KINGDOM OF LIES

My entire childhood

Was a lie.

I grew up in a maze of lies;

In a thick cloud of untrue

Realities, of possibilities

Which were impossible

In their own way, of false

Assurances that veiled

The harsh truths of life.

 

At four, when the nurse said,

‘It won’t hurt’,

And punched that big needle

Into my arm,

It was a lie.

It did hurt.

 

At six, when mother convinced me

That the tooth fairy would replace

Those fallen pearls with rewards,

It was a lie.

My father did.

 

At nine, when father assured

That I won’t fall,

And let go of that bicycle,

It was a lie.

I did fall.

 

At sixteen, when elder sister

Retorted,

‘You won’t understand a thing’,

And slammed

The bedroom door, with

Tears in her eyes,

It was a lie.

I knew everything.

 

At sixteen, when the lover

Held my hand,

And promised a ‘forever’

With a peck on the lips,

It was a lie.

It wasn’t meant to be, ever.

 

At twenty, when my brain

Tells me I have grown up,

My heart counters,

‘It is a lie,

You have yet to see the world!’

 

My entire existence

Has been a lie.

It was a lie,

Is a lie,

And will be a lie eternally;

Even when I cease to be.

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet

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WHO AM I?

Who am I?

Am I the heartbroken dame standing by the window

Trying to catch a final glimpse of her lover before

He goes out to the war? Or the rebel lady

In denims and boots, puffing away the cares of

The world, wearing a mask of nonchalance,

Concealing the hurt of her heart?

Perhaps I am the little child playing at the curb,

Oblivious of the sin of Adam, whose burden his kind

Still bears. Surely, I am not the reflection I see

In the mirror. The reflection is tainted. I deny it.

 

I think I know who I am.

Weaver of words, creating beautiful patterns on paper,

Using the pen as my agent, celebrating the tales

Of life.

 

Did you like my tapestry?

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet

The Choked Friendship

 

I remember my school days.

Me and my best friend.

Best friend of six years.

We would talk on the phone, in the bus, in class, during breaks,

In extra classes, on the streets, at each other’s place,

Over text messages,

And yet we couldn’t put an end to our conversations –

Chattering, bickering,

Lamentations and regrets.

 

Now three years have passed.

Everything seems to have come to a standstill.

After the initial exchange of pleasantries,

We do not have much to talk about.

We think and think and think

And brainstorm over things that might click,

But nothing comes up.

All empty.

 

Isn’t it funny though?

We have so much going on in our lives,

So much more than what was, three years ago;

And still we have nothing to say.

Empty.

All empty.

 

We have lost the ‘connect’.

We have lost the reason to connect.

We are selfish beings.

We have no use for each other.

Indifference.

Everywhere.

Where is the friendship?

Hiding behind the facade?

Behind the “busyness” of life?

Or has it collapsed?

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet