Lemonade and 3 Other Poems

by Lipi Sachdev
(Lucknow, India)

Lemonade
By Lipi Sachdev

romanticise, paralyse, decorate me with pretty words,
inside there are worms, my veins are the temple of rust
stay away, she stinks, her peculiar gestures, they say one can't even think
to be friends with such a mess
mess looks pretty only in art on a wall in a street
she doesn't belong inside some home
only good enough to be admired from a distance,
proclaimed as vandalization by some jerks
scratched off, face painted white
good as new, ha, you wish i'd cry,
thanks for giving me the opportunity to create again
i'll write my vows and sell them like lemonade.



Snake's Fang
By Lipi Sachdev

a sad eerie touch to the air,
the clock strikes good night
yet i'm wide awake
a soundtrack choking words that don't exist,
invisible like the breath i'm holding
deep down to my chest
confessions so guilty
a recurring nostalgia,
i might not be able to let go
for i'm unaware how this strange, strange world works
i miss something that isn't there
made up by my pretty imagination
but i soon enough lost the power
because it felt like deception
from me to myself
sorry is a word too small or maybe, too big
everything that surrounds this feeling is uncertain
expressing its poison but
i guess, i'm a snake's fang
and therefore, i haven't been killed.


Vanity
By Lipi Sachdev

a dark corridor-
leading up to a door,
behind which is enclosed a secret that people from generations ago knew.
long forgotten the greatness of the thing,
it is said
it saved many a great lives,
cured the deadliest of diseases,
blessed the poorest of men,
birthed the philosophers of yesterday,
saved the destiny of mighty kingdoms,
you want to know what such a great thing was
so you opened the door.
there was nothing
because
the lives saved later died on a shipwreck,
people saved from disease died of abandonment,
the blessed poor men became mean capitalists,
the philosophers of yesterday are now forgotten,
the kingdom once saved now lay in ruins.


Enigma
By Lipi Sachdev

nods on the nine a.m. train,
red paint on a pleasant smile,
a lazy gaze looking out the window,
while fixed on you were eyes of mine.
the only knowledge of your existence
was your concrete presence
and your kindness
and qualities
i made up about who you were in my mind,
were you a fan of classics just the way i wondered you were?
had you memorized all the poems by Poe?
did your lover bring you dahlia's instead of how many bring a rose,
always with a note expressing how you lit up his life?
distracted by my thoughts,
i did not know just when
the train stopped,
and in front of me was an empty seat's sight.

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Portraits in Dignity
by Eva Bell

TripAdvisor International

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