Reading Room

Posted in Posts

Welcome home!

Hello, people of the online world!

This is my first blog post. So please bear with me till the end.

I am a student, and a simple human being who loves to write, and to read everything that is readable. So I am here to share the poems and write-ups I write, and to read the posts you write as well. To write, to read, and to learn.

I have started this blog because writing has always helped me to cope with the worst and I would want to share that part of myself that I love so much.

This is a place you can call home. I will write about things that me and you can relate to.

Hope to see you soon. Thank you! 🙂

Posted in Poetry

To You Who Like To Collect Flowers

To you,
who like to collect flowers
from places nobody goes
Who dreams of flowers and rainbows
Let people call you
by the name of sunflowers
Let the sunshine remind them of your touch

Don’t tell them you have scars in places you’ve never been kissed before

For more poems check out apoetree on Instagram.

Posted in Poetry

Boys Don’t Cry – a Poem

When I was a little kid
When I scraped my knees and cried
My grandma used to take me
In her arms.
She used to say
“Boys don’t cry”
“You’re strong, aren’t you?” She told me
Stories of brave soldiers
Who died for their country
And stories from history
Of kings who loved war
She looked proud,
“See, that’s a real man.” The night she died,
I was afraid to cry
In a hall full of women
All teary-eyed, until
I saw grandpa quietly sobbing
Alone in his room
So that nobody would know
How miserable he felt
And nobody would know
That he was able to cry
To feel pain
But he was still strong to me
Stronger, even.
I saw him speak to the guests
Without a crack in his voice
Without the glint of a tear
Maybe if grandma told him
It’s okay to weep
It’s okay to be human
To let the pain out
That you keep in there
If grandma told him
Boys cry too
And being a man
Is to be a human first,
He’d have felt a little less sad
A little more strong
And as a whole, a human.

Follow @apoetree on instagram for more poetry and write-ups.

Posted in Poetry

What Does It Take? ~ A Poem

What does it take
For humans to grow a heart
In their humanoid shell?
For us to be kind,
Be more like a human being
With flesh and blood.
Every day in the newspapers,
So many articles go unnoticed
Of how someone’s son was burnt to death
For being born in a skin
That’s painted black.

What will it take
For us to see problems that are supposed to be seen
That often goes unnoticed.
Before you write about the man who’s killed for the colour of his skin
Take a moment to remember
All of your faults.
Before you write about the number of tears you dropped
Remind yourself of all the times
You have joked about that brown friend
The number of times you’ve said
“You know you can become invisible in the dark”
Not funny.
“You see my skin is so pale but yours is like permanent sunburn”
Not funny.

It’ll be too late tomorrow
So start thinking today
Of the man who died begging for air
For water, for his life
Under the knees of a white man
Killed for the colour of his skin.
Let the “I can’t breathe” echo in every corner of the world
Let it haunt us
Till we question ourselves
Is white really the colour of peace?

What does it take
For us to start caring for people?
A death.

Visit here for the poem!

Follow @apoetree on instagram for more!

Posted in Poetry

A Phoenix Like You

After swimming through oceans of tears
Gulping salt water that tastes like poison
You look around and see just waves around
You reach out a hand into the void

You stand on the edge of that terrace
What once used to be your hiding place
You look down at the empty roads
The wind around is cool on your skin

On the verge of destruction, like a dead phoenix lies
Rage still clear in her eyes
Wings still ready to fly

But you’re on your bed,
Dreaming about the end of your day
Lying on wet pillows
Face still moist with fresh tears
While you imagine yourself in all of these places
You’re still here, on the edge of a cliff
One step, and you’re free

So you open your hands like wings
Like the phoenix in you does
Ready to burn itself in the raging fire
Lying on the scattered pieces of a devastated place
That you once called home
One last smile
As cold as the breeze on your wet skin
As dead as the love of a disloyal lover
And one last whisper
“Ready? Jump!”

To read more of my poetry, you can go here or you can go to the poetry section of my page.

Posted in Posts

Tribute To The Women Whom The Society Fails To Recognise As A Mother

“I’ll soon be a mother”, she said, touching her baby bump gently with her fingers. She wondered what the baby would look like. Turned out, the baby couldn’t make it out alive.

“What makes one a mother?”, she wondered, while she was painting a lady with a child on her lap. She realised she can never bear a child. Little did she know, she is a mother too. A mother, a creator of art.

The woman who has been unlucky since birth, prays every morning, for a child to take care of. But she’s been stuck in a man’s body, a body that is unable to give birth. She adopted a child recently. The child calls her “mamma”.

The little boy who lost his mother after a year of his birth, visits her grave on every mother’s day to give her flowers. His father tells him stories of how they met, how she beautifully she used to sing, the words she used the most. Everytime the boy wants to see his mother, he looks at his father. The father wishes everyday his wife would be here. This mother’s day, the boy stared at his father’s eyes and wished “Happy mother’s day”.

The old lady sits by her balcony and recollects all the old memories. She thinks about the day when she got to know she’d be a mother. She had to leave her job for her daughter. Her daughter is now happily settled in a different city. She bought her a huge home where she, now, lives alone. Her daughter calls once a week. She counts her days until she’ll sleep peacefully.

Her family is so excited for welcoming a new family member. However, they abandoned her when she gave birth to a girl. Now she lives with her daughter alone in a tiny house full of love.

The new girl in the neighborhood lives alone. Whenever she introduces herself, she says she’s a proud mother. Her child is not a human being; he barks.

Happy mother’s day to everyone whom society fails to recognise as a mother (and to everyone else). You’re not angels. You are human beings. The world needs to understand that mothers bear pain too. That mothers do not possess special powers, and they need to be appreciated as a human being. More power to all the mothers!

Posted in Poetry

A Love Poem

You may wonder
Why I don’t write love poems
About how the flowers bloom
And how the sky looks during sunset
Because I don’t know yet
How to describe love
Red heart with golden glitters?
Or tears and heartbreak?
When I ask you to describe love
You just describe a face, a person
So I take a step back, afraid
For if you ask me how love looks like
I may just write about me
I may just write about letters and poetry.
If you don’t understand now,
Go back and read my poems
Combine them all and see
How they make a love poem

Posted in Poetry

Happy World Poetry Day

Here’s a poem dedicated to poetry and books. Happy World Poetry Day!

Like the spring finds its way after cold winter days
I find my way to you.
After nights of yelling at myself when my pillow covers are soaked in tears,
After days of gulping lies down the throat.
You keep staring at me with sympathetic eyes
But I don’t question why you’re here in this empty room where nobody comes.
You look familiar.

But you’re still a stranger, yet to be read
So I hold you close in my arms
You stare at me
You shower me with loving words
Tattoed beautifully on your pale skin
For the first time in a while, I feel like a human being
I never knew what love is
But you smell like home.

Like the sky is painted with bright blue hues after a violent storm, after the thunder clouds disappear,
You make me feel the same I can sense flowers blooming in my heart after the glaciers melt.
I look at you, you’re still looking at me
Like an open book, yet to be read.
You feel like home to me

Posted in Poetry

In Love With a Thundercloud

She was a storm-filled cloud
And me, a broken house
Isolated on an empty road
Where no one likes to visit
But she did

She did love someone else one day
And mistook me for him.
She wanted to rain on my wounds
But I am not a broken field
Rain can’t fix my damaged skin.

I am but a distorted house
With my broken pieces spread around
Like an avalanche

Yet one day, she rained on me
Unaware, I might break down
And I did.

She moved to another place
In search of someone else
To love
And this time, with a thunder of grief
In her cloud.

Posted in Posts

Don’t Celebrate Women’s Day

International Women’s Day is celebrated every year on the 8th of March. It mainly talks about women’s rights. It is a day of global celebration that calls for gender equality.

The idea behind this special day for women came to a lady named Clara Zetkin, in 1910 when she was at an International Conference of Working Women, in Copenhagen. However, this day was made official when the United Nations started to celebrate it in 1975.

Why is Women’s Day celebrated?

Women have always been at the receiving end of gender discrimination. They have been declined basic human rights and treated as the inferior gender. Women’s Day was started by a group of women garment makers who were paid much less than what they worked for. They were even deprived of their voting rights.

Therefore, to fight against this discrimination, in 1910, an international conference for women was held. It was decided that every year, a day will be kept for women to talk about their rights and to recognise the great achievements of women.

However, women can still relate to most of these issues even after a century of years after the formation of the International Women’s Day.

But don’t celebrate Women’s Day for the sake of it.

Don’t celebrate Women’s Day if:

  • You catcall every girl you see, and then blame it on their dress. “She wore this tiny skirt. What am I supposed to do?”. Buy a burkha. For yourself.
  • You circulate misogynistic jokes and laugh at those to feed your own male ego.
  • You believe women belong to the kitchen.
  • You blame a woman when she’s raped or harassed; and you blame it on them being out at night, on their clothes, hairstyle, personality, existence.
  • You judge a woman for the amount of makeup and the kind of dresses they wear.
  • You treat women as an object.
  • You make sexist remarks or do not speak up when others do.
  • You ask for proof when women (or men) are raped.
  • You tell a woman how she should walk, talk, laugh, sit.
  • You think menstruation is disgusting.
  • You believe women are to be judged based on their virginity.
  • You think women are child-bearing machines.
  • You slutshame your ex-girlfriend (or any woman).
  • You are an anti-feminist.
  • You worship women on a specific day and belittle them on the rest 364 days.

Celebrating Women’s Day does not mean you respect women. Infact, it means nothing.

Before you share women’s day quotes, remind yourself of all the violence done against women.

According to the World Population Review, South Africa has the highest rate of rape (of about 132.4 per 100,000 citizens). It is mentioned in a post by the same website and I quote, “The United States has a rape rate of 27.3. As in many other countries, rape is grossly underreported in the United States due to victim shaming, fear of reprisal, fear of family knowing, cases not being taken seriously by law enforcement, and possible lack of prosecution for the perpetrator. Only 9% of rapists in the US get prosecuted and only 3% of rapists will spend a day in prison. 97% of rapists in the United States will walk free.”

We still need more years, or even decades, to see women empowerment and gender equality come into existence. One day a year is not enough for people to change. It won’t happen overnight, and to help people broaden up their minds, they need to be educated and made aware of the danger of gender discrimination.

So, before you type “Happy Women’s Day”, ask the women if they are happy today.

Posted in Poetry

All The Demons Are Humans

My mother used to tell me stories
When I didn’t want to sleep
Or eat, or do my homework
Of how there lives a demon
In the tree, a few steps away
I believed her
Because why would my mother lie?
And when I used to cry,
She told me stories
About princess and palaces
Of rainbow and phoenix and unicorns.
She bought me chocolates
To see me smile.
But now, that I’m under a foreign sky
Watching stars
That don’t feel the same
They have changed colours, maybe.
I don’t fear invisible demons anymore
But the real ones
With whom I live
Who, every night and day,
Pin me to the bed
And make me taste death.
I fear the demon that comes back home
To see me cry.
And if I smile, he tells me stories
Of his life,
How I am the villain in his books.
I forgot the taste of chocolates now
For they resemble joy.
The unicorns and rainbows have faded away
Under the cuts and bruises in my skin
But the phoenix, I still can see it
Rising from its own ashes.
“Someday”, I whisper to myself.
Everything my mother said was a lie
Except for the demons,
That live in people’s mind.