I know

I don't know what to say.

It's like I'm choking with 

so much chatter that's here to stay.

I don't know what to say.

I am speechless, watching you 

be so brave.

My chest starts throbbing

by the thought of what

you did to build yourself.

Oh, what you did every day

without asking for help!

My tears roll down unruly

when I look at that picture

your sister posted on her story,

I don't know why.

I will never know why.

I don't know if it's my happy cry,

because I see you smiling in it.

I don't know if it's the feeling of 

a searching "why?" 

because I am trying to look

for you behind your smiling face.

Maybe I am overthinking.

Maybe I am missing something.

Maybe I am crying because I wish

I could be there with you.

Maybe I want to go back in time 

and tweak a thing or two,

just to reassure myself that 

your face was never sad,

that your heart was never hurt,

that the word "bad"? you'd never felt that.

Maybe because I am selfish

I cry,

to find something familiar

lost in the loop of time.

Maybe there was not a moment 

when you weren’t mine.

Maybe I’m right,

We’ve met in our past lives.

Swimming in this infinitely deep 

ocean of life with my eyes closed 

I feel your hand gripping 

mine again, over and over again.

You make it too easy to forget 

That you are the moon,

And I, the murky reflection 

you chose everyday to embrace.

I think I know now.

~

Noni

This winter is not Forever

I look outside the window, 

life in monochrome.

Although the trees look bare for long,

the fields, for even longer, look desolate,

This winter is not forever,

So when I'm asked to just get 'used to it',

I won't.

I won't get used to it.

I'll be jittery, I'll be hopeful, I won't acclimate.

When I set my foot on the white swooshy snow,

My fingers freezing in my pocket, cold,

And I feel the chilly burn on the tip of my nose,

My lips, more chapped than ever,

"Trust me," I breathe to myself, 

"The warmth is closer than you suppose-

this winter is not forever-"

This winter is not forever...

Our spring may seem far,

Like the memory of the old scar

On your elbow,

A memory still fresh in your brain,

But now a lumpy mark,

Like the branches on the cherry blossom

that, now, sit bare,

A memory of its delicately vibrant pink from last year

Is what I imagine it'll look like in the spring.

A spring we await impatiently,

As the long winter lives off of our souls,

But bewail not, my clover,

This winter is not forever.

This winter is not long at all.

~ Kripa Sarkar

Dhaki

Drown in the thunderous roar of the dhak,

I drown in every beat;

"dhum-da-dhum-dhum, da-dhum-dhum"

I erase myself and accept my defeat.

Endure the sore shoulders from the strikes,

I endure the tenderness, as it tastes like a sweet treat.

"dhum-da-dhum-dhum, da dhum-dhum"

I erase myself, I blissfully weep.

I am inexistent, yet I ask, "Who am I?"

"dhum-da-dhum-dhum, da-dhum-dhum"

I hear myself cry-

I am the rhythm,

I am the hum,

I am the friction of the cane striking the skin,

I am a dhaki, 

alive in the percussions of my dhak,

that thunderous roar singing songs of 

the innumerable places I've been.

~ Kripa Sarkar 

“Are you there?”

What if the road I'm darting on, 

takes me to a cliff at the crack of dawn?
What if the fog I see from up there,
Is as dense as the twisted nerves inside my head?
What if the moisture in the air,
Is as heavy as my emotions, too much to spare?
If I take another step from up there,
who will catch me from falling?
Who? 
Should I really care?
Will you care?
I don’t know; do I?
What I know is,
I don't want to take another step, 
Not move another inch.
I don't want to face you, Fear,  
I want to rest right here.
I don’t want to grow up today,
When did I get here anyway?
How did I come all this way?
I don’t know; do I?
What I know is
I don't want to live a life that sounds, 
like a poem that does not rhyme.
But how often do they really rhyme?
I suppose as often as you can pause time.
So, I will close my eyes, and sing the song of love and I will move an inch every single day.
If I fall, I will know life from death, 
If I don’t, I will know your love.
But If I don't move at all, 
I’m bound to ask myself, “Hello? Are you there?”
~ Kripa Sarkar 

Life of One day

 One day, when you wake up,

That day, when you wake up,

Don't forget your dream and go about your day,

Neither does it take long for the sun to rise,

Nor does it take long for it to set.

Go!

Live your dream before the sun sets,

A life of One day, before you rest.

Give it your all; it's only one day you have- to give,

It's only one day you have- to live.

~Kripa Sarkar

a breath

 did I fool the world
or did I fool myself when I turned
away from who I can be?
Where am I looking at,
what am I seeking for
when I close my eyes and look at
the vast darkness in me?
since you've blessed me with a hint
of knowing your existence,
 (or perhaps inexistence, call it what you may)
my conscience breathes into my ears 
that this life will lead me
to all I shall know and call god
by loving and being loved 
by all that thrives through thee.
Until then, I shall recognize you

as the breath that flows inside me,

a breath that whispers to me.

~ Kripa Sarkar

Old Leaf

You are one old leaf.

How do you like it, to be hidden between

the pages of this book?

Are you free?

Is your soul still inside of you Oh dry friable wise leaf?

Do you like it in here, when you probably could've been

dirt by now?

Maybe you really do like it in here, so you chose to stay.

But tell me, do you feel safe in your abode, 

resting in-between the pages of a book?

Do you fear the nothingness when no one touches this book

for months, or years? Uhh, or are you uncomfortable that I-

flipping through the pages your abode, spotted you and picked you up

and observantly examined each and every line of your vein under the lamp,

squinting my left eye?

You must've been a wise leaf, cause you sure did leave your

impression on the right page.

So tell me something, will you?

Do you not know who you are?

Are you content?

Does the silence treat you well?

Would you rather be up on a tree- a bright green summer leaf-

or are you happy that you were destined to be conserved this way inside a book?

Though, you look enlightened to me,

I'll put you back where you were,

for you are an old leaf indeed.

I think you've been here way too long now.

I sniffed you. You and all the other pages in the book smell alike.

Thank you existing. 

~ Kripa Sarkar

PS: sometimes, it is what it is; it's plainly beautiful in the way it is.