To all men

There is a little less freedom,
You would find it unreasonable.
I say, be a woman for a day.
Not more than Eight in the evening,
I was walking down a busy road.
Talking to my mom on phone,
Loving the family drama, she loves to tell.
She has stories for everything,
And so do I.
I am living a life, and I don’t wish a life sentence.
Crossing paths with a few aimless men,
I dread it. We dread it.
I crossed a group of men standing,
And I cussed to myself,
Why ATMs are so deserted?
And while on phone, I kept moving.
Their eyes followed, and my heart stopped.
I took a step back, dropped the idea of giving the rent.
That fear, that disgust, that helplessness, that anger,
We live with it everyday.
And so when I say, we have a little less freedom, agree.
When I say, we need Feminism, agree.
Or live as a woman for a day.
Just for one day.



The other half

Half a glass left resting on the table for two,
Half a conversation yet to come from you.
Half the time spent in waiting,
Half the dreams spent in anticipating.
When the time arrived, only a half of it did.
A chair left alone in the corner,
Flipping through half a book,
Drinking half a coffee,
Spending half a night reminiscing on our stars,
With only half a smile and only half a heart.


I was swinging to and fro,
running up and down the hill,
trying to catch them all,
and I did, at least the most of it,
but it never brought me peace.
I scratched my head and asked myself,
“Is that what I wanted?”
“Yes, Oh, Yes!” My head would say.
but then why I still feel haunted?
My face now paled,
and so much on my plate,
I’ve forgotten the clock striking,
and forgotten my funny games,
it’s not consuming me, I am sure.
But is it worth it?
Yesterday I read on someone’s T shirt,
“Carpe the fucking Diem”.
And for once I thought, it would set me free,
and save me from this mayhem.
My teacher used to say,
“You can always leave”
And I want to, so bad.
I want to shrug it off my shoulder,
and run for the woods and run for my life.
How do I end this?

#10 Odds won’t matter

Pluck all the leaves from the hydrangea
and feed your fantasy.
The truth will be in the hiding – and you, blinded.
Still stay foolish and choose all odds.
Eventually, we’ll know.
We won’t like what we’ll find,
And then the hydrangeas won’t matter,
The truth will be in the plain sight.
How will you console yourself then?


#9 – Split

To move to and fro, up and down,
back and forth and what not.
To keep coming back to same conversations,
Playing them on repeat and hating it.
Questioning your existence, and theirs.
Thinking if they don’t matter, then why?
To crave for peace and freedom,
To get out of the cage.
Who’s stopping you?
No one!
And yet here you are,
You read all those philosophies,
And you think you can relate.
You try to do what you think is right,
and then you are dragged back down to the same pit.
You know, they can’t force you,
Then why?
“Try indifference. It’s cold, but worth it.”
Your mind would say.
You know it all! You know, you need to let go!
Then why?
It’s pathetic really, to be this human.
Ugh! the stench of other miserable being,
Let go of them! let go of them!
“There has to be another world somewhere.”
Your mind would say.
Somewhere with fewer people, or none at all.
“It’s needed.”

#8 – About last night

And then to see the ceiling a bit too high,
To feel the floor sinking deeper,
And to be unaware of directions.
Insanely aware of  memories,
And unaware of their narration.
Waking up, adding two and two together,
Feeling the symmetry, and my head again.
I buried those memories,
And buried their narration.