If I am ever asked what I think about 'rage'
I will say that it is the bottle of wine
in the cellar ready to be thrown off.
because my rage is my strongest emotion.
because my rage comes for you.
it comes for the fact that endings in real life
do not happen like the ones in movies.
it comes for the fact that goodbyes
never feel like the finale of a reality show.
I remember standing in front of the mirror,
practising to tell you how I feel.
I threw up at the sight of me
looking so desperate – a lamb waiting to be fed.
the water flowing down the sink
to mask my muffled exhalation
I stood in front of the mirror
practising a speech that I knew
I wouldn't be able to say.
this is why I say, "never love a poet" because
they will make you want to rip your hair out,
a poet will crochet a sweater for you and
fill the gaps with oleander leaves,
the milk and jaggery in your fridge
will rot and stink of open wounds
but you won't be able to throw them out.
I hope your slumber is as sweet as nectar
for you didn't love a poet.
but for those who did,
do not fret when the poison sumac
creeps around your neck.
- Ruchita Gautam
(guest poet)
@fragments.of.us / @rumetaphor : "If a child picks up a book then he is either a loner or he was forced", and Ruchita Gautam strikes the balance in both. She is an awfully unfunny, awkward ambivert who can make anyone sound funnier than they actually are. Apart from spending her days calculating rocket velocities, Ruchita uses a leaky pen to weave poetry in her mother's cooking diary.
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