Bring in all the yellows and pinks | Teen Ink

Bring in all the yellows and pinks

December 7, 2014
By SnehaChatterjee PLATINUM, Kolkata, West Bengal, India, Other
SnehaChatterjee PLATINUM, Kolkata, West Bengal, India, Other
45 articles 2 photos 62 comments

Favorite Quote:
Two roads diverged in the woods and I,
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference

Bring in all the yellows and pinks,
In a world where I freeze meanings to a series of lines.


Pity the way you so beautifully explain the journey of a book while a word I scribbled on page nine goes unnoticed.
And is capable of opening a window, perhaps  towards a dozen books and worlds.

Let me try to use all my ten hands, as I shake, to figure out how to tell you...
I...  I’m not even sure if I can really be honest, or continue to cast myself away into a fictionated diseased mind. Tired of doing that.
What if I poured my entire identity into a single word? Would you recognize me?
What if I suppress my love for expressing so much that I begin to dream write about it and fear it when awake...
What if my dots beneath the `I’ has more depth than ‘depth’?
Oh never mind, you won’t notice.
‘Cause you’re too busy looking for the same old colors that have entertained you.
The ones that I always ignore.


Funny how you ask me to explain the flowers
I drew at the top instead of a title.
Results of the battle suggest to ‘plain stupid’,
‘Nobody does that’
‘Still go for it’,
And yet you love tattoos.


Which one should I read?
The elaborately written essay in finest recipies.
Or the five words I wrote during a plague to remind me
Of a fine day I’d achieve my secret dream that I’m nourishing like a child
Completely Hidden from you.


You’ll always choose the former. Now I know that. Now I know.

Is that why I stopped? Is that why I was scared?
Was it for good?

Besides I bet you don’t understand anything I just said.


You won’t believe me now. If you haven’t cried while dreaming, obsessing about your dream, you haven’t dreamt enough. Because that would tax away your fine customs, grand traditions.


So give my book back.
I’ll just lock away the meaning, my treasure,
So you could crumble my poetry and throw it in the trash.
As I watch and (silently) smile.


Oh c’mon at least don’t nod your head to pretend you understand. Liars!
When that fine day arrives
And a coconut drops on your head
You’ll suddenly know what I meant...
Not learning, Never ever learning!
While you look for your next victim because this mission fails.

The author's comments:

It's strange how I composed this poem lying on my bed while dreaming at 3 AM. In a dream. An actual dream! Where, I’m standing in a podium reciting a fresh poem I have never heard of. I'm the only one understanding it while the others have no clue. The audience looks bored. I deeply mean every word I utter, with anger, tears and smiles. Having a movie like flashbacks of the most life changing incidents of my life.

I suddenly woke up to find myself crying.  Wrote the poem down immediately although I couldn't remember the entire poem. I have not edited it.

The poem is about me wanting to express the real meaning behind this poem but I stop myself from doing so because I'm surrounded by judgemental people who don't know the real me at all, also because their ways of thinking completely contradicts my way of thinking. I give subtle hints. As of now, the poem makes perfect sense to Mom, Dad and me alone. No one else.

Another strange thing about this poem is that it successfully parallels my life, my story, myself.
Hence this poem is extremely special to me.


But for anyone else who reads it, It's just a collection of random lines. It doesn't have any meaning to a reader unless he/she TRUSTS me. It's like a key to my soul. But to others it's just nothing, perhaps just a stupid made up story.

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