My Own Monster

Do you remember?

When we were kids,

We had such ideas in our head,

That in the night there used to be,

Monsters in our closet,

While evil lurked under our bed.

And we would cry,

And scream,

And shiver,

Scared half to death,

Till our parents ran in,

To switch on the lights,

And lo, there was nothing there.

For even as kids, we could see,

That there are no monsters in the light.

But we grew up,

And had to keep up,

A myriad appearances.

Our fears became a thing of the past,

As we got caught up in pretences.

We learnt to shove aside all doubt,

And let no one see past out cover.

No matter how afraid we were,

We’d never indulge in a cower.

But I say,

Fear, my dear,

And be afraid.

Remind yourself of what it was like,

To feel a child-like fear,

And when you feel the time is ripe,

Do not hesitate,

To switch on the light,

And in the brightness that ensues,

Take a breath with your head held high,

And ready yourself for every fight,

‘Cause even children know, my dear,

There are no monsters in the light.

Happiness can be found, in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. – Albus Dumbledore

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#FlashbackFriday Edition #3

Hello, and welcome to today’s edition of Flashback Friday. This is where I showcase a poem, every week, that should never get lost in the sands of time. They’re hand picked, especially curated pieces by some very illustrious poets. (Regular readers – see, I’m keeping up my promise of finally posting one a week. yay, me! Aren’t you proud? *wink wink*) To read previous poem posted in this edition, please click here.

Today’s poem is one that was introduced to me by my father when I was a kid. It is poignant and profound. It can very well be made a motto to live life by. I know I try my best to emulate it. I even wrote it down and pinned it above my bed for daily inspiration. So, for you today, here’s Rudyard Kipling’s If – 

If

– Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

I hope you enjoyed today’s pick as much as I have over the years. I would love to hear your views on it in the comments section down below. You know I’m always open to healthy discussion, so don’t be shy.

Thank you for reading.
Love,
Varnika.

The Journey

I followed my heart once,

and it broke me.

I followed my mind next,

and it woke me.

Now I sit,

Caught in the middle,

Contemplating my steps ahead.

And on either end, with arms bare,

Stands waiting for me, the mighty despair.

Would someone, please, be so kind? Continue reading “The Journey”

A Portrait in Contrasts

Imagine a blood red sky,

Adorned with the golden specks of a setting sun’s ray.

Imagine clumps of wet sand

Dripping the blackest of inks.

An overripe peach,

Dipped in a faded, white cream.

An expanse of deep blue waters,

Overshadowed by rusty, clay cliffs.

The earthy, green tones of old, rotting woods,

Continue reading “A Portrait in Contrasts”

Poem Featured on Blood Into Ink: Why a Poet- Varnika Jain

Okay, okay, I know I’m spamming but I’m beyond excited! Here’s another poem that got featured! Blood into Ink is a very special literary collective that holds a place close to my heart. It undertakes the challenging and inspiring job of presenting voices of survivors. Not victims, but warriors who’ve survived trauma, abuse, all kinds of violence and acts unspeakable. Everytime I visit this platform and read a poem, I grow as a person. My mind evolves. My heart, however, softens and learns more empathy. I am sure you won’t be able to escape it’s transforming effects either. But I’m equally sure you wouldn’t be complaining. So go and visit Blood Into Ink and see the world differently, in a truer manner and, maybe, vow to change it in your own way. Thank you!

Blood Into Ink

Poet in me yet

There is hurt

In measures I’m yet to fathom.

There are pieces,

Broken,

Which I haven’t yet begun to gather.

There are tears,

Gaping,

Waiting to be stitched and mended.

There are wounds,

Oozing,

Bloodying numerous gauzes.

Despair, you say?

Run and hide?

I’m broken, you say?

What’s there to survive?

But, wait,

I think,

There’s a poet in me yet.


Varnika Jain is prone to having verbal epiphanies in the midst of all the cacophony surrounding her life.  She is a voracious reader, vociferous eater and a vehemently passionate writer. You can read more of her writing at Moonlighting Scrivener where you can find her changing the world, one word at a time.

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Poem Featured on Go Dog Go Cafe : Guest Barista Varnika Jain/Reminiscence

Hello, my lovelies! It gives me great pleasure to inform you that another one of my poems got featured. The platform, which bestowed this honour on me today, is called Go Dog Go Cafe. It’s a place where writers gather without boundaries and I was yesterday’s Guest Barista. It’s a perfect mix of funny, quirky, thoughtful, poetry beans, roasted and blended and topped with a healthy dollop of the cream of literature. A lot of you must have already read the featured poem earlier on my blog but it would mean the world to me if you could please take out some time to visit the collective by reading on below and clicking on the link. You will surely end up finding poets with a wavelength matching yours or poems that open up new avenues in your mind. Go visit for a coffee date with words and writers!
Thank you.

Go Dog Go Café

It’s a distant memory,

That comes and goes.

Never lingering long enough,

For me to remember it in full.

It’s a kaleidoscopic reel

Of vibrant images,

Flashing in and out,

Changing in split seconds.

It brings with it

A vivid feeling

Of happiness and well-being.

Leaving me oft

With a smiling face

And a definite spring in steps.

I may never be able

To piece together

It’s different forms and hues,

But I can always rely

On its happy tenor

To be a harbinger of good news.


Varnika Jain is prone to having verbal epiphanies in the midst of all the cacophony surrounding her life.  She is a voracious reader, vociferous eater and a vehemently passionate writer. You can read more of her writing at Moonlighting Scrivener where you can find her changing the world, one word at a time.

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The Face of a Woman

But what will you do, my dear,

When the day of reckoning is here?

For in this world, on lies and deceit you’ve thrived,

And let truth venture nowhere near.

Will you sweet-talk your way

Out of eternal damnation?

Or will you submit yourself to be judged

Through a chaffing trial by fire?

Or will you kneel, accepting defeat

Because of your innumerable wrongdoings?

Continue reading “The Face of a Woman”

Death Comes as the End

Blank walls

And blank pages.

Nothing to account for

A life that was lived.

The still warm body

Looked peacefully at rest

Endowed with an eternal sleep.

Yet, still floating behind those closed eyes,

Lingering as if to prolong their goodbyes,

Were a myriad fluttering dreams.

Continue reading “Death Comes as the End”

Miss Misery

Misery.

Now that’s a feeling altogether too familiar.

An intermittent visitor, almost familial.

But that’s the thing about bad feelings.

They trouble you only when experienced meagerly.

An overdose confers you with immunity.

In my case,

I’ve come to accept it,

Welcome it,

And even

Conquer it.

Continue reading “Miss Misery”