Sunday, December 24, 2017


“First we feel. Then we fall.”

― James Joyce

in all cuts and fabrics
I wear only funeral blacks
in spite the pulse 
and the heart beat
there are moments 
of death, so vivid
that I fear
by this year end
my corpse will start rotting
the worms of your words
eating the core
of my heart
and then slowly
your oblivion
towards my pain
will stop hurting
time for new year gift!
dress me as a bride
and please buy me 
a lovely coffin
called love !

Tuesday, December 19, 2017


“In the dark times 
Will there also be singing? 
Yes, there will also be singing.
About the dark times.” 

― Bertolt Brecht 

My body touches
smiles, loves, hates
while the soul
drowns in
a deafening silence

no bubbles reach
the surface
no ripples

the still waters
of life
choke my lungs
no songs now
no more words

I am buried
where you can't
light candles !

Saturday, December 2, 2017

Her love was a migratory bird

She a still lake
in the middle of nowhere
He a Red Knot
flying 16,000 kilometres 
twice a year
from his "home"
called Siberia

no maps, no compass
- only soul 
his geomagnetic field
- only love
sun during the day
stars by night
leading him to her

he built a nest
in her 
and then  
she set him free
back to the sky
where he was meant to be
as she held his image
in her still womb
her love was
a migratory bird !

Saturday, November 11, 2017

Nebulous Love

like a diligent
skilled archaeologist
his hands brush the dust
of time from her skin

under her closed eyelids
dreams long abandoned
awakened by a gentle 
caress of his lips

Old songs
find their lost lyrics
Skin discovers 
 new hieroglyphics

he opens her
fold after fold
leaving a trail of desire
and love tattooed in

bodies read souls
free of space and time
like the last expert linguist 
reading a forgotten language
like nebulous bruises
from a bursting galaxy! 

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

I am a Banzai skydiver poet

I am a Banzai skydiver poet

I have thrown out the parachute first

and now in a free fall



poem by poem

I dismantle wisdom

I remove all the safety gear

tradition,culture hierarchy

one by one

And I dive

into the free unknown

unprotected, alone


Friday, October 20, 2017

The Women & The Buddhas of Bamiyan

The tanks called tradition
fired and fired first
next the artillery shells 
of Culture
causing scars
with its anger

the prisoners,victims once 
turned oppressors
then carried "family "
and truckloads of
love - the deadliest 
explosive to teach
the rebels to shut up

from the holy towers
of motherhood & matrimony
the rebel "idols" detonated
the killing of her "me"
self-respect in smoke
identity in burnt gunpowder

but lo and behold
as the smoke and dust settled
it was clear 
only her legs had been crippled
there she still stood
with her head held high
on her injured shoulders

fresh dynamite called
defamation was brought
and in holes as deep 
as sexual violence
planted in her heart

the planned obliteration worked
and there it was
the hollow, where
once she was

reduced to dust
The Bamiyan Buddha
and the broken woman's trust ! 

This poem was inspired by this article :

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Confession of a Liar


Time is itself trapped
in hours and minutes
seconds are lost firsts

the faces trapped
in the images
now even eyes lie
souls are on sale

wounds with no cure
become habits
and push the breath
in and out of my lungs

this life sentence
 house arrest in my body
I am lying when I say
'Never let me go'
Today I confess
I'm alive, is a lie.

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Namelessness of the one with a thousand names

“Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.”

― Simone de Beauvoir

I wash everything
I scrub it clean
along with the vessels
the vegetables
my consciousness
of any sense of me

I peel the skin
potatoes can also
look like hearts
to mad women
like me

Time looks like
a fine stainless steel grater
I grate my ego
fine, finer
so that all
my questions die

your love sharp
like a shining knife
I chop, chop,chop
my self in to
smaller pieces
so that of my "I"
remains no sign

Now I knead
mix it, dissolve it
add more water
that will bind it fast
to make a stiff dough
of tradition
against which I punch
my knuckles
till they hurt,never bleed

the oil heats like
my simmering soul
In the wok of your
grand celebration

I deep fry
the remains of 
my hard work, pride
self-worth and name

The festive feast 
for your Devi
Venerate, celebrate her
who isn't nameless like me but  
who has a thousand names* !

* Durga- the Hindu deity is believed to have a thousand names

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Why Complain?

There is an iron mold
hard, stiff and cold

they all have to fit in
goddess, bitch, 
wife or whore

each in their own frame
and why complain?

they have the pedestals
the whore-houses
homes and tombs

what good is empowerment
 without a man
work for him ,birth progeny
provide pleasure
take his name
why complain?

Feminism is only
for the mad single women
who waste their lives
asking questions
in vain
you the good women
must be seen not heard
you the "devi"
the maa and the behan**
why complain?

*mother, ** sister but here used together to indicate sexist abuses in Hindi

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Yes I have a Vagina ! #KanganaRanaut #AIB

Recently AIB launched a parody video featuring Kangana Ranaut is not only probably her personal stance about sexism and nepotism in Bollywood but to extend the metaphor is also a reflection of the conventional cliches that dictate most of Indian men-women relationships at large as well.

She outdoes her Aap ki Adalat interview here taking a satirical and musical dig at what is wrong with the Indian ideal male hood.
At the onset the heroine is asked- Who are you? , a question that haunts most women in a traditional setup where largely still even their last names are not a choice but denote them “belonging” to father/husband’s family. At best they only get recognized as “love interest” of the hero in films and as wife/girlfriend/spouse of a certain so and so.

The lady being a physicist/scientist or any other professional is of little interest and while her opinion is dismissed as just a “cute” whim the same opinion from a male is THE WORD, and widely accepted as intelligent speak.

Women must be seen not heard is still like the default brief in Indian patriarchal psyche whether it’s the hero, director( symbolically other men/women in authority) , just titillate and look good, no need to use your mind or voice. As one of her female co-star says in the video, “….don't say anything just smile and dance.”

The woman asserts- I have self-respect, yes like most “modern” women would and not just remained confined to “smoke a cigarette and abuse brand of modern womanhood”, and that becomes the point of conflict in most relationships.

In a satirical vein the lady touches lots of raw veins that still hurt a lot of women in real life too – social approval for older man/younger woman relationship (even if it’s almost pedophilia kind of an age difference) but older woman/younger man and she becomes the cradle snatcher. Older heroines pushed to the margin selling detergents/soaps just like women are after marriage/motherhood while men can still be Casanovas and male leads.

The lady also talks about cleavage being used to sell products, no carbs to have perfect bodies to be objectified because we have a vagina.

The glass ceiling in getting better opportunities, in getting better pay for same work, in men having entitlement to call the shots is not just a Bollywood thing but an everyday reality for most women. 

Their work pre-defined to reduce themselves to being showpieces and remaining lesser than and/or dependent on men , though symbolically putting the name first in the casting or “giving” them progressive roles in homes and outside seems to be the favor men are doing.

The mansplaining throughout is so real in everyday situations and relationships and the last nail is how when a woman speaks she is not even “allowed” to own her bad-ass card but labelled as playing the victim card.

More voice to every girl who doesn't mince her words !! 
Yes We have a Vagina !!

Friday, September 8, 2017

Warrior Women

The fragile-brave woman
who refuses
to kill
an unborn girl
and stands by 
her daughters
through every storm

the little girl
who insists
in the face of
a terror regime
and a gun to her head

the young woman
who speaks
periods, breasts
and abuse
without the shackle of 
fear or shame

the survivor
who battles a 
violence or a
fatal disease
but doesn't compromise
her mind,voice or name

the old woman
who lets go
of centuries of do's & don'ts 
and stands with the girls
against the men

warriors all
in words, thoughts
and essence !
All Warrior Women !

This post is for a Blogathon titled WARRIOR WOMEN here @ Women's Web

When a Greek pirate ship sails in to loot the wealth of the Cholas, it is brutally defeated by the navy and forced to pay a compensation. A payment that includes a twelve-year-old girl, Aremis. Check out this new historical novel Empire ( with a warrior woman, Aremis at the heart of the novel.

Sunday, September 3, 2017

The Author as a Sculptor

Your skillful male hands
knead the mud
to shape me
as you may
in a set mould
of humble clay

since centuries
the same cast,
a million women
repeat and relive
a future of past

broad forehead
to bring you 
lines of fortune

lotus-eyes to bring 
compassion and wrath, 
or when you say
doom- doom !

only love 
and endearment
her lips allowed 
to smile and sing

the tongue that drinks
your adversary's blood
and never utters
a single word

the perfect curves
to be the mother
in her endless womb
your dreams to nurture

the thighs strong
to bear you sons
fight your wars
defeat your demons

the embellishments, perfect all
to show your prosperity
and the burial in water
the final downfall

the ritual carving
of a mortal mother
every year
you dear man
her author
her sculptor !

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Mansplain !! (Men Explain Things To Me )

The do's and don'ts

should and shouldn'ts

yours to say

and mine to obey

the list is long

- smile some more

- just ignore

-let me handle this

- just dismiss

he takes the call

crawl or brawl

Since Mahabharata 

they have the dice 

as if we are mice

blindly following a piper

into a ditch

Dear men

please abstain

I understand

this pounce and save

is an old game 

I need no saviour

no patron , no saint 

I can take my calls

and wage my wars

keep in your pants 

your mansplain* !

  1. (of a man) explain (something) to someone, typically a woman, in a manner regarded as condescending or patronizing.

Term derived from Rebecca Solnit 's Men Explain Things To Me

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Remembering #Othello

“For she had eyes and chose me.” 

― William ShakespeareOthello

A man and woman in love

and the politics

the gamut of games

called matrimony

chastity and fidelity

honor and infidelity

Homes often have 

weak walls

and roofs heavy

longing is a termite 

the chewed remains

of the soul

litter the body

the unattainable

desire survives

in memories !

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Consolation Prize

You can't have a forever
so take a brief "Now"

The dream is impossible
so take a fantasy for a vow

instead of wings to fly
you take a small window
to look at a 
piece of sky

your story is not real
so here take these crumbs
called words
and call it all surreal

you have beautiful eyes
and you are so wise
I can't love you always
So be my consolation prize !

Thursday, August 10, 2017

To #Sarahah or not to #Sarahah

Get honest feedback from your coworkers and friends

At work

Enhance your areas of strength

Strengthen Areas for Improvement

With Your Friends

Improve your friendship by discovering your strengths and areas for improvement

Let your friends be honest with you 

This is how the new and latest #viral app #Sarahah describes itself. The selling point being "honest feedback" and "anonymity".

Don't be deceived by the exotic ancient Arabic sounding name,Sarahah literally means honesty in Arabic. its not a kind of mysterious middle-eastern garment or gourmet, it is the delight of friendly trolls, stalkers and general sociopaths.

It is an anonymous online messaging service, allows people to send messages anonymously and currently has over 500 million users.

Sarahah was created in Saudi Arabia, so the emphasis on anonymity is understandable but what about the rest of the democratic world with freedom of expression that is so valued, apparently.

Or is it we are finally reaching the culmination of the voyeuristic and exhibitionist tendencies that social media has so fueled in the last few years, but the pretences have seeped so deep that the truth can now only be said in anonymity?

Not only are most of the messages being sought and sent frivolous attention seeking behaviour but a potential happy playground for cyberbullying and trolling.

Global platforms like Google, facebook and twitter have put in so many systems in place to make people submit their true identities and yet the grey area of anonymity and fake profiles has led to so many crimes.

Something like #Sarahah takes us back to the times when computers , IP addresses were difficult to trace and cybercrime was indecipherable.

In the times of polarisation and increasing cyber violence, terrorism, paedophilia, human traaficking sounds like the legendary sword in a monkey's hand to kill the fly sitting in your nose.

If you cannot send honest feedback to anyone without abuse then probably you need to review your conscious and friend lists not find a back door escape or hideout like #Sarahah.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

in a sand clock......

trapped in a sand clock
called love
they filled each other
turn by turn
only one could be full
at one time

the other effortlessly
emptying soul
to measure life

when time died
she took him along
like a corpse in a coffin
and let him go like last breath

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Mosul Soul

Kufic : Google Images

Long before ceasefire
from all ends
this soul
is a worn torn city

Rubble and ruins
of homes
and dreams
heartbeat is sometimes
akin to gunfight

The Mosul walls
and the Kufic love
 Tigris of time
full of  corpses

lonely burials in the snow
in Baramulla
and Kabul
choosing tombstones
by scores

once a soul
becomes its own coffin
only then
 the war is no more.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017


Healing and healers
dreaming and dreamers

and the in betweens
the could have beens
the never beens

the journeys
of bodies and souls
and the dreams

deep in the
Australian outback
a cave painting
or in a forsaken monastery
like a mummified monk

homes, solaces
and tombs

all transitory
like a bird
on a wire

only the shaking
much after
knows its presence.

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To Kill a Mockingbird
The Catcher in the Rye
Animal Farm
The Alchemist
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Romeo and Juliet
The Odyssey
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
The Count of Monte Cristo
Eat, Pray, Love
The Da Vinci Code
The Kite Runner
The Silence of the Lambs
The Diary of a Young Girl
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
The Notebook
Gone With the Wind

The Human Bean Cafe, Ontario

The Human Bean Cafe, Ontario
my work on display there !!!!!