Headscarves

The sun rises when she lifts up her chin
and sets when she breaks free the scarf 

full of misery and pain that she holds in her head. 

Headscarves of the woman bear more than the colours that you see. 

Source: HEADSCARVES

~Hemu 

Broken

We are all but broken women 

pieced together by the joyful memories 

lining every heartbreak,

every belied relationship 

and all of the hidden sorrows

behind fallacious, colourful smiles. 

We are but broken girls 

sprouting out of our own wombs,

further broken with every push;

standing out of monotony 

as a lovely mosaic of our own mess. 

We are broken.

But oh, the shards are just too beautiful 

to comprehend,

to surpass 

or to be neglected. 

Just remember to piece yourself together.

You'll be spectacular. 

Original Artwork by Hemalatha Venkatman | Copyrighted  | Do not reproduce without permission 

|In connection with my art blog Hemu's Art Blog's ongoing Inktober Challenge and the Facebook page of this blog where I have been putting up a poem a day. | 

~Penned and sketched by Hemu 

The Girl Who Catches Stars in Her Hair

I know a girl whose hands are always full
with misery and poetry, love in vain and abyss infinite.
Yet, she settles down to catch the evading stars every night
and because her hands are full,
the stars perch themselves on her hair
so that she may smile.

Original Artwork by Hemalatha Venkatraman | Copyrighted | Do not use without permission 

| I have been going about with pet projects on my art and writing blogs where I put up one inked sketch as a part of the Inktober Challenge throughout October. On this blog's Facebook page, (Street of Smiles) I've putting up one poem a day for as long as I can. I collaborated both the projects for the day, combining my art and poetry. Please do let know what you think of it. :) My art blog can be found at Hemu's Art Blog! ) Thanks and cheers! |


Penned and sketched by
Hemu 

Unclog

Source- Google images. This picture is not mine. 

There is just so much to say
that thinking of them all makes me tired.
It never rests though, the constant sound of feet pacing about;
sometimes running and at times heavy and weary,
tapping along the edges of my thoughts
and wiping away the colours of my dreams on a doormat
in-between certain transitions.
Maybe,
if I just said it all, there would be nothing
to worry about.
No colours to end up on dirty ends
but in the sky or my love's eyes.

~Hemu

Love, they said.

How long does he think I'll wait?
How do I know how long this feeling will hold on straight?
I was told by many I never knew, born ages back who just passed on words,
that love is a joy, love is a state of mind,
where two souls in their individualistic being should connect,
to blend into one happiness and a couch.
They also told me, it'll hit me across my face sometimes,
knock me down and rip my heart..
but I should stay calm. I must stay strong.
For destiny and endurance of rough winds
shall sweep me through to the sight I wish to dwell in.
They told me my love will come true;
that I need to hold on, He is just round the corner and
will see me standing here, waiting for him.
And, they also said, sometimes I'll just have to let it fly
before I could even clasp the colours in my hands.
My hands just seem stained and not coloured.
They said if I let it fly and if it belonged to me,
it'll reach back to the hands and heart that freed the aura-
to paint me with all the emblazon of its minuscule visibility.
Oh they told me too many things and now
I don't know what to do.
I don't  know what to say and what is due.
So,
as the oriflamme hues of the sky set to hide behind the veil of the unknown,
I slip into the covers of my insecurities, overflowing passion
and indescribable feelings for Him,
longing to see the next day reveal my heart without my consent
to His eyes so blind.