And how the body heals-Megha Sood

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And how the body teaches itself to heal

to get up 

shed off the scars

the sullen time has left behind

rub off all the cobwebs 

of the stale vapid moments

nesting in you for time forever 

taking shelter in your mind

feasting on your memories

like maggots

and sucking off the light 

that was once so divine

 

And the how the body teaches itself to recover

by crying profusely 

pouring out the tears

chaos of the lonely soul 

that deep lamentation 

that once gone sour

and how it springs that fountain of elixir

stemming from the depths of your heart

to cleanse you

once again

and to baptize your sins

marking you as a nubile

a soul apart

 

And how the body fight and shuts itself down

cocooned within itself 

sitting cross-legged in the dark 

hunched by the pain of the 

deep remorse

and sitting in complete silence 

mute and numb to the core

those screech and 

the screams are falling on the 

deaf and dead ears 

when the cacophony 

gets too loud to hear

and your mind plays soliloquy 

with its core

 

And how the body preaches itself 

that’s it OK to love and heal once again

let the old scars heal 

for the new ones to 

be born again.

The body never forgets to heal

even though we forget to remind it.

–Megha Sood

We, the broken- Megha Sood

 

Dreams crushed and pulverized to the core
I walk alone on this path
broken and sore;
this emptiness seeps
loneliness sits neatly in my pores
Silence screams the loudest
at its core;
a flag stripped of its mast
I’m trying to gather the pieces of me
splintered and stuck in
hundreds of soul
faces– known to me
faces I ignore;
I unpluck and unclutch parts of me
lodged in all the bleary hearts
I once loved
to whom I bared my soul;
We, the broken
like a lost piece of the puzzle
always searching
always alone.

–Megha Sood

Inspired by Eric Syrdal and Jessica Nodarse

 

Shortlisted for a state level poetry contest- Please vote-“A Journey towards freedom”–Megha Sood

Dear blogging family,

I’m happy and excited to share the news that one of my poems got shortlisted

for “NAMI NJ Dara Axelrod Expressive Arts 2019 Mental Health Poetry Contest” among top 10 finalists.

They will be choosing the winners based on voting. Please click on the link

here to cast your vote. They have concealed the name of the poet -The name of my

entry is “A Journey towards freedom

Please do me a favor and vote for your fellow blogger.

Thanks a million,

Megha Sood

Rebirth – Megha Sood

“A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”
― Chris Cleave, Little Bee

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You plucked my wings

feather by feather

pulled it out in pieces

from the blades of my shoulder

You can bloody me all you want

shred me into pieces

and rip them into halves

for everyone to see it.

Your hands sanguine with my

seraphic blood

your soul

deeply encumbered.

But you can’t douse the

eternal flame in me

the one which is burning

and giving me the intensity

the light of my being

my aura,

my personality

these wounds will heal

and scars will be formed

that is how the life sustains

that is how life is born.

Photo by Gaston Roulstone on Unsplash

Elements-Megha Sood

First Published in the Writer’s cafe Magazine Issue 13 -“Elements”

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My soul without the love

an empty poem

Stripped of its beauty

with metaphors

but nothing to compare with.

 

My mind

with it’s tangled thoughts

ricochet between the doubts and the certainty

almost sure of the day

when nothing will begin and everything will end

a journey towards Oblivion.

 

My skin

devoid of the healing touch and showered with the wet empty kisses

you plant every day on my cheeks

it bears marks of time

sensitive to even the pain

when the time shrugs its shoulder

and the moment end

and my skin still waiting

for that healing touch

fervently to suppress that pain.

 

My love

a dream too real

conjured out of thin air

like the magic potion

will heal everything

and that magic elixir

will resurrect me from my darkness

of bone and Ash

my love enough to be real

to be felt with my fingertips

and too surreal

so I can feel the pain

when it leaves my body

gently as it glides

to live in the dimension

separate than mine.

 

My truth

a reality too hard to gulp down

your empty throat

when the reality cuts the dreams

with its serrated ends

and stripped off all its frivolity

it stands here naked

stripped

staring and gazing at you

with its bloodshot eyes

when you feel shameful

to hold it’s gaze.

 

So when the pain sits deep inside my

barren womb

like the dead lilies

knotted and tangled together

like the pain of the stillborn

where time eats time

you try to define

my mind,

my soul,

my skin,

my love,

my truth,

/my elements/

pulling and molding it together

to give it a shape and a form

and you realize

how wrong you were all along.

–Megha

Photo by Shifaaz shamoon on Unsplash

An exercise in futility-Megha Sood

Following the sham of a Senate hearing (Brett Kavanaugh Vs Dr. Christine Ford)for the last few days has made my blood boil with rage and anger.I’m appalled and enraged at its possible outcome.

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Be a ladylike,
eye pleasing appearance
enough to gulp down the lies
down your swan bottled neck
oh! only to be bejeweled by the pearl necklace
and the bright possessions
he dons you with

Don’t bother to breathe
when it’s not ladylike
that your chest heaves violently
to the truth you fail to contain in
It’s not social to use expletives in your
aristocratic language
you will be burned at the stake
for speaking your truth
your scraps will be fed to wolves

Don’t wear your truth on your sleeves
which is naked and bold
it can’t hold a gaze
with their shameful eyes
too hard to please;
too simple to ignore

Sit with your legs crossed
my mom used to say.
don’t let that pointy opinions of your
evade your crisscrossed arms
to become an easy prey

Don’t give them enough reasons
your piercing opinions
to point at your ribcage
they will choke you with
their blatant lies
will tear your heart apart
with their hungry eyes

Oh! look at him
he is remorseful
with his flagrant lies
he goes to church on Sundays
lives with his two daughters and his wife
that is enough for him to
seek the blessings of the male privilege
those damn vultures in disguise

Where the validity of your truth never mattered
it would never be
your reality will always be a grain of sand in
their eyes of ignorance
too hard to ignore
too painful to acknowledge.
an exercise in futility.

–Megha

Photo by Miranda Wipperfurth on Unsplash

Foreign-Megha Sood

“I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

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The elongated nights and their shapeless arrival

tiptoeing of these broken dreams

along the shattered corners of my heart

my goblin shaped nightmares

hiding around the corners

and monsters in the corridors wailing and calling my name

the nights stretch itself and cover every iota of my existence

the thin membrane of it

covering my soul

reminds me of the darkness in the womb

/but that felt safe wasn’t it/

sometimes the solitude

brings its own tranquility

and you get duped by the darkness

those broken dreams picks

at the black of my obsidian eye

where the dreams are falling down in the abyss

sitting at the edge of the darkness

where my own hands feel foreign to me.

–Megha

Photo by Dmytro Tolokonov on Unsplash