The Bengali Chic

I wonder where the Peace went. I wonder where I lost my comfort. Searching in strangers souls, Hoping to reunite my surrenders, When happiness was a constant feeling, When anxiousness was mere a word in the dictionary, Perhaps the love was the loathsome truth, The truth I had right in front of me. I wonder when the love got lost, In between those “I can’t live without you”, I found the truth of "I think I’ve never loved you enough", If I did you’d feel more content and yet, I stand on the edge of this hill,  Looking at the mesmerising sunset, And you one text away, But I feel uncomfortably sick. Sick that past all these years you were the medicine to my panic attacks, And now you’re just someone I’ve known yet I know nothing about. Pritha Krishna

Where should I begin the unhinged tangled story, Should I be the protagonist or the villain. Or should I narrate the story of Hawk and Tim, How they were in love & I was just a short chapter in their epic story, How I lived through Hawks colluding sexual identity, Or How I supported Tim’s journey out the closet.  Should I begin with the lies I learned,  Or Should I share how the love lost again? Perhaps, I should begin with apologies, For I walked by Tim until Hawk caught a glimpse of me I was loyal to our friendship until Hawk made eyes at me, We were young, dump and rather tortured by our stagnant endearings. Lost in our mind and hung up on realities. Tim was always in love with hawk, only to be caught in his fear of identity,  I walked in when winter came by, closer then ever they stood in false reality, I was just a passerby, an insignificant letter to their unrequited tales of love.  Until the sand castle came down with waves, Desires, F...

I see wonder in your eyes, As they shine bright, When you look into my eyes. I see wonder in your smile, When the ends of your lips curve high, When you eat your pie. I feel love in your lips, When it collides with mine, As we shut our eyes. I feel warmth in your hug, As you embrace me in your grip And my face gently touches your skin. I sense currents up my skin, Whenever your hand touches mine. And as the stars descend from the sky, I see a pink skyline  And you by my side. Pritha Krishna

I was in love. The kind where you surrender your insecurity at the mercy of the other, hoping they would hide it with their affections. The kind where you could tell from their sigh what exactly they were feeling. I was in love,  the kind where you can tell how their day went by the tilt of their head, the kind where you could predict their moods for the ice cream flavour they craved. I was in love, the kind where I could feel his night mares in my dreams, the kind, where you get vulnerable to an extent where the scars are merely transparent glasses which show the heart, the kind where you feel no power yet fulfilled when they exists in your sphere.  I was in love, the kind where I could read his eyes and tell what his mind was thinking, the kind where I could predict his words and yet stay silenced only to hear it in his voice. I was in love with someone, who only existed in my dreams. for that kind of love only exists in books, which are written by mad men like me.  ...

Eccentric as it could get, the yearning of warmth from a body, to rekindle the joyous euphony of desires only to be lost in the symphony of your heart beat. I rise as the Phoenix from the ashes of your studded lustrous eyes, calling my name after 9pm at night. I fear not walk the halls to your office, which harbours your wife’s picture, I see no photo frame, since I ravaged on that table. Is it the chemistry of the endearing youthfulness, do you long to be taken by my younger vixens. I rather not look you in the eye as I walk past you in the hallway, the students you talking to might notice you longing for my essence.  It was not love, as you called it affection.  “Affection”, you say, what looked to me like an obvious rekindle. You crave the euphoria, eight years of marriage and yet you feel the fear, fear to explore your long wasted youth on your mediocre midwife, who I laid in my bed while you dreamed about our frugal encounter. I know you explored through my inches as you ...

I like a slow life.  A life which feels like floating in the lake on a summer noon. A life which drifts like a stream through the rough terrain. I like a calm life. Calm like the sea before a storm, Calm like the lilac sky on a spring evening. I fancy a mellow life. Mellow like the sound of rain on a midsummer night. Soothing like the sound of wind brushing though the leaves of tree in the park, while I lay on the grass reading my book.  I live a mellifluous life. A smooth gently swaying kind. A life which stops to admire the crowd. A life that sips tea sitting in the most beautiful cafe. A life which feels about enough on the most tiring days, Yet too fulfilling on the good days. A life curated by me.  Pritha Krishna

Hither goes my mind in full disparity of the reality, I assume it's not my thoughts of humanity, which keeps me distracted of this being. Hither goes my mind of the thought of life,  how frail does it look from my eyes with a crowd surrounding me? I feel no pleasure of this moment, I feel no pain of this misery, All I feel is nothingness of my presence in this universe, where you & I coexist. Must I bear with me this heavy weight of being nothing, Must I endure the void of my absolute uselessness, Till the meaning finds its way to me. Pritha Krishna