SUICIDE NOTES 108….+ more

She chose her words

They were the last ones

She wanted to thank

everyone who made

life possible hitherto

It took many days

Several hours

She re-read the drafts

to edit , as she pasted

a stamp and

googled an address

Suddenly she knew she was

the one who cared

cared so much

It was easy to drop out

To become irrelevant

It was tougher to live

than to love

After all the thank you’s

that did not count

Finally a war inside

Blood on the sheets again

Flowers sprang from

burnt earth

Life had taken over

Taught her life was

valuable not love

Then life smiled…

Tess of doubtsville

“Angel,I married you to tell the truth,nothing but the truth and only the truth. I can not plead guilty” cried Tess. He conducted the trial for five long years . She got accustomed to search for every crime she could have committed knowingly or unknowingly. Any desire she could have felt for an abuser . Those dark nights ended
“You were more wronged , you did not wrong I agree , but I can not accept you, since I wanted to marry guilt and reform it. What will I do with Innocence?” Angel left in search of the guilty men he could reform.
She did not murder the man who wronged her to prove her innocence. She refused to plead guilty.

( A satire on Tess of the D’urberville of Thomas Hardy the genius. Pardon the satire. Opposites often contain each other)


A bundle of bones 

Scapula, fibula

Tibia , clavicle

Radius in a blue bag

Grows cold in there

Meant for Osteology class

Do they all belong to

one body ?

Should I ask the forensic expert ?

How old are they

How long are they dead ?

Did they really support a living

hand , leg, back , thigh and neck ?

Were they united once ?

As I clean them out of my closet

Mutilated memories

Memorized to bandage a fracture

I unite them in a rope

May be they were fragmented

in life

Here united in death

They cleaned my closet

By their exit , safely  delivered

to another immortal

student of Osteology…

and not Thanatology…..




“Umm….so they no longer serve Irish coffee here ? I will reconcile to the sizzler” ..He was annoyed already. ” You think Gone with the wind is a book supporting rape myths?” He seemed to think of it as blasphemy . Perhaps, Rhett was his hero. Why people identified them selves with the opposite of their persona?  He was a boy scout .” Scarlett loves him after he rapes her , remember ? Because she talks of Ashley with light in her eyes” …He nodded. ” When a woman says NO , she actually means YES ?…Margaret Mitchell , a woman wrote it ! ” Sizzler arrived with a huge noise…


She gave the currency notes, “Release him” she said pitiably. He was charge sheeted for statutory rape of fourteen years old. The girl looked that age. “You should approach a lawyer, what is he to you?” She did meet my eyes. “He is my husband, father of my children. I want to save my family” She was the fourteen years old! “You look so young, how can they be yours?” ….pause “I married him, because I wanted to mother his motherless children. They are mine. I will not orphan them again” She was defiant “You can’t arrest me?”


Your eyes remind me of my father

Your arms remind me of my mother…

The way you betrayed me reminds me of my elder brother

The way you tease me feels like a long lost lover

The way you make amends reminds me of

the way I mend clothes that I did not tear

The way you attack strategically

reminded me of Sun Tzu

I renounced predictions while

the war was going on like Confucius.


Something about any one new

often reminds me of  someone familiar

Does it mean they are?

We always repeat our selves

Our own favorite jokes or songs

Or flavor of the ice cream or toppings on a pizza

Does it mean, what happened then

is what is happening now?


You mean to say I never learnt a single lesson?

I passed the test of time for nothing?

Why do you always want to follow a pattern?

Why can’t you believe that you are different?

And if I had felt best of everything

Already …..

Why am I so sure that I did not feel this

‘Whatever’ we call it?

Frankly, I can forget this easily.

Like many colors of the sky

That I do not see ever again

Or flowers that vanished

Without a notice.

A head ache that presents

a meeting with a stoic smile

I can even say I was insane.

If it can make it easy for you

to handle the faux-pas

Whichever way

you can  choose….


His eyes were vulnerable

Dark and  glowing strangely

This can’t be happening

He should not desire her

She knew his determination

Neither could recover

Not that age where

you could fall and get up

with out an injury

to pride or reputation

He relied on his talent

to conjure

He probably thought

when he is done

He could make it all respectable

The pensive air pervaded

those hunting days

She refused to be the prey

With that  fluttering heart

stubborn honesty

She became someone

else’s prey….



“I have sort of forgotten what it is to feel like a woman , though I look like one”She was  not responding to his compliment. He was thrown, he wanted a superficial distraction , a laugh , a swing , accidental touch or perhaps a caress, he had a world of possibilities in his mind. She had those promising eyes and that exquisite hint of a smile. “The way you systematically deconstructed his theory , it was in shreds!” He laughed, he had recovered quickly . She liked resilience. Silence was unbearable for him. He persisted ” But you left her poetry alone , you ignored her”

“Men make theories to justify power , Foucault died long ago, men write about how they enjoyed a woman , and women write about how he broke her heart” He looked crestfallen.


The last lorry came to a halt

on the highway

Baby has had his burp

Lullaby is too sleepy to go on

Gas stove is cleaned of dinner


Chalk line of Laxman Rekha

drawn around it

Moon has climbed upstairs

Night watchman’s stick has

Struck one back street

That single piece of chocolate cake

tempts in the refrigerator

I unhook my bra strap

So that my sleep is free

With the last wish on the

Last star, someday

 let him undo it…..

Art by Dr. M.S.Murthy

DRISHYA ( 2010 )

My gratitude to Dr.M.S.Murthy