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Aditi Upadhyaya Poem
Our clock is ticking
Slowly and steadily
We pick out moments carefully
Spin our wheels of happiness
Balance on the thread of joy
And amidst all the excitement
We steal sly glances at the clock
Counting down how many minutes
Until we have to say goodbye
And till then we carry on our facade
Of pretending this is forever
We buy more time from the early hours of the morning
But it is still not enough
We walk at the edge of the sea
Trying to savour each other’s smell
I look at you instead of the view
Trying to drink in your face
I’m trying to breathe in your scent
Until it is a memory in my head I cannot forget
I trace the lines on your palms
So I can draw you in my sleep
I try so hard to reach out to you
And feel your touch
But we are on borrowed time
Copyright © Aditi Upadhyaya | Year Posted 2020
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Aditi Upadhyaya Poem
everything I've ever written
these pieces of torn paper in my hand
all this has only ever been
an ode to my silence
not for the boy who lives next door
who smiles at me sometimes in the corridor
who comes over in the middle of the day
to ask for a spoonful of sugar or honey
who sometimes plays his guitar louder
when he knows I'm awake next door
who peers from his balcony
to check if the lights went off here too
and then grinning sheepishly
comes home to offer me a candle
who stops the lift for me
and then pretends like he didn't
but slowly smiles to himself
and I smile too
and in our silent acknowledgement
of each other's smiles
that
my poems are an ode to that silence
not to the boy who lives next door
Copyright © Aditi Upadhyaya | Year Posted 2020
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Aditi Upadhyaya Poem
Far far away
Beyond the plains
Beyond where you and I can see
In the heights of the mountains
Lies a little place
Where once maybe
A god used to reside
But I do not know for sure
And over there
Is a shrine
It does not have any idol
No one comes to pray
But it is spiritual
And godly
In it's own sense
Underneath the shrine
There lies an earthen pot
With a scroll inside
Which has text
in an ancient language
And smells like cinnamon and flowers
The old scroll
Now dusty and dirty
Is still very valuable
It contains
The secret to happiness
And maybe one day
When you and I master the language
Of the early men and women
We will be as happy
And as contented
As Adam and Eve were
When they first came here
Copyright © Aditi Upadhyaya | Year Posted 2020
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Aditi Upadhyaya Poem
Strip me of my wealth, I don’t have any
Strip me of my power, of endless desire
Strip me till I am naked
Strip me till all I have to offer is my body and my heart
My heart doesn’t belong here
I am a being of the snowy lands
Where winter reigns and we bow to the fog
Where the biggest enemy are the mountains clad in white
Tiny white petals
Soft petals, fragrant petals
These petals touch my skin
And leave me thinking of them
They tiptoe as quietly as they came
Taking with them all I treasure, all I hate
And just as I watch them leave from a distance
My memories fade away
The colour is fading from my hands
The vibrant, bright, shiny colours
Of the painting I made last week
It is time to make a new one
I leave all my clothes, my money, my strength
My outer covering, my desires, my fires
Today I am naked
Today I am just body and heart
Copyright © Aditi Upadhyaya | Year Posted 2020
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Aditi Upadhyaya Poem
I inherited my eccentricity from my father
amongst all the other things
but sometimes I wish I hadn't
so I do not feel it in my bones when my sorrow sings
Sometimes I wish I did not pen down
All this sadness in my heart
and I did not read poetry written by
lonely souls in bits and parts
I wish I could stop treating
my palms like they were only a way
to pen down what I feel
what I cannot speak, what I cannot say
On the day I sat down
with my mother and tore
all the photos of her delusional joy
all the reminders of the burden she bore
As she sipped her wine
and told me she made a mistake or two
but she was not sorry
I stopped feeling sorry too
I did not mind words pouring through my veins
dripping from my palms
I did not regard my sorrow as a burden
I started considering it sacred and holy and calm
I learnt to love the parts of myself
That felt very distant, very far
That did not laugh when I laughed
That taught me what tears are
I inherited my eccentricity from my father
amongst all the other things
and I could not be happier about it
I love it when my sorrow sings
Copyright © Aditi Upadhyaya | Year Posted 2020
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Aditi Upadhyaya Poem
your initials
are the letters
I sneak into my textbooks
let slip in the middle of conversations
say over and over until they sound like
different letters
write on the back of my novels
I play with in my head
bounce them around like they were tiny balls
happy, sad, angry, frustrated; bounce them everywhere
and this does not mean
I still pine for you
it does not mean
I cry at night thinking of you
and it does not mean
I am in love with you
I merely love your initials
they're magical letters
they keep me alive
I only love your initials
do not mistake my poetry
for my love
for it is so much more than that
much more than you and I
and still so pretty, so concise
like your initials
Copyright © Aditi Upadhyaya | Year Posted 2020
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