You are your own.

In a crowd as you sit silent,
Looking back at a thousand memories
Of people that no longer have a part
That no longer have a hold
Over what you do
Over what you say.
As you sit musing
Amidst chaos,
Amidst laughter,
Your cacophonous thoughts,
Your thousand smiles,
Your million twinkles,
And infinite stories.
All that you have
Contained in small bits and pieces
Among yourself.

As you put back the puzzle
That you never knew existed.
Then today,
You decided
A thousand times over,
A million breaths after,
Infinite memories later,
To abandon
To leave
To erase 
To evade
All that they were
All that they had become.

Because you learnt,
Today
How in these countless days
You are your own.
You mean the world.
You live and you love.
But before anyone
You are your own.
Your own demon
Your own angel.
Your mistakes and
Your corrections.
You responsibilities and
Your faults.
They all belong to you.

And the people
Once you called your own.
Erase them.
The souls nurtured in need.
Leave them.
The smiles of wants.
Defy them.
They don’t deserve you.
You are above their truth.
Because in a million lives over
They would leave you alone.

And the best part.
You will win all the battles
You want.
You will have victory over your
Own demons.
You will dig graves for those,
Who deserve to be buried.
You will come victorious when 
Only deafeat was possible.
You will survive when life
Will assure you with paths to die.
You learn about the truth of people
When you were going to trust.
So before you are broken
A million ways will tell you
To patch yourself up together.
Because there are people
Out there who actually
Are waiting a thousand breaths
To just know that you are there.

So a thousand times over
Remember when life tries 
To pull you down.
Before anything else.
Before anyone else
You sweetheart,
You are your own.


Akanksha Krishnatre

Does it Truly Matter?

Does it truly matter
If your eyes water’d once
Or are always moist.
Does it matter 
If your eyes are foreign to tears
Or dry forever.
Does it truly matter
If your heart broke once
Or has countless pieces to pick.
Does it matter
If your heart is intact
Or dripping innocence coated love.
Does it truly matter
If you fell for him once
Or a few thousand times.
Does it matter
That you knew him to be trouble
Or simply cushioned your fall.
I ask what does it matter
At the end?
What truly matters
Is that you survived.
Remained a warrior
Through what life threw at you.
You picked up the mess,
Life made you
And sorted peace
Out of pure blazing chaos.
At the end what matters
Is you.
Simply 
Always and Forever
You.

(c) Akanksha Krishnatre.

Ever wonder?

Do you ever wonder
What would happen if
Your dreams were a precap
To the future.
A trailor to the movie
That would just happen
In the halls
Of minds and reality.
What would happen
If the souls adorning
Your nightmares came walking
The ominous street.
How frightening it would be
To suddenly
Out of the blue
Meet a human
To already have met
Him in a dream
Or a nightmare.
As you walked away from him
Leaving him.
Screaming on top
Of his lungs
You left him bound in chains.
You would hear 
The clanging and tinkling
Of chains long before
They are bound to appear.
So you will just wait
For the clocks to tick.
How enchanting it would be
To know what is to happen
How powerful yet
How powerless you would feel
To know that you 
Though knowing of the future
Have no strength to change it.
And so when those dreams
Will knock gently
At your door.
You would open your eyelids,
Simply gazing
At the whitewashed ceiling
Wondering,
If the devils will enter soon.

(c) Akanksha Kriahnatre.

World no longer a stage.

Oh! Thou Sir need to understand.
World is no longer a stage,
No longer people come
Simply to play their part.
Birth and death,
Remain no longer personified.
Oh Sir! It breaks the heart
Of a poor lady like me.
To beware Thou 
Of the honourless deeds
And changes that now have striv’d.
World is a ball, Sir
A giant masquerade ball.
Thrown by the people
whether nobler by fate
Or inhumane by deeds
Who am I to presume or judge?
Ah! Such a magnificent feast
They promote
I wonder what beast do they serve
What elagance in the menu,
Whether it is loathing or greed.

Sir! In this ball
Entrances aren’t birth
And slayings do not mean exile.
The permit to enter
Has now criteria forlorn
It depends
Sometimes on skin,
Ah! Sometimes on land
And the worst,
That a illiterate lady
From the times of yore
Condemns the most,
Is permit based on gender.

The people with 
Fate aiding them
Enter in this feast
Flairing and floundering
Their Etravagant carriages
Fit for a royal deport.

Sir! Good lord! 
I am eternaly grateful
That royalty no longer
Runs in the blood.
Or take my words
Every man would be macbeth
Playing with a never ending tempest.
But the fire
The longing
The unyielding lust
For gold remain unscathed.

And so in these masquerades
People come adorned in masks.
Masks with frills and lace 
Caressing their plummy cheeks
And golden threads keeping
Their lies together.

Sir! World is ball
Where people come to dance
Entrance isn’t easy
But exits are forced upon.
Ah! Thou would find the world 
Tragic to the bones.
So people pair up quickly
With no parts to play
Just a partner to twirl around.
No Romeo is found
And Iago fills its part.
Sir, love no longer nourishes the soul
But now is an emotion
So abstract,
So hollow,
So shallow in nature,
That I a poor, poor lady
Would have theQueen’s jewels 
More easily found.

Ah! The summers joy
Has lost its warmth.
Winters are colder
In this place with,
Hearts adorned with ice
And laced with shards.

But in this Ball
The reality My Sir is this;
There are 7 Billion faces,
7 Billion dancers
But 14 Billion masks and
14 Billion dances.

(c) Akanksha Krishnatre.