From The Quill of Suranya

When death comes calling Would you like it to be a surprise  Sprung at you from The clasps of fate?  Or would you like to know The date, time and place Where you'd cease to exist Make sure you are there, Not missing an appointment?  Would you like to know Like a ticking time bomb Exactly when life ends?  Do what you want to do,  See what you want to see,  Say what you otherwise won't,  Because you will face no consequences?  Or would you like to be cautious?  Leave the world in shock of a loss,  A poem half written, a task unfinished,  Believing that you would come back In a different form, in a different time To fulfil your purposes... Or are you one who thinks life to be Just breathing and living,  Purposeless, aimless and insignificant  In the vast picture of the Universe?  ~ Suranya

 A rush of warmth; It feels like my head is going to explode. There's anxiety and a headache, There's life and meaning, There's everything and nothing.  And no matter what I read, What I know, How much I distance myself, How aloof I feel, I am pulled back into a whirlpool Of emotions I suppress Feelings I dread; As I find myself slipping away In nightmares and afterthoughts Of choices I never got to make. ~ Suranya

Ever looked up at the sky, The vastness of the ocean, The leaves or flowers, And two lines of a poem From somewhere — In a distant memory Of what you once read Come back in bits, making you smile? If it did, and it took you back, To days better than these, All I ask your kindred spirit is that Do not forget the poet, Who looks up at the sky, And sees a chariot, instead of clouds. Do not forget the words, Woven with hope, belief and imagination That arises from within the self, In an awakening of spirit, Inspiring rebels and dreamers alike. Do spare a thought, for the names Lost, struggling, putting up a brave face,  While another dream somewhere, Shatters into the dust of reality. ©Suranya

 The voices in my head, Screaming at the void, Getting louder every day. Some applauding, others panicking Mostly distorted and chaotic. I have tried to listen to them, To the wind that whispers in my ear, The sound of everything around me Deafening my thoughts and fears. Yet every day, even in the numbness Of unsure silences, the voices echo. They get louder and louder As if they are unheard. And I scream, in silent reassurances, 'I am listening!' as they laugh, 'Are you, really?' ©Suranya

No matter how far I travel, How uprooted I feel, How alien I become To the teenager I once was, These lanes bring me back To the place called Home. A safe space that was — Despite its flaws. ©Suranya

"Are you man enough?" Someone sneers, "You walk like a woman" they say. "Are you really a woman?  You talk like a man." They say. They stare, laugh and bully, I turn to their ignorance as I answer - "I am Brihannala. Cross dressing in disguise."  "I am Shikhandi who battles his enemies."  "I am Yuvanashva. The pregnant king."  "I am Ayyappa, Son of Vishnu and Shiva."  "I am Bhagiratha, born of two queens."  "I am Aravan." "I am Mitra."  "I am. I am. I am."  Respected and accepted In a society  That once was. I wonder as I put on the rouge,  Dance my heart out in the pride walk, Never feeling more seen, More liberated, more validated; Do they really care? People stare, people judge, people are mean. But never before did they ask us, Prove who you are, biologically. What about my feelings? The way I identify?  What about my choices of sexuality and vibe?  A test to confirm who I...

 How many times do you die;  Before you are truly dead?  Your body and mind work  Like people expect them to work  But you don't think before you act,  Or say or feel anymore. You live like a habit, you don't live anymore. How many of us can say we truly lived To know ourselves more than what  Others expect us to be?  To do the things we want to? How many can say we truly lived  Before we died? ~ Suranya

 Life is a masquerade ball.  Of pretences, good and bad. Hidden behind those veils, our true selves  Somewhere deeply lost.  Dances of envy, ego and fate,  Of love and life, they pretended to be great.  Masks of images, ideals and emotions  Of defence, lies and deception  Removing them would cause your skin to rip  So comfortable are those charades so deep. But tired am I, weary of pretending;  "I don't care, I don't feel, I don't love deeply."  That I dared once, just for once, To remove the mask from my face.  The society mocked the freckles that showed.  The imperfect skin, the dark spots within.  Dejected by it all, the mask went back up again;  Never to come off the face, carefully hidden,  Never for you to read the real me.  Never even for once. ~ Suranya

 Boxes and boxes, heaps of them In different shapes and sizes. Huge ones tagged "Mistakes", "Regrets" Smaller ones tagged "Happiness", in a storehouse called "Mind" Overloaded with time. But the greatest of them remain locked, In one of the thousand rooms. The key hidden; perhaps somewhere in those heaps. No one enters the storehouse anymore. With the fear of being locked and lost. Dust settling in the boxes inside. Spiders making their homes. "Regrets" becomes larger; "Happiness" is lost in transit. Then one day, you chance upon this warehouse of chaos. You smell the adventure you seek, And in between the heap, you find a key. Mystery makes your heart race, And you find a puzzle in me. Inside the room, where the key turns, A huge box pulsates, so you are careful with it. Opening the chest, you smile at the treasure. You finally find a heart, alive and beating, One with dreams, hope, and love, Rare and precious in this preten...

 One by one, the dreamy stars in the sky disappear The beam of the moon fades away into the reality of blue hues Then I wonder what is real? The blue that covers the morning sky Often in the brightest light, Fails to make the vastness of the Universe Visible before us? Or the dark-skinned nights, real, raw and full of stars. That blink at us, from light-years away Reminding us of how mere our existence actually is. ~ Suranya