Kavya Janani 🌻🌌🎶

@teainnumvarala.bsky.social

196 Followers 139 Following

She/Her. 32. Melomaniac. Mom. Banker. Writer. Singer. Playlists Maker. Metaphysics Aficionado. Reiki Practitioner. Spiritualist. #KJDreamyPoet Writer acct: @kavyajanani.bsky.social One-stop link for my works: https://linktr.ee/kavya.janani

WRITING A POEM Brick by brick, a poem is constructed from the broken shards of an aching soul. Stoking the excruciating embers still stuck to all the ventricles, in the aftermath of trauma-grief-heartbreak, What comes out is still luscious honey, the sun-gold verses crackling in the parched throats of readers. Every poem is a poet's silent war, a haven of meditation for the soul, when everything else becomes too much to carry in fatigued hearts and brains. Kavya Janani. U
Wordle grid
Starry Night Art by Basak Duran
FOR NEITHER EVER, NOR NEVER, GOODBYE... (after Apparat) I don't know what to say anymore. I have written this poem a million times inside my head, whirling each word, each letter round and round inside my cerebrum, coating it with layers and layers of excruciating ache and grief. Sometimes, I think I should have put pen to paper when my wound was still fresh. But the words were scared of me. They didn't want to come to a woman who was splintering herself by thinking about how she could have been a saviour. Do you see it now? My whole skin is tattooed only with ifs, buts, and whys. If I could have been there for you... But you didn't trust me enough... Why didn't I check up on you? A thousand different scenarios gnaw and eat through my flesh and bones, making my whole being swim in an ocean of regrets. What's another one going to do to me than add to the mess? Sometimes, I console myself that I'm already an abode of devastation. But this devastation would be that nasty stain that wouldn't go away. I have to live with it, looking hard into it every day.
IF YOU'RE ARE LOOKING FOR A RAY OF HOPE IN THIS POEM, YOU'LL FIND NONE Wake up and become a never-resting Ferris wheel, each cabin carrying a responsibility. Oh, how I wish I could unhinge myself and become a rollercoaster for once. My bones are haunted houses, thick with emptiness and suppressed energies. I am always climbing staircases that lead nowhere. Neither there are landings nor plush carpets to comfort my parched foot. What am I, if not a rag-doll stuffed with suffering? I am already a succulent abode of ache that I cannot be overwatered with more tribulations. On most days, I am a lump of sand stuck to the top of an hourglass, dribbling, dribbling, dribbling, to become a mound of disappointment to myself. I sashay through time's fickle passage, scratch nostalgia's skin, and juice every object around me, all for a sip of peace, but all I find is my body warming up to this mundane's caress. I warned you about not finding hope in this poem, so please stay away from this decrepit woman. Kavya Janani. U
I have sewn all my ventricles With broken shards of glass. The next time you touch my heart With palms smeared with hurt, You'd have to write apologies With the blood oozing From your beige fingertips. My heart is no longer A squishy fat tomato That you can cut into pieces And add to your salad Made of gaslighting syllables. Now there flows in my aorta The liquid gold of the sun. You still try to dip Frozen Antarctic lakes in it. Now they don't sting me. They melt, melt, melt. My heart no longer needs A sensitivity toothpaste, darling.
A set of books
A cheeky notification from Zomato
A steel tumbler containing butterfly pea flower tea
A wooden kangaroo with its joey
A finished Sudoku puzzle
An Archie comic strip from today's TOI Chennai Edition
Gothic horror themed Christmas Eve
A mini Christmas tree
A tweet by @kalesus_ saying - I got my Master's in yearnalism
2024 Reading Wrap by Fable
2024 Reading Wrap by Fable
Every time I write a poem, I disappear into -the curves of my words -the contours of my anxiety -the thundering silence -the taste of my metaphors -the form that my poem takes, wading through the labyrinth, trying to find the purpose of my existence -a world where only I exist along with the bleached moon, stars, and the midnight blue Kavya Janani. U
My #GoodreadsYearInBooks stats
'Leave me a place underground,' XXVI From: 'Las Piedras del Cielo' Leave me a place underground, a labyrinth, where I can go, when I wish to turn, without eyes, without touch, in the void, to dumb stone, or the finger of shadow. I know that you cannot, no one, no thing can deliver up that place, or that path, but what can I do with my pitiful passions, if they are no use, on the surface of everyday life, if I cannot look to survive, except by dying, going beyond, entering into the state, metallic and slumbering, of primeval flame?
FOREVER IS THE SWEETEST CON after Taylor Swift We sit on the rim of the dried-up well. Young hearts, doubled with intoxication. Our fingers inching forward to entwine. I ask you, "If I fall headlong into this, what would you do?" Would you grieve? Would you bury your face in your palms? Would your entire being shake with the animosity of the incident? Would you inform my parents? Would you feel my absence in the air? As I gaze into your hazel eyes, I know you wouldn't.
ARE THERE STILL BEAUTIFUL THINGS? sun rays peeping from behind the clouds, painting the picture of a parallel universe / thinnest crescent moon / bookshelves / shingle beaches / starry skies like a cut-out from a children's picture book / alcoves / rainbows / amber / a toddler's tiny palms cupping your cheeks / honeyed voices / purple sunsets / a cuckoo's call in the morning / pendulum clocks / sunlight filtering through dense woods / music that forms a whirlpool at the base of your heart / whitewashed buildings / cherry blossoms. Kavya Janani. U
In the first dream, I'm at a beautiful place that looks like the Matri Mandir in Pondicherry. A woman is standing wearing shorts and a face mask made of plaster of Paris. I ask her about the place and she tells me it is Turkey and then tells me the prices of all the things she has. Then I turn around and see many people having heads of Buddha (white in colour) instead of their own heads. I ask myself, 'How is everyone looking the same while wearing a Buddha mask?' Then, my family joins me and we start a long walk. That's when I realise that the place is a Fort. We keep walking while talking about many things. We reach a temple sanctum-sanctorum where there is a Hindu God. We stand in a line to pray. Then I see a place where they are giving annadaanam. My mom is sitting there. The place next to her is free. Then I rush there to sit and eat.
Karu karu vizhigalaal to Oru minnal vandhu saaikka - Naresh lyer Nee, nee, nee - Naresh lyer Oru malli charame, ilai sindhum, pudhu velli - Chorus Unnai thedum kangal - Naresh lyer Ye, ven, mann - Naresh lyer Nee thanga, nurai pongum, madhan pinnum - Chorus Unnai thedum - Naresh lyer Pudhu pudhu varigalal to Un mugame ennai soozha - Karthik Thaamarai ilai neer to Pudhaiyal needhana - Krish Nee, mannil, minnum - Karthik Oru malli charame, ilai sindhum, pudhu velli - Chorus Unnai thedum - Karthik Ye, vellai, ambaal - Karthik Nee thanga, nurai pongum, madhan pinnum - Chorus Unnai thedum - Naresh lyer
Blog named 'KJ's Musings' and showcasing its Menus - Get To Know Me, Memoirs, Short Stories, and Book Reviews
The Cosy Seaside Chocolate Shop by Caroline Roberts
Black text on white background. Text reads: I like you like the overcast sky that promises a rainy evening. like the cozy white beds in hotel rooms. like new music that becomes my addiction for a few weeks. like my baby's soy-milk powder that I devour secretly. like the rose wreath with a heavenly fragrance. like the ethnic gown that I have preserved for my best night. like the aroma of fresh cheese. like fluffy Panda dolls that smell of gentleness. like my aunt's extra spoon of sugar in my cappuccino. like honey on pancakes. like the pages of my journal that contain my well-guarded secrets. like the few drops of lavender oil on my pillow. like scented candles in a warm room. like library books with creased and blotted pages. like milk baths. like the chill that prevails on full-moon nights. like this unexpected poetry that popped in my mind. Kavya Janani. U
Mini figurines on the base of a desktop monitor
Spotify Wrapped 2024 Top Artists 1 Taylor Swift 2 Yuvan Shankar Raja 3 A.R. Rahman 4 The Beatles 5 Harris Jayaraj Top Songs 1 Livin'la Vida Loca 2 Hotel California - 201... 3 Nothing Else Matters 4 Bohemian Rhapsody... 5 Stairway to Heaven -... Minutes Listened 35,085
The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith
Dil Se (A R Rahman, 1998, Hindi)
Black text on a white background Text reads: FEELINGS OF A MENSTRUATING WOMAN ON AN ESCALATOR IN A METRO STATION (A LIST POEM) I want to cackle I want to weep I want to wobble I want to collapse I want to break the banister of this escalator and scream freeeeedommmm I want to evaporate Or I want to just dissolve, that'd be better, thank you I want to scratch my entire body and bleed through every inch of my skin I want to rip off this mask and blame it for all the pain Or a mug of chocolate mud shake I want to climb a tree, sit on a branch until this ordeal ends, and then return home I want to sing sad songs I want to demolish every single statue in the city I want to curse or cuss I want a gooey, cheesy chicken burger
Murder on The Orient Express by Agatha Christie
Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na (A R Rahman, 2008, Hindi)
Plain Truth by Jodi Picoult
Sita Ramam (Vishal Chandrasekhar, 2022, Tamil)
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows
Deepavali (Yuvan Shankar Raja, 2007, Tamil)