My arms have turned
Stiff and still
They stare at me
With eyes devoid of wetness
It has been long
Since I hugged you
I thought I was enough for me
I miss a bit of me
That is away from me
Hanging somewhere between the lines of a memoir
Why do I love to live this incomplete self of mine
Why did I gift a piece of my peace to you
Is love peace
Or unease
Is love a chain
Or freedom
What makes you gift
Gods kingdom of yours
To somebody else
Who never bothers
Earth is self-centric
Is that way
It is able to give away
The rays of sun
To every inch
Learning to be self centric
Is the key to be system centric
Life is not a memoir
It is the floor I stand on
The earth
The self centric earth

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About neetuwali

Hi! I am Neetu. Who am I? This question is very difficult to answer. Well! If you insist, let me reveal. I am a human and like every other human I eat, sleep, drink, dance, sing, laugh, smile, cry and so on. Hang on! There is a difference. Unlike most of the human beings, I breathe and when I breathe, I relax. When I am relaxed, I draw. I draw sketches of me in words. I have been orbiting around sun for forty years now. I started this journey on the Valentine day of 1974. I have seen people craving for heaven and I was born in the only heaven on earth (Kashmir). My Grandfather was a spiritual personality and a renowned poet of his time. Though he left me around 35 years ago, I couldn’t let him go. I carry him in my eyes and mind and will do that till the end of my life. I hate words, yet I am full of words. I know words cannot express, yet I express me through words, because they are the only medium I am familiar with. That is why I try to express me as much as possible with as minimum words as possible. When I did Masters in business administration, I never knew, writing will be the only business in my life. More than hobby writing is a necessity for me, because it helps me get the load of thoughts off my head. I don’t remember when it that I wrote my first poem was. But I surely know the time of my last poem. Surely,not before my last breath.

1 thought on “memoir

  1. Louis Kasatkin

    ” memoir ” is a very impactful poem that conveys a strong sense of ennui .

    My editorial curiosity was piqued by what struck me as the slightly askew opening lines:-
    ” My arms have turned stiff and still they stare at me…” Would that not read better if it were ” I stare at them ” ?
    I also feel that ” Hanging somewhere between the lines of a memoir
    Why do I love to live this incomplete self of mine ” would be improved by the omission of ” why do I love to live”


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