Recollections

Splattered rainbows
Adorn knuckles, with glint of broken starlight
Kissing past veins.
The places where,
The strangers fingers brushed past 
In a crowded hallway
And air smelled as dungeons.

The galaxies my palms
Fidget to cajole,
Pinpoint the shine of moon
The hurried handshake left
With a warmth glowing at its root.

The fingertips 
Hazel and lilace
Prints of colors that never go together,
Left at my shoulder
From the last instance
Some traveller held me;
Unbeknowest 
To my weary frame;
As he struggled for grip.

The handprint
Of a hasty goodbye
Mumbled beneath breath
Itched at times.
Trying hard at times
To remind me of its owner.
A shy passenger 
That had travelled beside me.

Lips curled into a smile
At people
I had no recollection of sharing a moment with
And eyebrows betrayed my trust
At my own body
As they canvassed the crowd of familliar facades.

And the flesh and bone
I wear often upon my soul.
Have memories of people
I don’t remember faces for.

It often 
Strikes me as odd
 As I wonder
Quite often
How many people
Have I looked at all my life
And never actually seen.


 © copyright Akanksha Krishnatre

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Aftermath

And the blood leaks down your throat
Down my spine
Onto your clothes
Like the memories
We often hold on to.
And tears curve your heart
And leave distances in veins
Miles of trenches apart.
And the vortex of color

All hazy and twany
Blinded by the shades
Of your echo,
Slides off the spines
Onto my ribcage.
Crackling fire, with dragons in your breath
And gurgle in your throat
Spitting venom with each reply.

And your talons for fingers 
Caress my sides
Tracing marks of despair
Inside.
Claws of nails 
Shred you apart.
Yet you stand intact.
Not shedding off 
The flimsy gown of human skin
You claim to wear all around.

And the folds of being human
Seem to hold loose pockets of skin
Dripping down the ragged breath.
The dip of knuckles
With clotted crimson 
Seeping down from your kisses.

Eyes blackened 
And skin ashen,
Crumbling to pieces
Hanging together with gums
Long chewed
And flavourless.

Chipping away at your bones
Snow pellets submerge my tiles
And no distinction
Between the marbles and bones
Could now fathom my eyes.

I sit down
Beside your sunken soul
And my fingers 
Try to search for yours.
As the skin mounted atop
Flutters away.
Dandelions in open air.

The talons have wept red
And eyes give way
To shade of night.
Cheeks
Hollowed out 
Carry the bodies of dead tears
In caskets 
Sunken deep.

And your body
Slowly giving off the odor
Of hopelessness
Slides down
Hitting the marble
With a gruff.

Solemn dexterity
And whisp of apathy
Resounds my voice
And words scruff 
Leave my lips.
Raining down
Upon your battered ears
And matted 
Eyelashes.

Having brewed that denial
With constant rebelion
From truth.
Mixed occasionally 
With false charm 
And decieving smile
Concocting 
The wine
You were working years upon.

Hatred and jealousy 
That appeared as soothing balms
On the greens of your wounds.
Often mistaken
For bites of pure bliss
Now sweetened 
The wine till it scalded your throat ajar.

Maybe besmeared
In your dillusions,
You forgot the phrases
The wise men uttered.
Poison only tastes like poison,
Once you have swallowed it.

Copyright Akanksha Krishnatre

Where We Are From, There is No Sun. 

​Where we are from,
there is no sun.
But quotation grey clouds,
the cloak I wear each morning.
Dyed with the colours of my mouth
shut tight with unjust kisses.
And I wear the cloaks
tied with taut strings
around my neck.
It is a conspiracy,
you see,
The don’t want me to speak
For I shout,
Standing off the cliff
Hoping to fill the void
with some kind of some noise,
Noise with colours 
That bleed pages upon pages of tragedies. 

For I scream
In Hope 
That one solemn day
My words will echo back to people.
Make them believe
that even though
Where we are from,
There is no sun,
yet some people
are hoping to light a bulb.

I wear the cloak
of the colour that shines in dead eyes.
People, You see
no longer see.
They have hollow sockets
Where eternity was once captured.
And Irises hazel, Brown, tawny and grey.
have no emotions.
But the ups and downs 
of denial and death.

War is a game
like monopoly.
And I am still craving for the words to end it.
I don’t want to win
Because victory seldom means Peace
and House never means home.
And where we are from,
there is no sun.

Yet I stand
in persuit of lost cities.
That once we’re carved on maps,
with quills that hoped for a future.
Where there was a break among clouds
and filtered ochre sunlight caressed my brows.
Cities, lost like baby teeth
leaving behind in hope
for a better foundation
But in truth,
left behind the bleeding gums of Humanity.

And maybe when I say,
that I put blame.
I am not seeking innocence
for my own tainted soul.
Because the legacy gifted upon our tongue
tastes bitter like blood
and It has been years since
I was born
And I can still taste the iron
driving nails in my mouth.
Reminding me
of my traditions, cultures and heritage,
which I no longer wish to follow.
For often when you fall into the sea,
It is not pearls that you seek,
but survival.

And decades we have tasted metal.
It is time,
that the broken dandelion seeds
are searched for again.
And an orchard made of despair,
With Ivy molded upon it of hope.

Because I still dream
that when I tell
the leaders of tomorrow 
there would be lights seeping through
milky white clouds.

And the teacup that shattered long ago,
would have come back once for all,
and universe would contract to give place,
to those that never fit in. 
Searching for identity,
among frozen photographs pasted upon walls.
Those with dignity held high
when questioned 
and gender specified
Because male and female defines nothing
But genitalia.

In that time
there would be shelter for,
those that stand unaware and breathing poison.
And death holding their palms
would be saved.
And there would be light in eyes 
and hope in smiles, 
no different from a newborns.

I am still standing on the cliff,
Talking to the void.
Please
Don’t call me crazy.
For where we are from,
there is no sun.

And I will tell stories
of darkness, of despair,
when light will finally be lighted
and fire burnt in every home.
Because House never means home
and victory seldom means peace.

I would teach them,
the children of light ,
that this generation
crushed and cursed 
with a hope still
gave birth to beauties
in the womb of beast.
Because where we were from,
there was no sun.
But,
there is light
 today.
©krishnatre

Result and colours

A few days ago on 28th May 2016 the awesome CBSE (please note my sarcasm here) finally declared the result of class 10th  ,for which I was waiting from 2 months and 9 days  to be accurate. My heart was beating on top gear , all confused whether I will get 9.6 or 9.8, for to be true 10.0 seemed a hope even after much hard work. So note my surprise when during my biology class in my coaching , Mam enters to tell that results are out and I achieved 10 CGPA.
For all the people out there, who are unaware about CBSE grading system ,all I can tell you is that this post won’t be able to sum the complexity of the system.  Please understand students are graded based on their performance on a scale of 1.0 point to 10.0 point. 10 CGPA denotes best performance.  Now I was directly selected in the top school of the state in which I have shifted to.
The result announcement seemed like a mixture of chaos and havoc ,with smiles and sweets  along with tears and frowns. The school will start from 22nd of June.  I have few days in my hand to get ready for School. My happiness knows no bound as I am waiting for the upcoming events to unfold.
Days are passing , simply mixing with each other with nothing to point out the difference between them.  Hoping for the best leads to best. For all the great fellow Indian students out there who have just got the result of class 10th. If your result turned out to be as your hope , then boatload of congratulations,  and if , Mark my words, if the result did not turn out to be as you hoped. Do not fret for the result of class 10th does not have much importance and no impact on your upcoming life. I agree there was once a time when class 10th known as Matric had a great importance in the life students , but now no longer that is the case, but yes I won’t deny that scoring good in 10th band 12th is quite important. So see your result , be stress free , just strive to do great in future , and do not be pressurised under any condition.

Now fellow bloggers out there be happy , be safe and stay tuned with this annoying clumsy little bibliophile Akanksha Krishnatre.

P.S : The dress code for school is just beyond awesome.

Akanksha Krishnatre.