You, the life

That awkward sensation of a touch, 

that feeling of being loved, 

that moment when your world collapsed, 

the burden of being lied; 

that process of breathing that you had to re-learn, 

that accountability that you had to burn, 

the roads that you had to stare, 

that journey which was fruitlessly despair; 

the sentence that broke your soul, 

the gifts that burned your clothes, 

that freedom that even you envisage, 

that glory that you would rather cultivate; 

the nation that you have always loved, 

the books that you have covered up; 

the writings that you have torn into pieces, 

the knowledge that you reuse to cliche; 

that body of yours, when it was criticised, 

that moment when your associations failed to divine; 

the dilemma that you breathe in, we all do; 

you’re the mother, the carrier of life, 

undeniably broken yet forgivingly new. 
..

He .. 

He, failed to keep his promise,

He, got promoted to the post of a director,

He, longed to see his ailing mother,

And he, promised to never fall in love. 
He, couldn’t tell anyone how he truly felt,

He, had to walk miles to feed his growing self,

He, learnt the art of ‘being strong’,

And he, forgot to close the chapters of worldly rights vs wrongs.
He, worried about his family finances, 

He, danced like a maniac at the party crisis, 

He, spoke nonstop all through the night,

And he, couldn’t tell anyone that he didn’t feel all right. 
He, did stare at the beautiful girl walk in,

He, didn’t give a damn to the winning cricket team, 

He, chased out a thousand worries from his head,

And he, spoke about everything but being well. 
He, wanted to cry out loud,

He, could feel his world collapse,

He, found it hard to play pretend being strong,

And he, quietly resigned to feeling depressed. 
He, became the subject of social issues,

He, made the world believe in strength, power,

He, held onto his glorious position of the provider,

And he, failed to frown at the losses of the flag bearer. 
He, let days pass, weeks pass and years go by,

He, wrote songs; he, wrote lullabies, 

He, sang with all his heart, 

And he, danced to the beats even when it didn’t make it to the charts. 
He, strengthened everything that was thrown at him,

He, rejoiced the fame,

He, parted with the image that chained his soul,

And he, became a victim of his own strength. 
He, renounced the world at several points in life,

He, was still held responsible for the mess,

While he, led the world into powerful visions, 

He, was still held accountable for the disdains.
 

She..

She, died giving birth, 

She, got raped last night, 

She, questioned her salary,

And she, set her washing machine speed right. 
She, quit her job, 

She, mopped the floor,

She, did the dishes,

And she, folded her hands to pray. 
She, looked out of her window at the rising sun, 

She, poured coffee in her mug, 

She, picked the newspaper to read, 

And she, put on her lipstick for the world. 
She, packed tiffins for her clients, 

She, did the same for her kids, 

She, brushed her daughter’s hair,

And she, checked the market shares. 
She, picked up new dance moves, 

She, practiced a new scene, 

She, set her sails right, 

And she, checked her car gears for the night. 
She, crawled in bed next to her lover,

She, put the book aside, pulled her cover,

She, anticipated the money that he would give her,

And she, closed her eyes to let her body feel. 
She, knew she could make her choices,

She, didn’t know she had a choice, 

She, knew there were laws that would protect her, 

And she, didn’t even know she had a voice. 
She, ran independently; as though the world was her play ground,

She, walked watching her footsteps; as though she was being carefully watched. 
She, was fearless in her heart,

She, was timid in her soul,

She, was the woman, she, perhaps never wanted to be,

While she, was in all the women, she had ever known.

The not ‘beautiful’ talk. 

Ugly said she is disliked,

For who she is, for what she is.

For years that Ugly has been, 

It has been a long lost battle and she no longer feels she can win. 

‘People judge me, they do that all the time. 

Insensitivities cover me from all sides, all the while’. 

I have tried to be and I have tried to breathe freely,

But they keep repeating that ‘I am not pretty’. 

I am Ugly and I should just be. 

I can’t let people see my inner beauty.

I can’t explain to the world, in and beyond the moon, that being Ugly is the most beautiful phenomenon. 

I walk in the dark so the light could be, 

I gather the dust while the beauty in me breathes. 

I pass through the skin, I pass through the bones, I pass through the thoughts and the states, even when it’s unknown. 

I never touch the soul, in fact, she’s my only place of solace and confinement. 

The soul tells me ‘Ugly, you are beyond resentment. Just because people fail to see me, their souls, Ugly, you’ll remain confined to the bones’. 

Borrowed Glasses. 

When I borrowed your glasses to see,

I found it hard to contemplate if that was at all me.

The lesions were unparalleled, uncluttered, 

The I, that I had known, 

distanced itself from that very zone.

I thought hard and I thought long,

Was I right in borrowing your glasses to view my own lived life song?!

Parts of it weren’t how I had perceived the me,

Different in sensibilities and far away from my breathing reality, 

I wish I could have shared my shoes with you, instead 

Our walks could then have had a meaningful descent,

If I borrowed your glasses after the walk,

Perhaps, your perception of me wouldn’t be worth a talk. 

When my blessing turned into a curse. 

What a blessing it is to be born a human, is what I thought,

Little did I know, at that moment, that I was queuing up for a massive, deadly war, on being human, to be fought.

Day after day, night after night, in darkness and in bright light, 

I have a task to prove.

A task to rise above the fellow humans, in class, chores and in determination.

I have always wondered, 

Why should I be ahead, lead and they follow?

Why do I keep my pride, guilt and they have theirs to swallow? 

‘You are different’, I am told. ‘You belong to a class that’s rich, powerful and can make the laws break and fold’. 

Who nominated me to these laws and who assigned power to me? 

Isn’t power something that I, inherited by being born as human being? 

Isn’t it the same for all other humans too? 

None of us are to lead and none of us are to follow. 

We are, to be! To be humans on this planet that we call home. 

Then where did this ‘I am your leader and I will lead you into light’ come through?

Did I start on a wrong thought by any chance? 

Was really being born as a human meant to be a blessing and not a curse or a farce?

When did I decide?

My religion decides where my feet goes

My skin colour decides my friends and foes

My soul is caged, it no longer has a choice; somewhere it never had. 

When did I decide where I was to be born? 

Love wrapped my soul, my body was formed. 

It grew in days, it grew in time,

It grew in communities that I made mine. 

My soul has been wrapped in love since, 

It’s my body that got a name and a tag of religion within. 

Before I could let my body embrace my soul, 

My future was decided; whether it was to rise or to fall. 

I ask again, when did I decide where I was to be born?