…but not mine. It was written by my cousin (I use the term loosely and Indian ishtyle). She has just turned 13.
I would recommend some sort of seatbelt before you read these, because she really, truly, totally blew me away. You can’t make out from anything she writes that a freshly baked teenager put her pen to it. She has depths I think I only had a hazy imagination of at 13.
I won’t reveal her name or anything right now, but with her permission, I will be blogrolling her poetry site. So please go over and encourage her brilliance. Because really – the worst thing at the age and this phase in writing is how vehemently one can convince oneself one sucks. Its such a fragile age and you are already feeling too fat, too ugly, too much of a nothing even if – like this girl – you are pretty much the furthest from all that. And losing this sort of talent to lack of faith would just be unpardonable. I think I just found the most serious literary talent in our family and I can really see her out with an anthology by the time she is 18. My dear sister out-law, who works in publishing – can you back me up here?:-)
Without further ado:
Can you paint with the colors of your eyes?
The periwinkle exhaustion
the beckoning lure of the deep azule
the unfathomable crimson
abiding roses, fading, fading, constant
the violent purple
your tantalizing amaranthine
promising cerulean azure, emphasizing the cobalt intoxification
the heart-throbbing amethyst
iredescent emerald, igniting
igniting the frantic orange
irresistible saffron, belayed
full of the abominable black
lucious streaks of striking sunshine tweety-bird yellow
myrtle secrets upon fragile bronze
and the lightening gold and amber.
Can you paint with all the colors of your eyes?
And then this:
Because Of You
because a blue poison tree frog can’t change its spots.
because some days, the stars don’t shine as bright
as they do on some days
as reflected in your eyes.
because we fall like raindrops, sooner or later
hitting the ground, becoming just another droplet of water
in a sea of anguish and love and hardships and tears.
because dreams aren’t good enough;
they’re for sleeping
and day dreams are just to get by.
because I’m not who you think I am,
and you’re not who everyone else thinks
because God doesn’t seem to give out his telephone number, or his street address,
on that garden-of-eden serenity up in the heavens.
because that hourglass is superglued to the table.
because roses have to die, and birds have to fly
away and leave the nest.
because humans can’t fly.
because you make me feel like i can fly
because you make me feel like i’m falling, drowning.
because you smile at me by accident
and i smile back
and you raise your eyebrows in a wiggle.
because i drop my pencils ‘accidentally on purpose’
and you see, but you walk away.
because Rapunzel’s hair was thin and fine,
and broke as the prince climbed up.
because you, all because of you
because of you, I’m terrified, I’m jubilant, I’m relentless, I’m ecstatic, I’m erratic, obliterated, helpless, senseless, drowning in desire.
because i love you,
but you don’t like me back.
Seriously, I can’t breathe.