Someday I'll write about how I lost it, lost

my chance

with that guy in class,

the same moment

I lost

my grandmother,

how I found myself

at a loss

for

words.

Someday, I'll write about how I lost someone

who could have been

the love of my life, lost him

before he was even mine, lost him

because I could never

lose myself

in a kiss the way i

lose myself

in art, so I

lost myself

in fantasies, instead —

there, not one kiss

would be

lost

on

me.

(Oh, how I felt the loss of his voice on the other end.)

ii. confront your losses. was originally published in the Cafe on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

ARE YOU COUNTING YOUR DAYS?,

a flyer at the 169th station asks.

you are trying not to count

your days —

but you do it anyway.

you count

the

days

seconds

minutes

hours

between, the

weeks

months

& y e a r s,

the number of times

you got out of bed past noon on a wednesday,

the number of times

you lost.

you wonder if

counting them

even counts

at all,

You keep count,

and then wonder

If it is anything

worth

counting

on.

you are trying not to dread the future,

you are trying not to dread

not knowing

the days

to come.

you try

not

to count

the days/you cross

them off,

count them out:

count. yourself. out.

i. count your losses. was originally published in the Cafe on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

When I look into her eyes,

I see a serene sea of emotions

When I am listening to her voice

I hear the sound of a whimpering soul

When I am with her

I feel a storm brewing from within

I wish, I could calm her to solace

Alas, I couldn’t or I don’t want to

Her Soul was originally published in the Cafe on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A Haiku Poem

When soft breath whispers
or forceful gale blows, I brace
strengthening my roots

With time I evolve,
lush lithe soul to firm bedrock,
I stand grounded, sage

Soothing tender kiss
to monstrous wave, I ripple
Underrate me not

I, cogent, rise up
Soul ignited, blazing bright
I incinerate

Soul Elements was originally published in the Cafe on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I find you still blue
enveloped in her bathrobe
Months after she left.

Blue Bathrobe was originally published in the Cafe on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Around this world, people

always swinging and swirling

among perpetual landscapes of beauty, terror,

pain, suffering, love, and courage

Musicians find rhythm and chord

which strikes and twitches their

spine and heart after experimenting

for endless days,

Poets carving and chiseling their

poems again and again,

Writers spilling out their enormous melting

emotions and empathy, and weaving out stories,

Painters bewildering by the final touch and

colour for their piece of art,

Photographers waiting timelessly for their best capture,

and I, here, like one of these lives, making pieces

and scrapes of poems, long poems, and letters for you with utter tenderness and passion

to reach and know you closely and wanted to be

reaching you

bit by bit disorderly, Irregularly with enormous feelings

like I reach for truth, beauty, and poetry

for who you are, as you are, not mistaking for someone else or idealized ones.

As Whitman wrote in my favourite poem as

“For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you”

every atom in me which seeks love and beauty

as much as it seeks you,

for living more poetically, and making worlds for me

and you.

Lives, Art, I and You was originally published in the Cafe on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Vaani is asleep,
She is in her world,
And I must not make noise,
I should draw her in soft tones,
for even a noisy emotion is a noise,
when a bud is asleep…

Sunlight kisses her cheek in silence,
A gift she is to all nature,
Sometimes a sparrow peeks into her room to have a look at her soft, round face,
Leaves are teasing the sunlight by coming in way between it and her face, for friends often celebrate each others' good fortune…

When I look at her face, her inner world in which she is lost, asks me to return to it,
and a sweet mystery which is familiar and intimate, at once near and distant, envelopes me…

© Manan sheel

Vaani - In her world was originally published in the Cafe on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A Poem

While driving thru a neighborhood last night
I felt the first real glimmer of Holiday cheer this Season
and it lit up the darkness around me
in more ways than one

Houses illuminated bright with festive colors
occasionally displaying hints of young children
having helped hang sparkling strands with
beaming smiles of pride;
No recognition or shame for the crooked lines
and mis-matched sized loops,
simply brimming full of joy at the Advent beginning

And I smiled

And for one small moment,
I looked forward to the Season:
To shopping and wrapping
presents and bows,
To prepping and baking
plates of cookies and fudge,
Dancing and singing along
to our favorite holiday songs
while trimming the tree with
fond memories as the twinkling lights glow,
Late night fireside reminiscing
nursing hot cocoa (with marshmallows!)
toasting warm our fingers and toes,
Chaotic family gatherings
echoing laughter and love

And I thought of you — the paramount in Christmas Spirit
and I could see you, wearing those big sparkling earrings
of snowmen or colorful Christmas trees
under a headband of glittery bows and bouncy blonde curls,
I could hear that squeal of joy
you so often emitted upon our reunion
that I always teased only dogs could hear,
I could feel the warmth of your tight embrace
and smell the notes of your sweet perfume,
I could feel your plush fuzzy scarf
and the crisp night air upon your chilled rosy cheek
as you pressed yours to mine,
Eyes and smile bright and gleaming,
your energetic soul always filled the room
in a way no one else could accomplish

And I realized with my growing smile
that your endlessly benevolent heart
is why in you I always felt Christmas come alive
and with you I always felt at home

But the moment passed quickly
and my smile turned to tears;
My first Christmas Home in so many years
could not really be Christmas at all
because you’re no longer here

Those happy days are gone now
and I mourn that they cannot be again
Though we may try our hardest,
“Happiness” has a new definition
we are still trying to define
One thing I know for sure,
I can add in the following line:

“Happiness is my sister, Amy;
see also ‘Love’,
‘Laughter’,
‘Christmas’, and
‘Home’.”

Christmas Lights was originally published in the Cafe on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.