You threw me out

at mid day from college

For writing a journal of protest

At midnight a man was not letting me sleep

he wanted confessions of sin

was not letting me think

about your systematic devaluation of the day

you desired a sinner


I was moving my chair backwards anyways

Time out on a wooden bench


I  missed  my father

White hair does not always make fathers.

Sorrow Blooms

He was alone on that stone bench

Under the tree full of blossoms

I did go close enough ,to see him talking to self

I guess the one I could not see kept him company

He did not remember a past , so he had this imaginary present

where he could abandon himself  to that imagined lover

He was never alone ,I was always alone

after you walked away from the corridors

of my mind

Where I thought I had an air of  love or flair for creating

Like this poem that is leisurely lonely

These lazy wrists will not bleed

Not acute , not fulminant

Even sorrow grows comfortable

in these pages, in words….

Stupid eyes sometimes cry

Like a school girl who lost her crush

whose face she has forgotten….



So you think that you froze because you became a child when he began to unbutton?

In retrospect. But I felt guilty because I did nothing to stop it….

So you went back to find out why you did not resist?

Yeah …sort of….I felt nothing but disgust….

How could you doubt your  own mind?

My body betrayed me….by passivity.

Were you convinced by the disgust that replaced fear?

The first man, to whom I told that I went back to find out if it was rape because I did not resist, slapped me.He was in love, he said(I believed it was love, since someone finally was at least trying to understand the truth ! Truth was so important to me) he said a woman who could freeze can she later muster enough courage to go back to find out?How truly impossible!

Yeah …. Impossible. That means I must have wanted it?

Actually I wanted to believe that I wanted it.

The perception of self towards an act in which I did not participate, yet it happened to me. I wanted to know the truth. About me…..

Error of omission does get misinterpreted as error of commission.

Now there is clarity. How?

I desired someone, years later.  Then I knew the difference.

So, did you do it?



I had spent a life time in guilt, all I valued was innocence.

But you always were that, guilt was imagined.

Desire was also imagined.


One hand under my arm pit

Another under the other arm pit

Two hands pulling my legs

Several fingers over projections and hollows

of my body , squeezes, scratches, pinches

I suddenly felt completely limp

Screams were drowned in jeer ,

Public display of manhood

Sex was a public sport

My body a play ground

Shame was just a word

Not a complete dictionary

Consisting of all my feminine

body parts.

Sensual Atlas of Soul

I want to spend my life

In this desire

Feeling incomplete

Every minute you are away

Talking to you in my own head

When you are out of contact

Your name repeatedly appears

In any or every conversation

I have with anyone else

I even call them wrongly by your name

A whiff of scent or a silhouette,

Shadows are also searched for you

Finally when you are in my arms

My tongue finds your inner ear

My toes find the back of your thigh

Your lips caress everything soft in me

Drop of your sweat between my breasts

I want to make this atlas of soul that we can sketch

Between my thighs and your  hands and eyes  and

The broad warm chest…….