Kiran Kakade

Kiran Kakade Poems

The Best Poem Of Kiran Kakade

Shades Of Grey

Can I ask you something? Would you let me in…
In those dark rooms of your memories,
And would you let me look out those windows,
Where light streams in from your revelries.

—————

Can I roam through the pathways of your mind palace?
Maybe there I'll see the drawer where you keep pairs of mixed-matched socks,
Reminding you of your previous relationships.
There, the bathroom, with a tap perpetually leaking,
Gives a cue to your never ending curiosity to keep flowing,
No matter how much society tries to hold you tight and screw you up under its spell of conformity.

—————

The walls are covered with numerous photo frames, some yet empty,
Waiting to be filled in with associations waiting to be made,
Of people waiting to call you ‘home',
Of places waiting for you to call them ‘home'.

—————

Behind the frames, the wall is blue,
It reminds you of your connection with the sea,
It nudges you to be calm in the face of adversity,
It reminds you that still waters run deep,
It reminds you of your depth when you're being lured by superficiality.

—————

The bed is unmade still,
You do not want to let go of those memories…
Those passionate nights are brought to life again,
When you glance at those two pillows and one crumpled bedsheet.

—————

The ongoing flame from the stove in the kitchen blends in with the colours of its walls—Red,
Isn't that your cue for passion?
You loved her with that fire within you,
You love still,
But now that fire burns not for her but only for the fire that is your perseverance.

—————

There is a safety vault behind the door, strategically placed,
So that people ringing the bell may not see it.
It is only after you let them in your home will they even be able to lay their eyes on it,
It is only after there is a certain level of trust that you even let that vault be looked at.
Opening it?
That's got a completely different route—
Streams of overflowing lava, waiting to spew up and scald your flesh,
That only sitting in a boat of trust can one travel across.

—————

There is a room filled with torn woollen dolls, dried leaves and stick figure drawings,
All of it, periodically drowned by the floods of your tears every time you peek in.
Childhood.
You don't identify with the meaning of that word.
They say adults are broken children in grown up bodies,
Well, you were a broken adult in a child's body.

—————

But no matter what, you don't want to let go,
No matter how painful, no matter how devastating the preceding storm was,
That what you've built in the aftermath is something you can call yours,
Unlike that childhood…
That never was.

—————

The plant that grows on the centerpiece of the living room,
The soil in its pot has been gradually eroding.
There are days when it is a blushing leafy-green and then there are days when looking at it even death would shiver.
Throught it's ebbs and flows, the constant is that it never gives up.
It does not die, it does not perish.
In that plant lies your willpower, in that plant lies your powerstation.

—————

You hold my hand and pull me towards the balcony,
As we stand under the open sky, I observe,
That there is a cleft—on our left the sky is a stormy-grey,
On our right, its crystal clear.
Competing with each other to rule the kingdom, the grey had never before seemed so powerful.
The question you face is which will win,
The question you face is what will you make of it?

—————

There is a promise I must make, no matter which side overpowers,
I will stand by you.
If need be, the thunderstorms will fit in my idea of paradise,
If need be, clear skies will become our new grey,
Cause you have let me into the shades of grey that colour your soul,
And I will be your black when you are white,
And I will be your white when you are black,
Let us blend together…
What new shade of grey will we be?
Maybe we'll just be us.

(This is the transcript of my first attempt at spoken word poetry)

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