For how long will you remember me?
Gone as I am already from the pages
Of your newspapers
And headlines on your television
You will remember me of course,
In fleeting glimpses
When another like me is molested,
Another girl child is drowned,
A mother’s foetus ripped because
She will birth her own kind,
a bride's cries stifled,
or set afire
You will remember
When my tormentors are brought to book,
When they are hanged
Or sentenced to life
When governments swear by their children
And their mothers
To never let this happen
Only to play witness again
And again
And again.
And then again,
You will eulogise me
When you light candles in my memory
Year after year
Alas!
You will also forget
In the mundaneness of your life
In the everyday struggles you must meet
In order to survive
You will forget
When you see beauty around you
Happiness, joy and innocence
And you will then
Foolishly believe
That life is still beautiful.
And that there is still hope.
You will forget
Because it is scary to remember.
How many more of us will it take
For you to not just remember
But never forget?
numerous verses on the internet on Nirbhaya. but for how long will we remember?
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
life moves on - II
The parade begins once again
Frantic phone calls,
Teary voices,
That cry for one’s own loss
And the struggles that the morrow holds
Formalities of dotted lines
Where one consents to leave behind
A sizeable chunk of notes,
Lest one gets lost in the surreal world
Of death and her angels.
The embalmed remains arrive,
Carried with callous care,
By masked care givers
For whom death begets life.
Others watch,
For a moment forgetting
Their own anxieties
Wondering if they too will cry.
The parade leaves for a brief stop,
Home.
Where bangles are broken
And vermillion wiped away
For the last time.
Rituals come.
People visit.
Rituals get done.
People cry.
And still the finality of it all
Refuses to sink in
Until an old memory is uncovered
From the depths of an old locked cupboard
Tears pour
Stop.
Pour again.
Stop.
And life moves on.
Frantic phone calls,
Teary voices,
That cry for one’s own loss
And the struggles that the morrow holds
Formalities of dotted lines
Where one consents to leave behind
A sizeable chunk of notes,
Lest one gets lost in the surreal world
Of death and her angels.
The embalmed remains arrive,
Carried with callous care,
By masked care givers
For whom death begets life.
Others watch,
For a moment forgetting
Their own anxieties
Wondering if they too will cry.
The parade leaves for a brief stop,
Home.
Where bangles are broken
And vermillion wiped away
For the last time.
Rituals come.
People visit.
Rituals get done.
People cry.
And still the finality of it all
Refuses to sink in
Until an old memory is uncovered
From the depths of an old locked cupboard
Tears pour
Stop.
Pour again.
Stop.
And life moves on.
Friday, May 25, 2012
speaking of trade
gold
traded for virginity
two cots to hold all the lust for procreation
an almirah to lock up bruises of the mind
pots and ladles on
which all hope was first stirred
and later strained
until all that remained was the memory
of a better time.
bundles of notes to feed greed
a car to announce to the world
what a benevolent family i come from
that’s all it took
for me to wed
when all i wanted was love instead
and now i seek the eternal knot
that hangs down from the ceiling fan
ah! yes, the ceiling fan once carried my tears
outside the window - the gift my father traded
for a pint of his blood
come now,
don’t fear that i will be dead
death came upon me earlier this year
with those three knots in yellow.
remember?
k's grandmom narrated the incident of her house help's daughter's wedding. all that they gave. and...what happens? a few days later, the same thought was echoed by aamir khan in satyamev jayate.
traded for virginity
two cots to hold all the lust for procreation
an almirah to lock up bruises of the mind
pots and ladles on
which all hope was first stirred
and later strained
until all that remained was the memory
of a better time.
bundles of notes to feed greed
a car to announce to the world
what a benevolent family i come from
that’s all it took
for me to wed
when all i wanted was love instead
and now i seek the eternal knot
that hangs down from the ceiling fan
ah! yes, the ceiling fan once carried my tears
outside the window - the gift my father traded
for a pint of his blood
come now,
don’t fear that i will be dead
death came upon me earlier this year
with those three knots in yellow.
remember?
k's grandmom narrated the incident of her house help's daughter's wedding. all that they gave. and...what happens? a few days later, the same thought was echoed by aamir khan in satyamev jayate.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
i did. i did not.
Sorry.
I know it is a hopeless word
And that it cannot reverse
The kindness and care.
But listen to me just this once.
Even if it doesn’t matter anymore.
Sorry
For losing myself
To desperation.
For trying ways to keep you
With me, without
Ever finding out
How it must feel
To never know
Until the end.
For submitting you
To the trauma of cure
And all the sympathy
That came disguised
As tender care.
And not understanding at all
That it was empathy
You sought,
Not maudlin cries
Over furrowed brows.
For not asking you
If you would like
To be propped up
By the window
Not showing you hope
In the rising sun,
The beauty of the birds
And the open sky.
But instead,
Overpowering you
With concoctions of every kind,
In the hope that you will
Stay.
I wish
I could have
Known that it was the
Cure that evoked
The pain in your tears,
Instead of mistaking them
For gratitude.
I wish
I had known
That at times you just
Wanted to be free
And at others,
It was comfort
Of closeness, you sought.
But,
I chose instead to
spend those hours
In fervent prayers
To keep you with me.
Maybe,
if i had shown you
The starlit skies,
Your favourite tv shows and
Food for the soul,
I might have been lucky
To find solace
In that twinkle in your eye
Over decaying skin.
Sorry
For succeeding in
Willing your life
For my sake,
Albeit a while.
And in turn,
Watching you die.
this is the way i felt as i watched my father die. and then k's dad. both died because medicine couldn't do much. 2011 may
I know it is a hopeless word
And that it cannot reverse
The kindness and care.
But listen to me just this once.
Even if it doesn’t matter anymore.
Sorry
For losing myself
To desperation.
For trying ways to keep you
With me, without
Ever finding out
How it must feel
To never know
Until the end.
For submitting you
To the trauma of cure
And all the sympathy
That came disguised
As tender care.
And not understanding at all
That it was empathy
You sought,
Not maudlin cries
Over furrowed brows.
For not asking you
If you would like
To be propped up
By the window
Not showing you hope
In the rising sun,
The beauty of the birds
And the open sky.
But instead,
Overpowering you
With concoctions of every kind,
In the hope that you will
Stay.
I wish
I could have
Known that it was the
Cure that evoked
The pain in your tears,
Instead of mistaking them
For gratitude.
I wish
I had known
That at times you just
Wanted to be free
And at others,
It was comfort
Of closeness, you sought.
But,
I chose instead to
spend those hours
In fervent prayers
To keep you with me.
Maybe,
if i had shown you
The starlit skies,
Your favourite tv shows and
Food for the soul,
I might have been lucky
To find solace
In that twinkle in your eye
Over decaying skin.
Sorry
For succeeding in
Willing your life
For my sake,
Albeit a while.
And in turn,
Watching you die.
this is the way i felt as i watched my father die. and then k's dad. both died because medicine couldn't do much. 2011 may
Monday, September 26, 2011
Release
when the time comes,
why is it always so hard to leave?
what is it that binds me, holds me back?
is it you,
the love you have for me,
or my love for you that wants me
never to leave?
is it my care
that i dread to abandon,
or the scare
of who will lay out your tea and toast,
or help you find your way around the kitchen,
knot your tie
or pick your clothes?
is it the smell of the well-worn sheets,
that held our love,
that i hate to leave,
or the emptiness that will become
of our togetherness?
i fear for many things,
of what will become of you,
for did i not pledge my heart
until death
that will now do us part?
as the monitors stuck on me
tick my every second away,
i cannot bring myself to leave,
even if it means
that i can no longer be
alive; full of life.
as the moments pass
inevitably to that time,
when i will cross over
to another world,
i realise
that in time,
i too will become
that faded void
of what once was us.
now i know,
what holds me back;
my heart is with you
and yours in mine.
so, release me, my love,
for us was meant to be
only until now.
from now on,
it will be just you
but fear not,
for i leave behind
my heart within you.
And you will be safe
With yours within me.
do we know just when we are about to die? i believe we do, for i have seen it in my loved ones' eyes and in their touch. sometimes, they are ready to go. sometimes, it is us that holds them back.
written in June 2008, days after my father passed away
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Resigned to Fate Series:Knotted Noughts
i lost it all to three firm knots
and three days of endless rhyme
muttered over holy smoke
and heady feasts of sweet and rice.
and then i saw him, this man
i had never seen
or chanced upon in my brief life
all of ten, for until then
it was just me, happily
ensconced in my world.
yellow knots threaded
together by golden gods
weighed me down
with their whispered tones,
and engraved in my heart
the many rules of marital bliss,
that i must abide with,
that i must lie in servitude,
and if fail i did, in these acid tests,
then my story would be
a grave one to tell.
sometime later a new life took form,
first a still born, then cherubic twins,
another boy and a little girl,
i had without much ado.
‘and now’, they said
‘her life is patterned in’.
then one night, he came to bed
took away my golden thread,
and the gods and the vermillion.
in one brief moment it was gone.
now i surfaced in a tonsured head,
in rough white yards,
relegated to a secluded spot
within four walls.
the infant cursed for her arrival
at an ill-begotten time
was snuffed out with
the milk of baby pink flowers,
punished for her faultless crime.
the twins were sent faraway
the last i saw them,
i inhaled their milk and boy-like smells,
torn trousers and dimpled smiles.
they went without even saying goodbye.
i knew not their whereabouts,
but now, the lump in my throat
had dried my eye, numbed my mind.
Solace i found in the last cord
That had tied itself to my womb once.
a trivial compensation for the nought
my life had become.
i held him close.
too close perhaps,
for my claustrophobic love
must have scared him so,
he left me for some lusty affair,
with a woman much older ,
a city belle, with skin so fair,
i was told.
now, they said that it was i
that brought ill-luck. not my child.
so i sit here, grind poisoned seeds as i cry,
it doesn’t matter now, that death i face
for she has already come upon me,
and i can vouch that hers is a gentler race.
but when i will be forgotten,
and become a tale to exchange,
let it be known
that it was the yellow gods
that failed me,
not i, as they claim.
Resigned to Fate Series: of goddesses and baby girls
She rocks her child
One last time
For it will soon be time
To bury her
In sacrifice
To the goddess
Who is the only one
That can grant that boon
Of bestowing lust
With a child
That will sire
But not hold within
A life.
This child now,
Will be sung
The final lullaby
And fed a potion
Of the sap
of poisoned cactus
that has willed its life
amidst desolate land
only to be culled to kill
a child whose
laughter the village cannot bear.
But who will carry the seeds
They desire?
When there is no more womb?
Will they beseech the goddess then,
To lie?
Published in Muse India Journal - Jan-Feb 2012
One last time
For it will soon be time
To bury her
In sacrifice
To the goddess
Who is the only one
That can grant that boon
Of bestowing lust
With a child
That will sire
But not hold within
A life.
This child now,
Will be sung
The final lullaby
And fed a potion
Of the sap
of poisoned cactus
that has willed its life
amidst desolate land
only to be culled to kill
a child whose
laughter the village cannot bear.
But who will carry the seeds
They desire?
When there is no more womb?
Will they beseech the goddess then,
To lie?
Published in Muse India Journal - Jan-Feb 2012
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
it's never goodbye
some frayed photographs
are among the last few
remnants of what was,
of where you once belonged:
to my world
that, and a handmade card,
with your name on it,
speak to me
silent verses,
full of voices,
that only my heart can hear.
is that all that is there?
for me to remember and share?
is there no more
than a faint fragrance
of your love,
no more than a faded shade
of the greying shirt
you wore many a time?
is there nothing at all
to claim that you once were
my dearest friend, my confidant and guide?
is there nothing at all
to dim that pain,
each time i remember
your words,
the many lessons,
there is nothing perhaps,
than a searing memory,
and
eyes that well,
each time i see those photographs and
handmade card.
and yet, sometimes, i see
that beautiful face,
come upon the mind's eye
as if to tease the heart
into believing
the nightmare will turn sweet,
that you will walk
into my door one day
the doorbell rings...
my heart rushes to open itself
the mind laughs at me,
such a child i have become,
since you have gone...
written now. 3rd death anniversary of my father. couldn't make it to bangalore. and the thought hit me. suddenly.
are among the last few
remnants of what was,
of where you once belonged:
to my world
that, and a handmade card,
with your name on it,
speak to me
silent verses,
full of voices,
that only my heart can hear.
is that all that is there?
for me to remember and share?
is there no more
than a faint fragrance
of your love,
no more than a faded shade
of the greying shirt
you wore many a time?
is there nothing at all
to claim that you once were
my dearest friend, my confidant and guide?
is there nothing at all
to dim that pain,
each time i remember
your words,
the many lessons,
there is nothing perhaps,
than a searing memory,
and
eyes that well,
each time i see those photographs and
handmade card.
and yet, sometimes, i see
that beautiful face,
come upon the mind's eye
as if to tease the heart
into believing
the nightmare will turn sweet,
that you will walk
into my door one day
the doorbell rings...
my heart rushes to open itself
the mind laughs at me,
such a child i have become,
since you have gone...
written now. 3rd death anniversary of my father. couldn't make it to bangalore. and the thought hit me. suddenly.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
the call
The unbearable weight of sorrow,
Wraps itself around
Muffled beats,
Lost amidst the silent cries
Of wanting to be freed
The child’s smile,
The loved one’s arms,
The sunrise,
The birds and flowers,
No beauty seems as appealing,
As that final call
Alas! Tucked beneath different layers,
She beats, resilient,
Every sound, a proclamation,
Of life that wills to live despite
That call
If the blinds were lifted just once,
If the layers that bind her so,
Drop their guard just once...
If she was allowed to see,
The farce called love, the lie called life,
She would agree
The futility of her being;
Her beating.
I wait that moment
To try to reveal
Only to be caught
Once more.
How long will I blind her
How long?
I wait.
In desperation.
Deprived of the one thing that will
Still
My yearning
written sometime in 2010
Wraps itself around
Muffled beats,
Lost amidst the silent cries
Of wanting to be freed
The child’s smile,
The loved one’s arms,
The sunrise,
The birds and flowers,
No beauty seems as appealing,
As that final call
Alas! Tucked beneath different layers,
She beats, resilient,
Every sound, a proclamation,
Of life that wills to live despite
That call
If the blinds were lifted just once,
If the layers that bind her so,
Drop their guard just once...
If she was allowed to see,
The farce called love, the lie called life,
She would agree
The futility of her being;
Her beating.
I wait that moment
To try to reveal
Only to be caught
Once more.
How long will I blind her
How long?
I wait.
In desperation.
Deprived of the one thing that will
Still
My yearning
written sometime in 2010
Friday, March 4, 2011
Blind eyes
My eyes close
The journey begins
Dark alleyways, drunken slobs,
Homeless children,
Hungry eyes,
Beaten mothers
Soundless cries.
I flee,
Take another path,
Only to see
Masked invaders
Raping fields,
Killing life,
Martyring death,
All with smiles
I run in fear,
To another door
A world of beauty,
Rose-cheeked children,
Food aplenty,
The warmth of the hearth,
The laughter of love
Here is where
I long to be
I open my eyes
Only to see
The alleys and fields
Come rushing at me,
I turn blind,
Yes, I'd rather be
For this is a world
I will not see.
written on 24 jan 2010. it was becoming unbearable to see my father in law in comatose. it became clear that he would soon be gone.
The journey begins
Dark alleyways, drunken slobs,
Homeless children,
Hungry eyes,
Beaten mothers
Soundless cries.
I flee,
Take another path,
Only to see
Masked invaders
Raping fields,
Killing life,
Martyring death,
All with smiles
I run in fear,
To another door
A world of beauty,
Rose-cheeked children,
Food aplenty,
The warmth of the hearth,
The laughter of love
Here is where
I long to be
I open my eyes
Only to see
The alleys and fields
Come rushing at me,
I turn blind,
Yes, I'd rather be
For this is a world
I will not see.
written on 24 jan 2010. it was becoming unbearable to see my father in law in comatose. it became clear that he would soon be gone.
...just passed me by
Life just passed me by;
As I lay asleep, my mind wandering,
Meandering aimlessly; clutching
The seams of elusive dreams
Life just passed me by;
As I lay repenting, my mind doing,
Undoing wrongs, repenting deeds
Left undone in haste; of words misplaced
Life just passed me by;
As I lay crying, my mind emptying,
Erasing traces of a broken heart
Mending its patches; finding no matches
Life just passed me by;
As I lay warped in the world of my mind;
Blind to the beauties that lay before me
Clouded by fantasy; until I was left behind
With reality. Harsh reality.
written sometime in 2006
As I lay asleep, my mind wandering,
Meandering aimlessly; clutching
The seams of elusive dreams
Life just passed me by;
As I lay repenting, my mind doing,
Undoing wrongs, repenting deeds
Left undone in haste; of words misplaced
Life just passed me by;
As I lay crying, my mind emptying,
Erasing traces of a broken heart
Mending its patches; finding no matches
Life just passed me by;
As I lay warped in the world of my mind;
Blind to the beauties that lay before me
Clouded by fantasy; until I was left behind
With reality. Harsh reality.
written sometime in 2006
Resigned to Fate Series: Cries
A child she was,
Until nine
Laughter on her face,
A smile on her frame,
Until womanhood
Was thrust upon her.
In one frightful moment,
It was gone,
Innocence died and,
Rape was born
A swollen womb,
Crawled to life,
While swollen eyes
That once held tears,
Bore the cross
Of manic want,
In one brief moment,
It was gone,
Innocence died,
a bastard, born
Pointed fingers,
Hushed whispers,
No hands to help,
No kindness or warmth,
She cried with pain,
That numbed and seared,
Her last cry
Was the baby's first
He cried,
Her father and his
Alas! What cruelty,
When innocence dies
And incest is born.
Until nine
Laughter on her face,
A smile on her frame,
Until womanhood
Was thrust upon her.
In one frightful moment,
It was gone,
Innocence died and,
Rape was born
A swollen womb,
Crawled to life,
While swollen eyes
That once held tears,
Bore the cross
Of manic want,
In one brief moment,
It was gone,
Innocence died,
a bastard, born
Pointed fingers,
Hushed whispers,
No hands to help,
No kindness or warmth,
She cried with pain,
That numbed and seared,
Her last cry
Was the baby's first
He cried,
Her father and his
Alas! What cruelty,
When innocence dies
And incest is born.
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