to the bar.

Is there a defined destination ?

These questions becoming seeds of doubt , growing into flourishing stories.

Heralded, neither love nor belonging lives here ,

They will breathe,

Our quixotic stories, they will exist, because we have lived them.