FD643FB0-7AE3-4BC0-B88A-690CCCC7AFFAThe rhapsody of black and white

Fused lines between tassels muted and bright

At ease, a salt pepper palette of cutting edge

Goodness of an oversized mane or a quirky wedge

A paradoxical source of resilience and strength 

Breaking perceptions about monotony in length

Highlights a symbol of ageless pigments 

A contoured look, slaying with smudged vignettes

In fact, the grey mane is your splendorous mess

While the black warriors through daily stress

What does this trophy mean to you, why go this way?

Changes to, ooooohhhh how long does the silver stay?

I know each strang gathers stories, takes a brave fight

Completes my sassiness with a blend of poetic highlights

A way to live with ambiguity, and some non negotiables

One grey strand after another to shatter those fables

I started by just testing a thought, an imagined hypothesis

Succumbing to authenticity is easier than keeping up appearances 

What it means to embrace life as delivered, accept a glass half full

A cocktail of salt, pepper and autumns does create a palpable pull



NaPoWriMo 2019

day 24

choose a dictionary word – monochrome


The beast that returns

Shrieking solemnly in disharmony

Wails darken the church sanctum

Like an opera crescendo

Interlaced with devil drums

Shattered prayers turned

Into ripped angel wings

That stay like velvet remnants

of an opera gown, on a once

opulent church ceiling

A choir solemnly surprised

Singing a last silent note

Easter in hell, Easter in hell

mothers who bit their tongue’s 

hold their prayers, as they watched

Blood gushing into pews and aisles

droplets of blood, a river, a river, a river

that drained all venom

that washed all the shards

decorated, dressed flesh

flesh of gutted bodies

into pews and aisles


They were praying

With all of themselves

Attentive to the message

Of resurrection.


As the rocking psychedelic 

Madness halted itself

It was noticed 

That a beast walked over

a purple slushy ocean

An entire city seething inside

it’s ominously bloated belly


It was also noticed

that the skies became overcast

With millions of butterflies

In myriad colors of rich disdain

They fluttered into the dusk

A waltz of life performed

As grandiose as there ever was one



Day 21 and 22

The first generation chit chat



are you always insisting on Hindi

And when will you stop wearing the red bindi

I hate it when dad’s stories are only about the past


want trauma, want trauma, of transition to last

Why do we stay marinated in perseveration techniques

And when will you start integrating without fatigue

I feel sad when you are distracted by yearning


then did you tell, did you tell me, enjoy the learning

Why should you expect me to carry your weight

And when will you address the avoidance of fate

I tend to pull away when your face twists, feet stumble


not heal, not heal, signature kheer with apple crumble

Why only call me out on my angst or anger

And when with you stop recreating an unreal candor

I remember when we started out at first, with courage


don’t you hear, don’t you hear, the conundrum of fear


And why don’t we have a conversation, you and I

Let’s meet for coffee today, you and I

And why don’t we have a conversation, you and I



appendages shredded, nothing

bookmarks life better, than scars, flesh

crescendos up my spine, and into

doors and windows, winter settles

enduring one bleak day at a time

faltering at fragile moments, 

gathering around acrid dumpsters

hungry, like starving insides

invoking courage, as I scour for food

just something, for the babies today

knowingly I succumb to my fears, steal

luck, left me bruised, a defiled loser

meals are more than dinner table debates

no, they are necessary for a mother to

own her assigned duties, and feel worthy

perhaps, next time the world is born, list

quest for survival as expectations under the

role portrait of a man, not prove manhood by

shoving shards into my womb, my ominous ribs

tsunami like remains of my esteem, now pledge

unlimited milk, honey and oats to feed the

voices of a million hands that shape context

wrongly scaled back, silenced by a loud trance

xtracting every circumstance, every vicious tear

yearning fulfilled, ceremoniously placed again

zealously into temples of force, betrothed


to survival, and sacred spaces





Nirbhay unanswered


Part 2 – now

Nirbhaya now present in an unending sky

making space for your vast sadness

you nirbhay again,

cutting through the clutter

launch yourself into the pining moon

unflinching, you become the scar on her face

homesick you, malaise inhabits vastness

you nirbhay again,

walk your stength across starscapes

seeping your surety into black holes

and serve aphrodisiac to the sun’s courtyard

broken you, watch the morning colors

seep into your wounds

you nirbhay again,

are now there, where infinity begins

Part 1 – then

Never did my dreams shrink into a cocoon, nightmares don’t sit only in dark alleys

I overheard him belching again, echoing the devil from

Realms of shattered bodies and fractured souls

Beautiful physique, he declared today

Holding my breath, sick to my stomach

Afraid, it is happening again, violent penetrating words

Yearning ache, choked in crackling laughter

A defiant womb, I give back to you


Being Nirbhaya, I dare you ma

to unfurl your tandav

into his breastbone

Do not bring me your

crippling compassion

Nirbhaya, I hold my head high


Musings of a feeding bottle

0C942A6A-D274-4E77-A7C0-B016DAFCBC4AI stayed on the bedside stand, waiting, waiting, waiting

Eager and rushed, meanwhile your glands are activating

The suckling is so rewarding, to hell with stares

To hell with stares, caring no more about public places

Enzymes confused with hormones, tears and gurgles

you lift up your chest, and determination into your journal

He absently brings the bundle to a cradle into your arms

One process which feeds itself, no law of diminishing returns

I can see you tired, often clumsy, ready to take a fall

Then an energy steps up a perk, ready for the next haul

Soldier like, sipping your anise water, settling the burn

Walk, talk, balk, puke, spooked turn by turn by turn

You built a life, now throbbing with brilliant spells

I stand enchanted, life nurturing life, beating rib cage

You sit cross legged, soon exhaustion is assuaged

Grueling cycles of sleeplessness, curled bodies aligned

I wonder why I would ever invade this abundant design

You have doubts I know, with a pressing urge to quit

That addictive baby smell, hypnotizes you to submit

I step aside, no tantrums, no ounces, no formula shed

Leaving you with your patience

And a curly head breathing at your chest



NaPoWriMo 2019

an unusual perspective

Lists come and go


Is it true, we can only love so much

That love is not a calling, but our prison

Is it fair, we face the weather in submission

That trees and rabbits can be an awakening to your vision

Is it a wonder, we are wanton in life

That deathbed is our place of strife

Is it right, we do not have to despair

That talking to rivers brings us home to care

Is it tiring, we wish for yet exhaust of travel

That moving is only stillness unraveled

Is it kindness, we bring to ourselves with age

That years just collect prayers for our own sage

Is it faith, we use to stoke a thousand fires

That moments of questioning, enable our deepest desires

Is it universal, we make an urge towards the dark

That realization about our inner flow is not just for the lark

Is it magic, we allow our brains what we want it to be

That wrestling with ourselves, allows roles to change

Is it curious, we let scripts define where we go

That writing a different story can help new perspectives

Is it perception, we become the mirror image

That fake is just a secret dwelling for pain

Is it poetic, we preserve elders in rejection

That ignoring those we should honor is our tragedy

Is it funny, we live in an elegant arrangement of life

That humor is just a generous way of self forgiveness



NaPoWriMo 2019

A list, mundane