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Best Poems Written by Vedangee Kadam

Below are the all-time best Vedangee Kadam poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Vedangee Kadam Poem

The Poets

I envy the poets

The ones who can disentangle the threads of their thoughts 

And smoothen them out on paper

Each word, each letter, each curve of their quill laden with meaning, passion and emotion

These innocuous traces of ink

Do not mask the fervour in the minds of the poets 

I balk at their audacity 

And admire their ability 

I wonder, do their words ever choke them, as mine do?

Has their voice ever been swallowed by fear?

Do their ink-stained hands ever shake and their eyes well up with ardour as they put pen to paper?

Meanwhile, I yearn for the identity of 'This Sublime Poet'

I ask myself: Am I a poet yet? Or simply a writer? Or am I just someone who uses words to emote? 

Do my poems have an essence? A hidden interpretation derived by reading in between the lines? Or am I just one among countless others who hide behind the artificialities of language?

Do I possess any substance or do I lack it?

Am I the seed? Or the husk?

Or am I the fruit? Albeit the one that falls to the ground, wasted?

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If I have to talk about Love

If I have to talk about love

I don't think I will be able to

As I don't believe I have fallen in love yet

The powerful, all-devouring and most importantly requited kind 

The warm hugs, late-night conversations and the days spent together kind

The kind that I yearn for - I haven't found it yet

But if I have to talk about love

I'll talk about the butterflies I felt in my stomach when he held me for the first time as I stumbled

I'll talk about the electricity coursing through my veins due to the slightest contact our arms made as we brushed past each other

I'll talk about the hours I spent waiting in the crowd for the slightest glimpse of him

I'll talk about the bus rides and our conversations - short-lived but still a reality

I'll talk about the way my heart was beating as I spoke to him for the first time

I'll talk about the ecstasy I felt as he tried to hold my hand

I'll talk about the sleepless nights I spent replaying each and every moment I spent with him in my mind, until he disappeared, and only his memories remained 

But if I have to talk about love

I have to also talk about falling out of it

I'll talk about the butterflies I felt in my stomach as he raked his eyes over my body after I wore something he wanted me to - only this time, the butterflies were accompanied by an incomprehensible anxiety 

I'll talk about the times I sat, listening to his advice knowing damn well that everything he said was an attempt at moulding me into the kind of girl he liked

I'll talk about the moment he refused to speak to me, for reasons beyond my knowledge or understanding, reasons that will forever evade me

I'll talk about the way I cut my eyes away after seeing him, even though I spent an hour in his wait

I'll talk about the triumph I felt when I gathered the courage to delete his leftover traces from my life - and it felt like an achievement 

I'll talk about the moment the realisation dawned on me that I was never loved, just used and manipulated - and the shame I felt after

I'll talk about the day my heart let go of him and I finally became free from the love I felt for him 

I'll talk and talk and talk

And in the end, I will make myself believe that it was never love in the first place; just lust.

Details | Vedangee Kadam Poem

Sunday Afternoons

Monday blues are preceded by Sunday yellows

And I have always hated these Sunday afternoons

To me, they feel so lazy

I watch as the world turns silent and still

No noise except for the creaking of a fan or a radio in the distance 

Listen closely, you might even be able to hear the ticking of the clock

I watch as the people sleep on cots or mats strewn on the floor

Their bellies rising ever so slightly and their mouths open, snoring

They are immersed in a slumber earned after a week's toil

A minute to ease up in the middle of the day, free from travail 

For me these afternoons are different though,

As the world rests, I observe time stopping, taking a step back before charging again at the new week 

Sundays feel like the warm sun on your skin as you sit by a river in the countryside

You watch the river flow past ever so lazily 

Eyes glazed, lost in nostalgia and peace on your mind.

Details | Vedangee Kadam Poem

Fictional Worlds

I don't want to get lost in fictional worlds anymore

The one I am surrounded with

The one in my head

It is already too much to store

Immersed, overwhelmed, drowned

In the ocean of emotions

That engulfs me every time I open a page of a book

I get sucked into these lands

Devoid of the notions of time and space

I explore these worlds as a baby would

Eyes wide, curious, hungry for knowledge

For the thrill of leaving reality behind and getting consumed by my imagination

Meanwhile, my brain gets flooded with bizarre concoctions

They sow their seeds deep into my memory

And then blossom recklessly 

Wither and die, do some

The others live/grow with me forever.

Details | Vedangee Kadam Poem

Gravity

Have you ever wondered why.....

All the planets in space

Go round and round around each other

And not fly off in different ways?

Have you ever wondered why....

The ball you were holding in your hand

When thrown up towards the sky 

Took a U-turn back to land?

Have you ever wondered why....

With your feet firmly planted on the ground

You were not like a balloon

Floating amongst the mighty clouds?

Have you ever wondered why....

The waves of an ocean

Had a higher or lower reach

Depending on the moon's motion?

A genius, named Sir Isaac Newton

Once slept under an apple tree

He found the answer to all your questions

And thus discovered the Theory of Gravity!

Details | Vedangee Kadam Poem

Mind of Mine

I dread closing my eyes 

Because when I do,

The sane, real world around me dissolves

Replaced instead by an inner monster 

Rising up from the deep dark depths of my mind

I make it sound like I am possessed by a devil

But indeed my mind isn't short of one

Filling me up with raucous laughter

In the most inappropriate of situations

Threatening to tear down the social image of myself

That i have oh so carefully created

So i bow my head down 

In the middle of an ongoing fight or funeral

In solemn silence through eyes of an onlooker

While I am terribly preoccupied waging a war with mind for control : over myself

Not so usually do i win this war of thoughts

My mind a more powerful force than i could reckon

Before i get interrupted by reality

And then this war continues again

In the middle of the night

When my eyes won't close

My mind haunts with memories of the past

Unconquerable dreams of the future

Poking the carcasses of long dead conversations

Rupturing my delicate, unhealed wounds

With knives made of guilt, shame and fear

So on so forth this saga goes on

Until I am left with a battered, ravaged body.

Details | Vedangee Kadam Poem

Conformity, Moulds

I remember being told

Since I started joining letters together

I was taught to fit them into words, sentences, stanzas or paragraphs

Let your creativity flow they said

How was i to do so?

Just jumble up the words in the voice of another

Be anything but elementary

Use bigger words, a flowery language

Make your writing eloquent and exquisite 

No one cares what you are writing as long as you're filling pages

Your poems should have symmetry

And your prose should be lengthy 

Kudos! You got the highest marks

Does it end there? Is this what I perspire for?

At what liberty am I to use my creativity

If I can't make new words of my own?

Why aren't I taught that?

Why must I always fit my voice into poetry or prose?

Why must my handwriting be cursive and my poems have a rhyme scheme?

Why must I always conform to these moulds?

Details | Vedangee Kadam Poem

Middle of the Night

In the middle of the night,

In the plush comfort of a place called home

I lay down with my parents by my side

I sleep with eyes wide open

Fixed on the white ceiling above

On the shadows cast by a dim bulb

In a way it reflects my mind, i think

Filled with white noise amidst black calm

In the middle of the night,

A solitary tear falls down my cheek

Silently, slowly, hesitantly

As if it is testing the darkness for the eye of an onlooker

I make no attempt to brush it off

For it is the middle of the night

And it is the only time i can let myself be.

Details | Vedangee Kadam Poem

Leisure

When one is free from drudgery,

Liberated from tiresome toil,

In that little space of time,

Leisure sows its seed in the soil.

A minute to relax,

Preceded by an hour of travail,

A minute to ease up,

Followed by an hour of struggle

When the mind is free of stress,

Time seems too endless to measure,

When the hands are free of work,

Time seems too precious to treasure.

In the words of Aristotle, the master philosopher,

"The end of labour is to gain leisure,"

And I agree,

It really is the greatest form of pleasure.