#musing – Tacit Verses by Tanushree

Question Mark

*Question Mark*

Roaming in the realms of reality unknown
Spooky souls spooked by human lives
Like weeds they see greed overgrown
Instead of garden just a vast grave survives
Screaming to warn; not shudder or scare
Shaking us to awaken from our sweaty slumbers
Nightmares hidden in plain sight somewhere
Devastation long stopped counting numbers
No valley can survive with blood soaked streams
No sun can rise behind ash, embers and smoke
No birds can dare sing amidst deafening screams
Can dead children understand adults’ joke?
What will be a country without any living soul
or a religion without its believers to embark?
We are just a tiny dot…or maybe a bullet hole
under the sharp sickle shaped question mark.

©2023 Taruchaya.

What always stays

What always stays

What always stays is not the footprint,
but the warmth of feet on wet sand.
Even after taking off the aged ring,
just the stark outline of the wedding band.

What always stays is not the fragrance,
but the recollection of a familiar scent.
Even though people turn into photographs,
they are always present in our present.

What always stays is not emptiness,
but blanks filled with moments abound.
Even though the loving voice is now silent,
the joy remains in the memory of the sound.

What always stays is not loneliness,
but the gift of someone’s precious presence
Even though we unvalued them while they stayed,
we regret their lifelong disappearance.

©2023 Taruchaya.

Perhaps

Perhaps

Perhaps she was born on a rosy day
Perhaps she made everything bright
Perhaps she gave the blossoms a peachy blush
Perhaps she dreamt of lavender stars at night
Perhaps her youth was a lively pink
She must have glowed like a heavenly sprite
Perhaps she chose love as it was burnt scarlet
and her broken heart scattered violet twilight
Perhaps her tears merged with the inky sky
Perhaps hope was truly out of her sight
Perhaps she found solace in the black emptiness
she breathed her last – an untimely demise

Yet in the end, her pale shell of a body
was wrapped in crimson silks so ornate
She took with her all the pain and despair
leaving only traces of her ashen heartache.

©2023 Taruchaya. All rights reserved

Traversing through the turmoil

Traversing through the turmoil

Cigarette smokes in the cold air…
grey smoke complements the grey sky.
Smoky are the grim clouds here…
as the smoky silhouettes quietly slip by.
We breathe in the ashy air around…
smells of despair hovering in smokes-
And mixed with inebriated broken dreams,
wafts of heartbreak and broken hopes.
While the sombre lights silently stare,
somewhere into the abyss of glazed eyes.
Some glasses stained…simply laid bare,
ready to be filled with teary goodbyes.
Some move on like the hazy night…
some wallow in pain…some simply recoil.
Few are even experts in seeming alright,
while traversing alone through the turmoil.
The winter keeps the frozen hearts warm,
while Spring revolts to take rebirth.
Dare to stare into the eyes of a raging storm,
there are sparks of insanity mixed with mirth!

©Taruchaya 2023

Poster made with Canva

Guilt Trip

Guilt Trip

Guilt flows in my veins

laid bare like branches in winter.

Im constantly conscious

Oh! That dress suits only models!

Less food and more water…

perhaps that’ll lighten my heavy mind too!

I must sit farther away so that I’m visibly invisible.

If only the burning questions could burn calories!

That would’ve been better than subtle judgements.

Is my voice taking too much space?

Im better off mum perhaps…

acceptance is the key to happiness!

Shall I curl under the blanket

or maybe walk behind in oblivion?

Or better still become a shadow…

unseen in the dark depths of self-loathing.

Never been the best…neither good enough!

It’s okay… consider me vacuum.

My presence won’t matter…nor absence felt!

But let me clear just one thing…

I’ve already drowned myself in guilt…

so don’t waste your words to push me down.

My world lies somewhere in a depth

that no one else can reach.

Finally…a safe haven for a numb poet!

Fitting in

Fitting in

I look at the clumpy grumpy sky, trying to catch ahold of a cloud…
and think what fun it must be to float freely and grumble aloud.
But then it starts scaring me if I look down from the height,
nothing to firmly keep my feet doesn’t really feel at all right.
What if I had very strong roots that could hold me to the ground
and let me branch out my arms to toss the clouds around?
What if I could play hide and seek with the sly stinging August sun
that steals water from the ponds and always seems to be on the run?
The clouds find their way back whenever the wind whooshes them away…
rooted to the ground, looking in awe, I watch them wilfully play.
I think perhaps it’s better for me to be right here where I am now.
Like a little piece of a looming puzzle, I fit in effortlessly somehow.

Tightrope

Tightrope

Greens are turning to earthen hues
Something seems ashen within the blues
Neither it is scorching nor too cold
The clouds seem begrudgingly old
The cobbled streets have leaves bestrew
That crumple under the feet with rue
I watch my confidant wither slowly away
In the autumn weather each passing day
My friend, the sturdy staunch sycamore tree,
Braves the seasons and stands tall for me
It’s leaves are turning yellow and brown
The colour of a fading lack lustre crown
Shedding what it can no longer bear to hold
Willing me to be better, brave and bold
And when it gets too heavy just let it go
It’s okay to pause and take it slow
Breathe out the dismay and inhale the hope
Life shouldn’t be like walking on a tightrope.

2022 © Taruchaya

Cynefin

Cynefin

Where the sky looks the bluest blue

and the grass grins the greenest green,

I wish to stroll on a cobbled path

somewhere in between.

Where the fragrance of carefree wildflowers

wafts happily in the air,

I want to soak in the pleasing scents

that gently caresses my hair.

Where the soft dandelion scatters away

travelling on a dragonfly’s wings

and reflect the rays of a pretty pink moon,

spreading the smile it endearingly brings.

Cynefin(ku-nev-in) is a Welsh word which is commonly translated as a place where one feels they ought to live. Where nature around one feels right and welcoming.

Summer Reverie

Summer Reverie

the dizzy breeze fizzes in the heat
clouds hide in heaven’s shade
roses pant on their thirsty thorny seat
dandelions dance in the blissful glade
the sun loves summer the most
but the sky then summons all clouds
the thirsty grass rejoicingly raise a toast
when the clouds rush in… grumbling aloud
whenever I stare at the azure satin sky
i want to live those carefree days again
i want the wings of the dainty dragonfly
and dance in the misty summer rain

©2022 Taruchaya. All rights reserved.

Walk me home

Walk me home

strolling in sombre solitude
shying away from the staring stars
holding unto few hungover hopes
hovering over halo of healed scars
listening to the lyre of loneliness
lamenting on lessons of loss
yet counting the countless chances
and changes that came with a clause
feelings full of ignorant fallacies
frown upon the fulcrum of faith
while we whine and wearily wish away
the worrisome wordly weight
disguised under the dense darkness
demurely dazzles the dimpled moon
awestruck by the vast veil of velvety silver
the air veers vehemently to it’s vivacious tune
all I want is to wander with wonder
while the waxing moon walks me home
holding my haggard hand with care
hypnotically healing the hostile syndrome

	Dracul Van Helsing on Question Mark
	ShankySalty on Question Mark
	Dracul Van Helsing on What always stays
	Taruchaya on What always stays
	Dracul Van Helsing on What always stays