The Grimoire



Beautiful be damned!

Beautiful be damned!
I want to be ugly
where no one looks at me twice
or maybe do a double take

Curves be damned
I wanna thrive in rough edges and triangle like hips
bones sticking out and not a fistful of muscles to be felt
shapes do not define me,
I want to be this jungle of cacophony-ness that shifts shapes
right in front of your eyes
and if you were ensnared by my voluptuous sashays
and my full lips
I want to test whether my broken nose
and my prickly heels
draw you in as well.

Will you kiss my neck when my jawline
seems to go on forever
and will you kiss it still
when my folds and double chins will bump into your grace
and not fit into you like a puzzle piece?

I will be all nails and needles
will you be my yarn?
This thing between us, is it based on my body?
cz i am so much more than this, baby.
I love like the crazy and i kiss like fire
I blow minds when my words go spit fire
I question and question and ask all the why’s
I accept and show affection
when you just need your emotions stirred.

In a cold night, i can be your blanket
or your fireplace
and on a hot day,
I can be like the wind that will cool your face
I am tropical rain storms
which will come to give you respite
when you have been praying for a miracle
all your life.

Will you love me when I make loving impossible
because it won’t be the shit you read in romance novels
and expect to be perfect?
Sometimes, I will be a half burnt candle
dripping wax on your palms
searing, burning, but moulding according to how you want
and then right next moment,
I will be hard mountain,
only designed to be immovable and hard.

I will change and grow and learn
like the human mind is supposed to be
nobody is the same ever
when will the world learn this thing?
Love is not a constant!
Unless it is change..
My identity morphs and grows
and will take you with it
in exchange,
Let us go for a walk and a stroll,
sometimes i feel quite wrong
if I am not a square peg
trying to fit into a round hole.

The Contours of Me.


My name was tomorrow
dark haired in a sweaty t-shirt
shooting looks at you from over there at the
deciding whether you actually
thought like the book you were
immersed in,

whether mocha was how your
thoughts tasted
 like or was it just your
caffeine fix.
I was one, two, three up until
hundred, a face upon all the
counting sheep you would try to
imagine to sweep your insomnia away
under a deluge of will.
I was your distraction and a
constant, a barrage of
counter-intuitive seriously important nonsense that made
feel blurry around your previously defined edges

I was poly, queer, atheist, agnostic,
religious, spiritual, loyal, infidel
at once,
blowing my mind,
yours, blowing both of us down into
a well of deliciously addictive
confusion, otherwise named
“freedom” from our label-making

I was your outlaw, whom you
needed to protect from the society
but also, the bodyguard of your mind,
reading letters to your memories

which I found locked up in dark
places but which deserved to frolic.
I was your Stockholm syndrome’s
instance, locked in a beautiful dance

with my cultural captors
in love with all the
rings in the smoke that comes at
the end of burning my lungs alive.

I was maybe your dream and
your nightmare juxtaposed, your
kind of girl, a rollercoaster, a big
bang, a feminist, all rolled into one
who made sense only when you
kept looking into its hypnotic
centre/ and at other times gave you
panic attacks like withdrawal
symptoms from a life-supporting
necessary-evil drug.
I was your human, demons locked
with the demons inside of you,
playing hide and seek, 

trying to
keep it intrigued, distracted,
soothed, growling while you
did the necessary to survive.

Name me once, name me twice,
mould me as you want according to
your will,
I will react in ways,
over days
spent locked up with you inside your dreams,
imaginations and memories.
Playing with the lava inside your brain
is the favourite pastime of the lava inside my brain

I will plant flowers that will survive the white-walkers
in your blank space, when winter comes
and you will have to face the world alone,
I will always, always smile with you
from the sunflowers inside your head.

Rape Republic Day.

This cropped up on my facebook newsfeed today as something I wrote as a response to some crappy videos that was doing the rounds in the media a few years ago. I deactivated facebook soon after to preserve my mental sanity from being bashed by people whose fear is so big, their inner peace gets shaken every time someone says “Feminism”.

In order to preserve the memory of that battle for my own courage, I will post the link here.

Happy Reading!!

Oh Darling!

Oh darling! What did they tell you
that your eyes, so beautiful are
as if touching the hem
of your floor length gown?
That your legs are always crossed and
you are sitting prim as a rose
looking so like a blooming lily
unless one looks deep into your soul
where tears brim like an ocean
and rage is tumbling around
your spirit that they caged along
with the hole that everyone seems
to make such a hell of a fuss!

Oh darling! what did they tell you
to make you put up your odhna
every time your in-laws come over
you put up a show
to prove that “you” have paid
good price
for what they bought?
and you cook and cook
to find a way to your man’s
only to have him force you over and over
again in the dead of the dark?

Oh darling! What did they tell you
to make you quietly listen when
your children start to talk back to you
and echo their ancestors
caring nothing for your career
and demand that you be at home
every time they are back,
in the guise of motherly love??


Oh darling! What did they tell you
to make you count to ten
and rein in your temper
and not disrespect your elders
when they are the very ones leading you
to your living grave
(with bells and a veil
and a glittery bridegroom
who is probably not gold)
holding your hand and
blackening your face
and crying as if it’s the work of someone else!

Oh darling! Why oh! why do you
act so helpless
when you can bear the pain
that can push out a thousand babies
from between your thighs
from a one inch hole?
When the epics were made
due to the designs of woman,
and you are the culprit
they say who brought
down the world,
why don’t you finally do
what you were blamed for?

Walking Out Loud

You are walking out at the dead of the night
white girl, brown girl, black girl and all the colors
that I can think of
You are walking past your curfew time.

fighterYou are walking at the dead of the night
not to fight, not to take back your space
for what is yours
does not need to be claimed!

You are walking at the dead of the night
white girl, brown girl, black girl and all the colors
of the rainbow
walk right past those hostel gates.

You have nothing to lose and nothing to hide
you work just as hard and you
have just the same rights
You know its playtime now
Walk right past those PG gates!!

You are walking at the dead of the night
brown girl, white girl,
holding your sandles, you walk
with dead feet
Your body is tired
But peaceful is your smile

Questions flung at you like spears
veiled to insult, make you fear
But that which has saturated
cannot hold more
Girl, just ignore, and girl, you walk on.


You are walking out at the dead of the night
white girl, brown girl, black girl and all the colors
that makes up our lives
You are walking past your curfew time.

This poem was penned in support of the Pinjra Tod movement being spearheaded by Indian women in Delhi and in defiance of the emergency situation women have had to live through for generations. Break the curfew.

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