My first leibster award.

​My first ever leibster award.

Leibster is a german word meaning pleasant, precious or valuable. I feel honoured to get nominated for this award by Himanshu Sisodia. He has got an amazing blog with beautiful Sunday scenic shots and not to forget true to word reviews. Her go check out his blog at inspirehigh 

My thanks to my blogger friends who have always encouraged me to write and express what I always thought of. Thank a lot to you people for being there. You all are simply amazing. I had never thought I would get this sort of response and truth be told, I feel honoured.

So here goes the rules for the Liebster Award:

  • Acknowledge the blog/s who nominated you and display the award
  • Answer the eleven question that the blogger gives you
  • List 11 random facts about yourself
  • Nominate up to eleven other blogs that you think are deserving of this award (with less than 200 followers)
  • Let the bloggers know you have nominated them
  • Give them 11 questions to answer

Here are the eleven questions Himanshu Sir had for me: 

What is your Favorite Food and Why?

My favourite food is anything that is home cooked. These two years of living in a hostel has given me a new found appreciation of home food and its luxuries.

Who motivates you to write?

Often when introverts look around they realise that the world is full of people trying to give their two cent advice on anything beneath the sun. And amidst this chaos of chatter with no content, artists often find ways to explore ways to express, be it dancing, singing, painting, theatre or writing. Just the realisation that there are not enough people around to listen then papers lend you power to speak to millions, maybe that is what drives me to write. 

Tell us the Craziest thing that you ever did?

The craziest thing that I have done, it is hard to decide to say which one. Does shouting UFO UFO with two friends at night on a road with just a handful of people count as crazy. 
Well once I also had a lengthy discussion with a wrong number on three o clock in the morning as to who supplies underwears to mowgli in the jungle and why does melody taste so chocolaty. The former was asked by him the later by me. It was a funny day. 

What is your Favorite Movie and Genre?

My favourite movie would be Inception with Leonardo DiCaprio, directed by Christopher Nolan. The Genre I prefer is Action, Adventure and fantasy. Not to forget Sci-fic.

What is your Favorite Destination to Travel and why?

I love traveling and I have been lucky enough to travel a bit, see a few places and if someone expects me to choose a specific place out of all those then it is just not possible. How does one choose between the flaxen jeweled spanning desert and the white foams like cajoling blankets of the endless ocean. 


What made you start Blogging?


An innate desire to write, to express, to know people who do not know my story and won’t be biased. People who would know me for my writings. Writing to me is passion and blogging helps me take my passion to new levels. 
 

What is your Favorite Cartoon Show or Cartoon Movie?

My favourite cartoon show is Tom and Jerry and Courage the cowardly dog.

Do you believe in Destiny?


I have no inkling of an idea if destiny exists. All I know is that everything happens for a reason. The steps we take give us consequences and we are never left out from the result of our actions. Everything has a beginning and an end and maybe both of them are undetermined depending solely on us. Maybe it is destiny maybe it is not. I guess I will never know.

What are the things you like and don’t like about yourself?

What I like about me is my determination to do what I feel is right amidst any sort of situation. And what I don’t like about me is that I procrastinate till the last moment to do things that are long due.

Which form of Blogging (Micro-blogging, Video Blogging or the Classic Original) you
 think is best?

Different blogging is great for different kinds of people. For me Classic Original blogging works best. It gives me the way in which I like to express my words. 

Do you think that turning your Hobby into your Profession is a Good Idea?

Turning Hobbies into profession is a great idea till the moment the hobby has enough potential to keep you going. For me my hobby is writing and performing written pieces and no I don’t want it as a profession. I want my profession to be in the field as a civil servant. So it is an amazing idea, just not the one for me.

Eleven Bloggers I think are deserving of this award.

  1. आनंद कवठेकर for mrugjalblog
  2. Kimaya Ingale for NOTHEONEYOUKNEW
  3. Afzal moola for afzalmoola
  4. Rishavdeep  for 999rsb
  5. Carolyn Glackin for lovenotesfromyourstruly
  6. Ali Qureshi for maequreshi
  7. Anusha choudhary for notablackandwhitelife
  8. Malakhai Jones for windowsbymalakhaijones
  9. Honing your reality for honingyourreality
  10. Vaibhaw Verma for vaibhaw1694
  11. Poisen Yvy for poisonousyvy

Eleven random facts about me.

  1. I am the youngest one in my family.
  2. I aspire to be a civil servant. 
  3.  I can fluently speak three languages and write in two.
  4.  I am not much into resteraunt foods. They are great and all but home food is what I would rather have.
  5. I hate swearing. The cute little F words just make me cringe. I have got no idea as to why.
  6.  I like to perform poetry as per in a performance poetry ( aka poetry slam) but I also love the traditional written works.
  7. I am good at sports and am athletic. I like soccer (Football) and kabbadi. Still could not understand cricket.
  8. I live in a lodge with two roommates. Both are a bunch of sunshine (clad in clouds of mischief).
  9. I have watched TV. Series like F.R.I.E.N.D.S, The originals, Doctor Who, Sherlock, Mentalist and yada yada yada.
  10. I love reading books and can read any genre except romance and young adult ( stay away from them). My favourite book is 100 years of solitude by Gabriel Graçia Marqhuez.
  11. I am 16 years old and intolerably lazy.

Eleven questions for my awesome nominees.
1) What is your favourite book and why?
2) What pushes you to pick the pen each day?
3) What are your hobbies like?
4) What do aspire to become someday?
5) Did any character of a book or a movie move you in some way? Who was it?
6) Favourite Genre?
7) What does writing mean to you?
8) Life to honour or honour to life?
9) Did you ever do something crazy?
10) What sort of world would you want to see?
11) Traditional Writings or something different?

And there you go, I did my part. Thank you again Himanshu for this award.

Yours truly 

Akanksha Krishnatre

P.S I did an amazing happy dance after getting nominated. The dance consisted of me flapping around like a headless chicken from one furniture to another.

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Pastel coloured smiles

We were like daisies,
The two of us.
Dancing by the bonfire
Devoid of songs
And musics only we can hear.
Holding hands of ghostly pasts
With caresses from the future.
I don’t blame time,
For letting that night end.
I don’t blame the moon
For kissing past the horizon.
I understood them
For the first time in all eternity,
How they longed for company.

We were singing
From on of dusk to dawn
With voices hoarse with laughter
And Stars in eyes,
Fire in breath we traded
In that summer night.
When crescendos of poetries
And poets all around
Just held their breath,
Crossed their fingers
And looked with jest,
At us.
Smothered in smiles.

We were like candies,
Wrapped in delight.
A feast for eachother’s eyes.
You were my favourite flavour
That I tasted yet again.
And when the moonlight
Blamed us for amor,
We laughed it all off that night.

We wore colours,
That shined for us.
Colours,
That others blamed 
Too bright,
Too dull,
Too gray,
Too old,
Too vintage.
We wore it all .
For we found a you in me,
And a me in you.
And colours just 
Glazed past the flaws,
Reminding us of joys.

We are like heartaches
That is born out of longing
And nurtured in fire.
We dance together but alone.
We are like daisies 
Withered in storm
And poets write another tragedy,
Of the titanic and the iceberg,
Destined to collide
Again and again.

We are like old songs
That now stand off beat.
Nostalgic memories
Hanging from the skies
Bound in starlight.
We are like fireflies
Untangling dusts and craters
Imprints of yesterdays
Left behind.

We are like candies,
That taste no longer the same,
That change with time
And your heart,
Grows out of the liking
Fot that special flavour,
And so we sit apart
In those cupboard stacks.

We wear colours,
That are no longer the same 
That no longer match
With the walls we painted.
We are no longer,
You in me 
And me in you.

We were like daisies
The two of us
Dancing by the bonfire,
Wearing
Pastel coloured smiles.
Copyright Krishnatre.

Abstract

Brown eyes,
I never before noticed
How enticing they were
Or how literature always cheated,
Writing eulogies upon hazel,
The mahogany tawny
Or the resplendent blue. 
Repeating, reminding 
How brown was boring,
Plain as bark,
Monotonous.

But Brown eyes,
Your brown eyes.
I realized 
They were anything but boring.

They were
The aroma of soil after first rain,
The fallen leaves
Painting the pavements 
In mosaic of memories.
The colour of arms
After a long day at beach.
The weight of wet sand,
Coursing, sliding with tide.
The shade of my hair,
When the rays hit just right.

I noticed, they were
The aroma of chocolate,
Dipped in syrup.
The warmth of hot coffee
On a cold winter morning.
The moist cake,
I recently feasted upon.

I realized, they were
The sound of busy mornings.
The hustle of streets,
With people on way.
The shade my laughter sounded
On cheesy pick up lines,
Yours.
It was the same colour
As the walls of my rooms.
With Windows seeing past horizon.

I saw, they were
The strokes of uncertainty.
Old toys on the mantlepiece,
And older books of the library.
It was in the smell
Of pancakes that grandmother made.
And the last bite I fought over.
The stalk of the tree
I decorated every winter
And the wrappers
I wrapped and unwrapped
Over the family table.

I sensed, them in
The afternoon lunches with father, 
And those long walks
Alone by the deserted highway.
Sometimes
When the clouds grew dark
It peeked behind
Those rationed curtains
Of the old homes.

It was not a simple color anymore,
It was comfort in pain,
The frozen smile in worry.
A solace
Salvation when mayhem insured.
It was a safe haven.

And literature 
Poetries
Never truly did justice,
Claiming
Claiming the colour
Of your orbs to be unremarkable.
But I realized,
Falling deep in that void,
That those chocolate dipped colours
Dancing in your sunlit laughter
Were anything but boring.

A. Krishnatre.

To the one reading 

Dear stranger,
You and I 
We do not belong
In a ‘we’.
I do not know
What your favourite colours
Look like.
I have never seen 
The shades your eyes shine
When the sunlight
Hits it just right.
I do not know
The smell of your favourite coffee
In a peachy morning blue.
I do not know
Whether you like chocolates
Or prefer pies.
I am devoid
Of all such knowledge 
These details
Of your life.

Yet stranger
I know that some nights
When the clock tick 3
You simply toss and turn
Unable to sleep.
Some nights
You simply stare
Out into the void
Unaware of self
Conscious intertwined with abyss.
And those nights
You do not yearn for someone
You do not need warm hugs
For the fire of your heart
Keeps you warm.
You know yourself
In the purest form.

I know
That some days are bright
sunshine tucked in your pockets
And stars in your eyes.
Those days you dress up
In your favourite clothes
Looking your best possible self.
And I know stranger
That some days
Giving a smile
Lending laughter
Is too much of a trouble.
Life is like dandelion seeds
Fragile and hard to grasp.

I know your regrets
Those unsaid words,
That still claw down your throat.

I know that life is not fair
It never is.
I know it hurt
When they went away
Maybe ,
Maybe they could have stayed.
I know at days
You curse fate
And at days yourself,
Hoping you could
Have made them stay

In weary nights
When you look at yourself
And start finding faults
And then sleep through the night
Welcomed by wet pillows.
I know you,
And I want to remind you
That you are beautiful.

I know that your heart,
Holds the biggest chandeliars
That beauty has to offer.
With firefly lights
Flickering and frolicking
Lit a thousand lights.

Stranger
I know your smile,
The way your lips curl
And teeths peek out.
The way you scrunch your nose
Crinkles reach your eyes.

Somedays
You enter the coffee shop
Sitting by the table
You sip that black delight
Or earlgrey ( your choice).
I know you find comfort
In watching people passing by.

I know how you jump
Seeing ballons go up
And how rides
Always make you sweat.
You love that cheesy over romantic movies
That you have denied each day.

I know you have cried
A thousand tears
Shown a few
Treasured the rest.
I know all that.
I know you hide your scars
But darling 
They make you strong.

And I am sorry
I could not tell you sooner
That stranger,
I have known it all along
And I want to remind you 
That through all days 
Good or bad
There are people
Who find you beautiful,
That know you
People who care.
So Stranger,
Darling
Take care.
©krishnatre

All things dark are heavy.

The senseless musings,
That just intermix and intertwine
From one platonic fact to another.
The time when sanity
Cracks a slap across the cheek
And still the difference,
Between alive and dead is fogged
In simple tales of delusion. 
The time when the night itself
Cannot decide between dusk or dawn,
And with the sombre confusion
The people are supposed
simply to breathe along.

The time when a muse less
Staring competition with the wall
Seems more sane than life.
The time when all the elixirs
And ambrosial drops of solutions
Gladly knock at your door,
Only for you to forget them
Another moment, another day.
The time when you one by one
Peel of your layers to your bare skin,
Afraid not of what is to come
But welcoming the dreary breathy silence.

The time when life is a tale
That has no ties with you
And is simply a movie to which
You are an avid audience.
The time when strangers
Fall in love with your words
And your words fall prey to love.

I won’t go elucidating how breathtaking
How magnificent 
How amusing 
The time of the night is 
When you bare your soul to life
And life bares its truth to you.
The time when the chime
Of each bell
The toll of every clock
Fades slowly, simply into nothingness.

The time when time is still
Like frozen with the raven blanket
Adorning the once blue top,
And stars like the ignored holes
Of day to day conflicts
From where light is seeping through.
The time when you just want
It to be like this forever
In the arms of Morpheus
Listening to your breaths
Like an understanding of the most vivid poetry,
That is time.

Ah! How beautiful
How enchanting 
Elusive yet Breathtaking.
The time when life and death
Collapse lovingly in an embrace
Of fate and destiny,
Like two lovers who were parted
A long time ago
And have finally found
Solace in that time of the night.

The time of the night when
Poets, writers and artists
Fret for much needed peace.
Peace from their own muses.
Trying to keep their sanity
Piece by piece together.
Yes! Finally you understood
The time of the night 
When lights are on 
Simply to keep on keeping on.

Ah the almost 3 of the night
When it is hard to decide
Between sleep and the temptation
To complete the last piece
You started, maybe destined
To be your next Magnum opus.
So maybe you give in 
To the claws of temptation
Or maybe you fall asleep.
It truly dosen’t matter
As long as it is that time of the night.

The almost three of the night.

Copyright Akanksha Krishnatre

Monsters in closet.

Skeletons are in closet,
And coffins are empty.
People have sockets for faces,
And eyes look back in the head.
Veins no longer run beneath skin
and the heart turns green from red.
People look pale,
With no colours adorning the face.
And the monster that thrives
Slowly in their thoughts,
Smiles with lips twisted
In a mosaic of emotions,
Colours and hatred.
Born out of rage
Nurtured in the fire of shame.
The monster
Oh! The green eye’d monster,
That is present here
In this moment.
He thrives in skeletons
That you so beautifully,
Have adorned in your closed closets.
So before the lock is broken,
Lay down the bones
Clean them,
Nourish them,
And make sure to dig a grave
So deep, so hollow, so shallow
That in that labyrinth
Of darkness,
The skeletons are buried forever.
Remember to fill the hole
With lies so concretely woven,
And stories cemented truly
That not even you can find
A loophole to bring the bones back.
Go check your skeletons ,
Born out of the coloured demon
If they have truly,
Broken down into fragments 
That can be laid,
And cleansed,
and sworn into secrecy.
Because once a skeleton is found,
Remember! No one will listen
To your tales of devastation.
Struggling with their own bones,
They will make you go down
In fear of being found,
With the charge of murder,
That they too have committed
Each day.

©krishnatre

Phases

​Did you notice
When only ombre silence
Greeted your hellos?
Or did you notice
When after days at end of sulking
You turned to complain again
And was met with air instead?
When was it
That you finally realized
That as the moon through its phases,
Changes into nothingness
From crescendos of Light,
The same happened in real life?

She was a different kind of moon,
Or she was not the moon itself,
You never know.
A paradox,
Predictable in her unpredictability.
The kind of moon that she was, 
She never intended to hold on to the stars.
Never claimed that the sky was hers,
(Although it truly belonged to her)
and was ready to share her home.

She was like an old metaphor,
Furnishing every poets poetry,
An untold story sealed in a few words.
So when was it
That you truly realised
That the poem you were so intent
On breaking apart,
On taking the strings of words
And stretching them until
The syllabals lost their meaning,
Was not that easy to decipher.

With her flaws, her scars,
Her battle wounds,
All she held onto as lessons,
That made her hard to fall
For uncharted,
Unanswered,
Uninviting
Sombre silence.

Did you notice,
That the keeper was begone
When the monsters climbed your walls?
Or did you notice,
That the healer had left weary,
When your wounds remained open,
Untended and green?
When was it?

Honour clad in robes of truth
With bejeweled promises upon it.
She wore her words like silk
To the last shaky breath.
Always and Forever 
She had said.
Always and forever
It would be.

When was it,
That you noticed?
Oh wait! With your eyes closed still,
With shards of blindfold within
You still are unknown.
( Ah it will be a blow,
To the good’ol heart like yours)
Ah! Sweetheart,
Like the moon with its phases
She will be an eclipse soon.
And you would search for her
Among the sky,
Beyond the horizon
Failing to find her true form. 
And unlike the moon,
She won’t come back again
To light your weary nights
And reward a lost hope.

Chipping away at her heart,
Asphyxiating her attempts to renew
Hope, laughter and joy.
So you will notice
How fumbling towards the crescent,
She moves to mumble
A sad and soppy
Ode of a Goodbye.

©krishnatre