Writer : Pallavi Tripathi(Durg)

Poetry of the unseen self – whispered between survival and silence.

Summary :
This reflective poetry collection delves into the silent struggles of identity, love, routine, and creative yearning. The poems explore the better half of self, midnight loneliness, and the eternal battle for significance. Rooted in themes like existentialism, inner turmoil, modern love, and literary nostalgia, these verses resonate with the rhythm of today’s emotionally aware yet spiritually scattered generation.

Come and read where everyday struggles breathe in poems, and emotions flow in words –

Better half of self

In search of bread and butter

The better half of self gets

Neglected, the part that wants

To dance in front of mirror

Like a diva, with all the vogue

As if nobody’s watching

That part hides itself from the

Parent who’s telling you to complete 

Your everyday task or the sibling

You’re competing with.

That part comes out when your

Sibling is about to make a lifetime 

Decision of bonding with a kind soul

In whom he has found pieces of himself

That weren’t even missing.

In that short nostalgia

The better half of self

Completes itself like a jigsaw puzzle.

______________

Sound of Silence

Whenever we write

We are in constant

Conversation with

Poets of past. Be it

Hilda, Dickinson

Moore, Whitman, Pound

Keats, Blake, Wordsworth

Shelley, Bishop, Eliot to name

A few or the beat gen

Poets who talked about

Giving up consciousness

And let the trance guide

Your poems. The question

Really is are these conversation

Worth having? Or should

We like the space occupy

Silence! What was there

Before the big bang!?

Too much noise or

Pin drop silence!?

______________

Postponing Oblivion

I’m just postponing

My oblivion with

Words that’s hard

To find in the times

Of inner and outer

Turmoil, the shaking

The cracking voice

That sometimes dies

Before it comes out

And sometimes it

Comes out so loud

It shakes the entire body

An ache to touch lives

At least a few with my

Own life, my voice

A quest to be significant

To stay relevant

Despite shortcomings

As human being

Is a never ending battle

______________

Midnight Musings

As I lay dying

On my bed

Trying to mimic

Kafka’s hunger artist

A wannabe artist I

Observe that even

Though inside of me

Multitudes has changed

Outside is still the same

I can’t find anything worth

Eating, people go on delving

Deep into their appetites

As if there’s no tomorrow

I pray to god let there be no

Tomorrow for me

Only to realise life is

Worth living, eat even when

You can’t find worth

Nothing worth liking

Because there’ll be moments

You cherish if you just breath

Like Sylvia I may have a call

But I’ll receive it only

Air isn’t free.

______________

There will be time

And the poet said

There will be time

For murder and create

There will be there will

Be time. Yet the numbness

I felt on my fingers doesn’t

Seem to heal or the promises

We made of forevers

Have gotten us busy paying emis

There doesn’t seem to be time

Enough. Even though women

Still come and go

Speaking of Michelangelo

The passion with which I kissed

You the first and you reciprocated

Has turned into frustration cleaning

Your laundry and the dishes

It is romantic still, I want you

Drench me with a pipe

Doing laundry than skinny

Dipping on swimming pool

But what I want the most

Is you reading my poems

Someday and put Rose

Or touch-me-nots in your

Favourite lines.