DEAR UNIVERSE

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Discomfort

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I have the weight Of an ice-cream-when-I-want on my shoulders. Little drops of melted cream fall down on the floor And ants gather around them as if they were diamonds. But diamonds mean nothing to ants. I wish I could write revolutionary poetry Shift life’s gears with ideas backed by experiences and stories But revolution, I believe, can’t be fueled from an AC room. And good literature needs a seasoned brain. I am too comfortable. In my unending supply of clean clothes Capitalist bread and mayonnaise In my easily gotten lettered-ness. I am too comfortable in my Healthy blood and brains In my decently filled wallet In my entertained brain In my unending heart beat. I am too bloody comfortable. So I write inconsequential poetry And spend meaningless 24 hours Adding more snores to my goodnight sleep. Puncturing my skin and calling it rebellion, Pinning to my overpriced sling bag Activism that I had bought for fifty bucks, Ch...
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HER LIFE, AT TWILIGHT

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Happiness looked bleak  at that time of her life, when she dealt with an unpleasant dark streak, that stood blemish on her divine being. Her life spent on filial duty, tending and nursing everyone's but her own fire. Leave an ort of hope and beauty on her plate at the least; everything else,  she willingly gave away, and many others apologetically filched from her away. So she sat there at twilight and finally sense the scar, cut deep. Bees and flies by her flitttered, not once pausing to ask. Nothing new;  for none ever paused. Or asked. As the sky turned red, though not in its light could she bask, she felt the cut, already too deep for anything to heal. She ought to have watched what she embraced. Saved at least a morsel on her plate. Never did she try before to add a little feather to cap. A gift to her, from herself. She sighed and watched the sun set, as she at last paused to contemplate. ...
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THE SAFE PLACE

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She wouldn’t watch the moon shine over the sea for long; For she had to be back, safe in her home. She wouldn’t take her much desired Late night stroll For she had to be back, safe in her home. They told there was nothing waiting For her out there; She was anyway, very safe in her home. Even when her lips bled and her Body ached from his rage, It was asserted, that she was safe in her home. When her cries were unheard and her happiness pushed into oblivion, They still insisted, that she was safe in her home. Bruised and wounded in this safe place, amidst nights of misery and days of darkness, She wondered if in her life, there was at least an iota of hope to find a place safer . If you could help her Find this safer place; If you would care to open it to her; And if she could step into it without burning her aching feet; Then maybe you have finally tried to ease her largely irrevocable pain. Then m...
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