I would walk up to the mirror,
Showing the face that I was,
The face I wanted to be,

Not the face they wanted to see.

But the faces looked similar,

Yet were seen as totally different,

In this world of poetic justice,

How do we know what just is ?

Those darkened by the light,

Those blinded by their sight,

Those laughing at their grief,

Those weakened by their might.

Would find their mouths,

More often than not,

Desperate to utter the words,

That make their tongue knot.

Yet the words seem to hustle,

Their way into the world,

Plunging through the mist,

Opposing the running herd.

The herd may run forward,

But the wind blows behind,

Realists or idealists,

This world isn’t kind.

Oh! You’ll find it some day,

And that day shall end soon,

For in the darkest of nights,

We see the brightest of moon.

Worry, you shall, and worry, you will,

You’re not here to make amends to the ill.

The sooner you realise the better it is,

How long would you wait before the first kiss?

And when it comes,

Hold on to it tight,

Even if it’s not your world,

Even if it’s not your fight,

Because there’s no bigger regret than the moment that passed,

Thinking about the questions you could have asked.

Let me move this cloud now,

For the day is supposed to be sunny,

And God, one day you’ll realise,

Ha ha ha , it’s not funny.

-Divyajeet Singh


No Title 

I’ve been running from myself for far too long,

Been running from the right, been running from the wrong.

I had always been alone, I just didn’t see it,

But if destiny chose things to be this way, so be it.
I’m done fighting, I’m done being mad,

For peace in this crumbling mind isn’t what I always had,

They say I disconnect easy, they call me a stone,

They say I do not listen to any voice but my own.
Maybe they are right and right I shall prove,

You made your choices, now I make my move.

Yes, I am rude and No, I do not listen,

If only you could judge my anger by the speed of my pen. 
I don’t hope to find peace, not for you, not for me,

But I’m done being the reasom for your misery.

I know I can fix this, and fix this in a click,

But to ruin it yet again, like a leg to my stick. 
They say winter has longer nights and shorter days,

Guess winter came early this year, I rest my case.

I’ve been running from myself for far too long,

Now I know that being right, was always wrong. 

Dear diary

Dear diary,I realised something about myself today. That I get bored very easily. Not like bored in a day. Bored overall. Now it may be hard to comprehend, but my only problem is, I cannot stay attached to one activity for too long.

When I was in 1st standard, I took up playing catch-catch with my dear pals, but got bored out of it. So in my 2nd grade, I switched to beating the assembly drum. I got bored out of that too soon enough, and then switched to skating. I tried all kinds of skating like quads but then skipped to inline because I got bored of four wheels in a rectangle. Till I reached my 5th I grew out of the whole idea of skating and switched to horse riding. In my 6th class I picked up table tennis which stayed for a while and in 7th i switched to drums and rapping for the school band. In my 8th grade, I had a new obsession, my synthesiser, which stayed for another year after which I shifted to raipur. I picked up badminton in my 9th and switched back to table tennis in my 10th. Well, in my 11th and 12th I was just too stressed out to pick up anything new other than my studies. So I picked up poetry. I did play the unusual volleyball at times but that was nothing more than just a mere pastime. In my 1st year of college I joined one of the magazines at SRM and caved my way into content writing, only to find out that I was bored yet again. 2nd year of college I picked up the guitar which has stayed with me ever since, the reason being totally unknown to me. But yet there’s a little dude inside me that keeps screaming, “Pick up something else. Experience everything. Try other stuff.” So in my 4th year I switched back to content writing, only in a different genre. 

This habit of mine, to try everything that this little world has to offer, is somewhere eating me from the inside, yet keeping me alive. It’s not like there haven’t been any constants through the years, but those constants have all had a price to pay. This habit has grown into an obsession.

Now I know it’s too much to ask, but please tell me, oh! Dead little piece of paper. Am I right ? Am I right in assuming that I am capable of handling whatever the universe throws at me? Am I right in choosing something that only a restless mind would choose? Am I only doing it because others won’t? Or am I just too self-obsessed to see that there’s something wrong in the way I live my life? I love my life, I really do, but I’m not sure if I love it because of what it is, or because it isn’t what everyone else has. 

Ps: my latest obsession is video editing. 

I’m Not Done Yet

I’m not done yet,Trying, to catch the slippery flower,

Which, for its very nature, is wet.

Nullifies my power. 
I’m not done yet,

Admiring, the echo of your shimmering voice,

Filled with hope and a little regret.

As if I have a choice.
I’m not done yet, 

Waking, to the sound of your text,

With grammatical errors and tone set,

Of frivolous taunts, as if you know what’s next.
I’m not done yet,

Breathing, through the locks of your hair,

Entangled enough, and frustrated you get,

When a rogue fringe disobeys your prayer.
I’m not done yet,

Laughing, at your not-so-funny jokes,

As they get lamer by the day, I bet,

While you stroke your head when I tell you so.
I’m not done yet,

Staring, into your diluted pupils,

And when the slightest of problems make you fret,

I’ll be there to calm your chills.
I’m not done yet,

Rhyming, these words in a string.

An equivocal rhythm, if you let,

Will make me dance and sing. 
I’m not done yet,

Even if it seems otherwise. 
– Ayvid

The Thinking Bird

Jolting past the morning sun,

Under the sky, blue as the sea,

Sat the bird, a pelican

Twitching over a tree.

Could it be her nest?

As was told by her maa.

Lost amidst the shadow of zest,

Lucrative enough to see afar.
Mind was in splits, heart worried again,
Engulfed the pelican hastily ,food for its brain.
Atrocities took a toll,
Lethargic ,abandoned soul,
Red as the sun was once,
Envisaged, a morning stroll.
And the dream pierced through,
Down fell the nest,
You know what happens next.
-Divyajeet Singh

Have you ever ?

Have you ever hated yourself for trying to hate someone whom you once loved ?

Have you ever fought with yourself just so you don’t have to fight ?

Have you ever cursed your brain because you were listening to your heart ? 

Have you ever seen everything so as to forget everything in sight ? 

Have you ever thought about the things you used to think ? 

Have you ever found the ship that couldn’t sink ?

Have you ever stared at the wall and not look at the paint? 

Have you ever sinned to become a saint ? 

Have you ever gained from the loss you had cleared ? 

Have you ever thought “if only it weren’t something weird” ?

Have you ever bothered to be distant through the night ?

Have you ever done something wrong to make it right ? 

Have you ever not rhymed while writing a poem? 

Have you ever made a mistake and smile at it ?

Have you ever shed a tear while not crying?

Have you ever been thankful for lying ? 

Have you ever been there ? 

I dont think so….

But again, i dont think much. 

Much is an exaggeration as such. 

Twist in the tale

She weeps like a child,A little harsh, a little mild.

The weeping is okay though, 

For a soul so wild,

She can let it flow, 

If only she could hide.

Behind her tears of sorrow,

Two worlds set to collide. 
She laughs like a freak,

A little loud, a little meek.

The laughing is contagious,

And followed by a streak,

Of sniffles , frivolous,

Like a bird and its beak. 

Beneath a laugh so ferocious,

Lay his knees, so weak. 
She ponders like a dream,

A little naive, a little extreme,

The thoughts are far fetched,

And absurd they might seem,

But if a beautiful mind stretched,

Happiness would redeem.

Under her thoughts, are etched,

The signature of his belief. 
She loves like a fire,

Or even a bonfire, who cares,

Not the right time to get stuck,

Not the right time to give a fuck.

Let it be known,

That emotions change, 

Or even if you call it “grown up” ,

People too change. 
Goodbye divyajeet,

You will be missed.