Tag Archives: girl

Abuse

To,
Stray things that call themselves men

⏺it’ll reach you

trail of my smoke
smothering
your nauseating thoughts
visuals

the smoke has a cruel
underlined
track that plays-
a chaotic rubble
you can’t
you simply can’t look at me
that way

my rage probes
fracturing your filthy atoms⏺

Sincerely,
Every girl

 

 

*Dedicated to each pure soul who was abused, is being abused and who is vulnerable to. Strength to you!

To live in this world freely, there’s only one way- To be courageous.*

 

 

under her dusty eyelashes

through the icky alley
she flees-
wild
tightening reins
the horse neighs in soreness

on its hoofs
as jangle of the heavy,
shiny chains disturb her
it can’t trot
more
halting is no option
for it will saddle up
burden, torture, hatred
piercing her feeble soul

fleeing is no good
too, i would say
for she will flounder in dry
rawness
striking out blithe hours
disparity as such is
fatal
to you too
because it is the person
same, indecisive—
sprinting fierce
away from the muffled shadows
created under
her dusty eyelashes

once spawned
to be bore
again i warn—
running is ruinous
standing lone under
yellow flickering bulbs
i see
she’s long gone

The Abyss With Dimensions

She pondered over her father’s illness and their financial crunch. Her satin lilac skirt and a contrasting blouse not only claimed her naivete, also making her sweat in the sweltering summer noon. The parched road she was walking along had tiny shady shops alongside; colourful candy shops, the smiths, umbrella repairer, grocery store and few others still bearing the essence of village tradition. It was one of those days where she was clueless of life’s happenings. Sudden demise of her mother few days back, the breadwinner, shattered her. Dreams of moving into a cottage like that of her close friend Rani’s, granddaughter of the village mayor were burnt to vapours— her tiny castle of extravagant hopes.

Her dusky skin shred drops of sweat— of grief and fear— she was responsible to raise her sister and run her house there after. Recollecting her mom’s advices that you are your own helping hand in your life, she walked and explored places every afternoon in search of an earning. That day was a bit unusual. She had a destination. A vagabond in his forties, who is usually spotted near the village temple every summer selling bangles promised to offer her a job a day before. He claimed to have the best quality bangles that carried a charm with it. She was unsure about everything that moment. Trusting her immature instincts, she went to the person for a job, a final call of her heart to survive.

“People usually are not satisfied with anything in their lives. They try to measure the dimensions of the abyss they create. To add up, people just daftly compare theirs with other’s nonexistent abyss. Once you stop all of that— you start living, you start admiring and valuing the present. The dimensions are your illusion”, he said in his husky voice before even greeting her.  She was stunned by the profoundness of words that he spilt.

Looking back, she cannot just ignore the vagabond’s eminence in the way her life’s outlook changed. Now, being in her late thirties in a cozy and comfortable apartment of her own, she recollects the girl wearing lilac skirt with all illusory dreams, the changeover, and the journey until now. ‘The way you dream can destroy your dreams’, she told her eleven year old who was pinned to her electronic device. She had her own set of life lessons to be learnt.

 

 

Girl With Roseate Scarf

Girl with roseate scarf
walking along the glowing streets
astound by unusual view
feeling the emptiness wear off
glaring light bulbs
earthen lamps, sprightly
on each building
hoarding all imperfections.

Girl with roseate scarf
feeling every bit as new
failing to notice earlier
making it unusual
has her cached soul, now open
to her lover, holding her hand
owing him these merry moments
that once were in sickening shivers.

Girl with roseate scarf
letting her soul wander as a blithely beast
exploiting this freedom
soaking in bliss, festivity added glitter
for she has never seen the world this way
love was the magical potion, i say
making her shred languid seconds
and has nothing connately.

‘You Are My Hero’

She pulled open the draw to put back her stationery. Accidentally, her eyes glared at few familiar papers, the bearer of evergreen stories. She couldn’t stop herself from picking those up— this has happened for the tenth time. She blushed until her plump cheeks were tired.

The slightly pulp-coloured papers smelled of him. Until she could feel his aroma in her bones, she kept it close, bound to her. His words were full of vigorous vibes nudging her soul, beckoning to be a part of him forever. The distance condensed in seconds, but from within. This condensation, of love, is a stand apart. Beating the theories of science, tears rolled. The water-proof ink on the paper couldn’t smudge though it was moved by her love.

This time, the tears were with grief. Each time she partially builds up her dream castle, it demolishes. She’s brave, that’s what she considers and builds it again. Every dream had the same fate. The evil doubts bubbled up whether the fate really wants them to be together. To live everyday in a relation with his soul seemed to be a struggle.

In a corner of her head she had this— ‘It’s us who directs and acts the life’s drama. So the drama would be my creation. I can’t blame the fate if I gave my role to it. Whatever I direct now, will happen any moment. ’

A while later, she realised that each letter’s last line read the same— “You’re my hero. Be one forever.” A one sided smile cracked up the salty patches on her cheek and she mumbled, “Damn, I’m the protagonist and I never knew it.”

Definition Of ‘Ugly’

The ugliness was exposed once again, it was indeed imbibed in her. The mirror was gutsy enough in telling so. Her musty, messy black hair was tucked behind to avoid adding to the ugly state. The world injects pain, it takes complete freedom to tag people ugly and beautiful and offers each a special poking position without their permission – she was an experienced human.

The days she spent in solace didn’t go in vain. When she thought of taking a stand, to merge with the earth, the pain gifted a form of pleasure which the world failed to offer. Accepting herself as the definition of ugly was lucid.
She enjoyed; lived with it.