Surrender. Yield.
You were someone here.
But now you're going somewhere else. Not here.
There's a whole new rule-book there.
Unlearn.
You need to submit, before you can learn.
Nobody knows who you are. Nobody cares.
Especially if you're a bespectacled brown-skinned girl,
With a strange accent, or rather,
A lack thereof.
Okay so here's what you do:
First, pick an accent.
Posh Brit? Texas? Gaelic? Kiwi?
No? Stick with your lousy accent then.
I've-moved-everywhere-but-decided-not-to-stick-with-one type of accent.
Then, choose a docile personality to stick with.
Because we both know, ambivalence is repulsive.
Especially if both sides of the spectrum are feisty.
Forget about this city. The hollow sinews of ancestry.
Make the old you die, in a nutshell.
Embrace a new identity.
So many precautions because remember, death, moreover murder, is thorough.
You need to have a cautious, myopic eye for the details
Because otherwise, the old you might just slip out,
And you'll be caught,
And you'll never make it in this new place.
You're a poet, right?
Writer, poet, they're all the same, you get my point.
For your first few poems or whatever,
Make sure to play the violin.
Everyone loves a good sob story.
Cliche, but that's the only hope of you making it.
At least, for the first few books.
Don't write about good things.
Write about despair, sorrow, weakness, darkness, longing.
Don't write about hope; write about sadness and despair.
No! No finding hope through sadness,
Light through dark,
Strength through weakness, okay?
I understand they go hand in hand, but just winnow the grain from the chaff, eh?
You're a writer. I'm sure you'll find a way about it.
Talk about bruises, wars, cuts and bleeds,
But not how they healed or how the wars ended.
Don't talk about the light at the end of the tunnel;
Talk about the tunnel instead.
Nobody expects hope anymore.
No matter what you think, hope's gone.
It's outdated. Done to death.
Not trendy anymore.
A bit thick in the head, aren't you?
Everyone wants a happy ending. And they get it.
You won't give them a happy ending.
That'll be a new thing, and new is good.
A long-awaited fresh voice in poetry, New York Times bestseller - how's that sound?
Well, till it's out of vogue, but that's a conversation for later.
That's how you'll lay the foundation for your career.
After you're established, you can write about whatever you want to,
And nobody'll object. I'll be out of your hair.
They'll pay attention to you.
Say your mum comes to visit a couple years later.
Tells you everyone's much more proper here, It's all so different, how do you adapt?
A sporting smile, take her to your favourite restaurant.
The TV's playing. News Channel is turned on.
They're releasing a journalist they arrested three years back.
Two countries are at war, another's being bombed.
(Yes, could you make that a full, please?
A little extra soy sauce? Thank you!)
In the evening, both of you stay in and order takeout.
Binge-watch something on Netflix,
Because the telly's basically playing a repeat of what you saw yesterday.
You refill your cup with tea and serve the rice.
Wonderful, steamed, almost-perfect rice.
Just that smell of your city missing.
Brings back memories of home.
But you never had a home before this.
Snap back to reality,
Land on Earth.
Because this is your home now.
This is who you are.
Understood?
YOU ARE READING
rainbows can be grey too
PoetryThis is an anthology of poems and essays I wrote during my low moods and the worst phase of my life emotionally, till date. It's basically my way of self-therapy, and letting out all those repressed feelings and thoughts I've never been able to expr...
