Poems

Barely a whisper

I was barely a whisper today,

in a world full of noise

My hiccups were more audible

than my voice.

 

I was barely a whisper today,

or was I always one?

The mirror image who stares at me

is she mimicking someone?

 

I was barely a whisper today,

and yet I felt so loud

Absurd dreams of reality

bundled with grayish cloud.

 

I was barely a whisper today,

tomorrow will be the same

Words refuse to speak out

I hope,

Writing them down isn’t lame.

 

 

 

 

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Letters and Letters · Poems

How does it feel?

Dear Junk E-mail,

How does it feel to be a Junk?

Dejected in some sidebar,

Looking up at the inbox full of “important” e-mails

Do you feel out of place too?

Maybe you were not meant to be there,

Maybe it was a mistake,

You have no way to correct it, do you?

So you accept your fall,

You sit there in the sidebar,

Stare at them typing away the replies,

Letters of love and hate, pass by you

And smile

With pity hanging

Into the end of their J’s, g’s, S’s and O’s

They are good letters,

Full of feelings and emotions,

Words full of rage, devotion,

You like them

You want to be them

You will never be them and you know it.

 

How does it feel to end up in a trash can full of other junks?

They are scared as you are.

They fear that little bin button,

A click and they will be gone

Nobody will miss them

Nobody will try to recover them.

How does it feel to know that there is nobody by your side?

To tell you that it is okay to be a Junk,

That you are important.

You will never notice them even if you tried

Because you know that, you are not important,

You will never be.

Knowledge kills you everyday

Hope still keeps you alive

And sometimes,

You find your way through servers

Ending up in the Inbox,

Shouting out loud your abilities, your worth, your words

Just to be frowned at and spammed.

 

How does it feel, dear Junk Email?

To be not worth a dime to the person you are sent to,

To be anonymous in the world full of names

Visibly invisible in the crowded shroud of letters.

How does it feel?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poems

Just Breathe

So

you just breathe,

when nothing makes sense

you tell yourself

“Ein Moment bitte”

and forget your world

the darkness will fade

you breathe.

So

you close your eyes

and hibernate

collapse inside walls

insecurity hugs you tight

you close your eyes

you breathe.

So

you just breathe

save your heart

from catapults of pain

das macht nichts

it doesn’t matter

entropies were meant

to scatter

your life around

So

you just breathe.

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Catapult

Poems

Because.

Because we are selfish bitches,

With attitude problems so huge,

it hurts.

Because we live like queens

Fighting with dragons in the dungeons

Where we breathe

in the fires of sexism and prejudice.

And still survive the toxicity

Because we are toxic.

 

We absorb hate like blotting papers.

In crowded buses, we stare into the very soul

Of molesters, of seemingly kind strangers

Who poke and pull into the dresses we wear.

Sometimes we avoid getting out of the house,

Staying in until the hate disappears,

Sunshine appears,

We try to be the outdated versions of ourselves,

Where innocence ruled.

We absorb love too, like blotting papers.

Because we are selfish bitches,

We are scared of commitments,

We are scared of looking

into dreamy eyes for too long,

Because we know, how it could end,

Because we THINK.

Because we have brains with neurons

That somehow connects with our souls

Therefore, we vomit “no” everywhere

In the plates of expectations

and bowls of tradition

Because our schedules are filled

With self-centered dreams.

 

We are selfish bitches,

Guarding our kind with Valerian swords

Easing away the restlessness.

We are our own versions of Jane Eyre

Poor, obscure, plain and little

We are our own Patronuses

With as much as soul and heart as you do.

There aren’t any cages built for us,

There never will be.

 

 

daily prompt · Odes to people I know and don't know · Weekend Coffee Share

Scandals of Science: Passion of Love, War and Possibility

Science is notorious. It binds into every part of our being like a double helical DNA. Even when we try to avoid Science, it is always there, lurking in the corners of logic and love, Science always exists. The scandals of Science are hidden in the history we are taught. In classrooms, where half of our minds are sleeping, the scientific history is not something we take seriously. But why should we, right? Why does it matter at all? Isn’t it enough just to know the names that pop up in the quizzes and exams? Unfortunately, I had the same mind-frame. I always skipped the history and jumped into the mechanisms and the facts. I never tried to understand how these mechanisms came to be the mechanisms they were. I never tried to understand the lives of people who loved and lived Science; the people who made it their life’s mission to unravel the true secrets of life.

As notorious as Science is, it is also a story that intertwines beautifully and imperfectly where the contradictions fit and unfit to look like a giant scribble of an insolent child. The stories of the people who made the biggest contributions in science are not that big. In fact, they were normal people: dwindling in insecurities; failing and falling in anxiety; lonely and depressed. There were some who stood in top of their game; who laughed throughout the process; made life-long friends and yodeled in both their success and failure. Some were purely evil.

Mendel’s laws never escape the syllabus of biology if one is a Science student. Like all the students, I was taught how important these laws were as they governed the most essential features of gene when gene was not even discovered yet. However, nobody is ever told about Mendel’s life. How he failed exams after exams on physics, chemistry, geology, botany and zoology in the university in Vienna; how he was denied the position of a teacher in Znaim High School. He did not fail because he did not study. He failed because he was sick from anxiety. “Seized by an unconquerable timidity”, “uninspiring”, “too neurotic” , “arid, obscure and hazy” are some of the terms that have been used to describe Mendel by his colleagues and examiners. Despite all of this, Mendel was an excellent gardener. Siddhartha Mukharjee, the writer of an amazing book called “The Gene- An Intimate History” writes, “Mendel’s life seemed to be filled with the smallest of thoughts. Sow, pollinate, bloom, pluck, shell, count, repeat. The process was excruciatingly dull- but small thoughts, Mendel knew bloomed into large principles. Mendel’s garden plot may have been small- but he did not confuse its size with that of his scientific ambition.” From the small patch of garden, he collected heaps of statistical data, and made them into laws, that would be chunked by the students a day before exams after more than a century! In his time, his findings and data were blatantly ignored by scientists like Charles Darwin. He was discouraged by people he admired and he went on with his life neglecting the plants he loved. He died of kidney failure on January 6, 1884. Mendel’s paper on the laws of heredity disappeared for a long time marking the period as “the strangest silences in the history of biology” until William Bateson read the paper on his train ride to deliver a lecture on heredity at the Royal Horticultural Society in London. William Bateson was nicknamed “Mendel’s Bulldog” for he was fierce as one and had made his life’s mission to ensure that Mendel was never ignored. Continue reading “Scandals of Science: Passion of Love, War and Possibility”

Poems

Until he walked away

Chins arched up in her bare knees

He gazed at her like one gazes at the stars,

Distant she was with book in her hands

And dreams in her eyes,

Imagining imperfection with perfect words

Describing unfathomable feelings in non-existent worlds

He wondered if she ever thought about him,

He wondered if he ever mattered

Or was he just a distraction,

He wondered if she ever noticed

That beyond those hard-covers

There was a world,

A real one,

Waiting for her embrace

Driving by the seasons,

There was a real world

She refused to notice.

Every nerve of her secretly danced

When the ends of his chins

With bit of a beard,

Were touching her knees blatantly

Unashamed he was,

Looking at her,

And silently telling her to come out

Of the places which she loved to be in

Unmasking the world she avoided

Making her believe that storms and winds

Were just as beautiful as springs and sun

He was there, just there, within her reach

All she could think about was his piercing eyes,

The way his chest was heaving,

The way his hands barely touched hers,

His fingertips on her shoulders

Trying to make her stop looking at the words

Beautifully carved in paper

Trying to make her impulsive enough

To rise up from her reading nook

To kiss him in the lips

But there he was in the real world,

And she in the fictional one

Each day trying to bring the two worlds together

Each day failing

She wondered if he was real even,

And if touching him would make him go

Inside the book she was reading

So she stayed still, with him looking at her

Until he walked away.