DeadPoet’sPodcast

Season 3 of Varinka Poetry is here! Get ready for an unusual blend of prose snippets and storytelling, a departure from Varinka's usual poetry. Love, V.

Maybe I told you I love you by leaving the notebook by your office space And maybe you told me that you love me by whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Maybe, I told you I love you in the silence we both have created And maybe you told me that you love me by making calls and speaking endlessly. Maybe I told you I love you with tears when you were departing to a different place. And maybe you told me that you love me by making a brief visit just to take a glimpse of me. Maybe I told you I love you when I was angry at you for not understanding what I meant. And maybe you told me that you love me when you kept asking me if I was okay when I was not. We both had a different love language. I could not understand yours And you could not be fluent in mine.

I could say so much but I choose to say, just celebrate ‘being alive.’

I have spent sleepless nights trying to learn from my demons that losing sleep this way is not worth it, but the demons arrived every night with assorted ideas. Some nights they told me that love is worthy of all the fears- but they would eventually chuckle to say that if love is more about losing peace, then it is not worthy at all.

About those who only give trauma.

Yearning

Wish to forget.

This is just a rant!

Periods should be a non-issue --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/nisha-v-chettri/message

Where can I find the freshness of the breeze, that gently tickles my face I have longed for years, to sit on the edge and stare at the mountains I still want to feel more. More ecstasy More Love I can’t stop breathing deeper, rejuvenating my body I can’t stop feeling better, refreshing my mind. I want to know more, about universe about love Like I want to know more about the throbbing heart That melts when I look into the eyes of the truest form of love. I want to feel the forest of emotions cascading- at a moment when he turns his face just to look at me, for the very first time. There, I would notice the fine details of his freckles, like the brown leaves in autumn, ready to fall... It was randomly designed to a shape of love, Perhaps, meant to be in love-in such a way! I have longed for years, To sit on the edge and stare at the mountains I have longed for years to sit behind the truest form. I can’t stop breathing deeper. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/nisha-v-chettri/message

A poem- for my unrequited love. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/nisha-v-chettri/message

The poetry idea. --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/nisha-v-chettri/message

An ode to October chills.

To the changing environment and traditions…To the changing order of things!

A record of what we grew up with, In Kalimpong town.

Farkanna hola aba ma gaye pachi utai tira… A song by John Chamling Rai. I have heard this song over and over until it started resonating with me… it resonated with me so deeply until somebody left… I won't say until someone left me but it was just until someone left my little town and moved to a different city. And I can't describe the pain of departing from someone. It feels like you are just there standing still and there is a storm everywhere around you and you can't understand whats happening probably because you have never seen a storm before. Or at least, you have never seen a storm of that intensity before. And this song suddenly plays somewhere in the distance. I recognize it like the verses of the text that I always read. It makes me feel the same storm inside my heart. And I tell myself it's okay. It's okay. But that word okay feels so small, like a thread trying to hold back a flood.I try to breathe like the world hasn’t changed. I try to walk the same roads, see the same skies, hear the same birds. But everything feels… slightly out of tune. Like the wind is whispering a name I know I shouldn’t answer to. Like the air still carries a warmth that doesn’t belong to this moment anymore.The chairs we sat on, the small shops we passed by without ever entering, even the half-finished conversations, all of it suddenly aches with absence. And in the middle of all that hush, this song… Farkanna hola aba ma gaye pachi utai tira… floats through the air again. Maybe from someone’s speaker nearby. Maybe from the wind itself.And it hits me.This song knew.It knew before me that goodbyes can happen for no clear reason. That some people leave like seasons change, without needing permission. And all you’re left with is the memory of sunlight when the sky turns murky.I pause. I let the music wash over me again, like I’m letting it stitch something back inside me. I am not trying to to fix the wound, but I am just reminding me that I’m still here, still feeling, still human.And somewhere, in that storm of silence and song, I whisper to myself againIt’s okay.It’s okay to be hurt.because maybe pain is the proof that something mattered. That someone mattered.And in that, there’s a strange kind of peace.A soft, unsteady peace, like the moment just after a storm. When the world hasn’t healed yet, but it is starting to.

I have been writing too many opinions lately and have started calling my page Vee’s column. This is one of the episodes and this is my very PERSONAL OPINION.

Ending my April Hinglish poems with this podcast.

Dear Love, I would be waiting for one message, And I would be startled by every phone callthinking it would be you. But goodbyes don't work that way. Some goodbyes mean forever. And deep down I know, some days, you too, wake up with a faint memory of us together. I don't know where you are and you don't know how far I have come. But The only thing is, I remember you. Ardently. Everyday. Despite the odds, despite our indifference. I just remember you.

Inspired by the front porch of Coochbehar Palace.