Ma Chamunda
I have got a drop of her,
inky black - dissolving in me.
She is the lightning
that splits the dark sky,
entering through
my third eye.
I cease to exist.
There is only she:
Frightening
Terrifying
Loving.
IS
THE POEM COLLECTION
A home for
every poem.
Nothing written here disappears. Every poem has its own quiet page, ready to be read, returned to and shared.
ALL PAGES
Poems kept close.
15 poems in the collection.
Redrawing the Map
I will have to redraw
the map of my life—
the one I was
holding tight.
He and his lover
snatched it from my hands,
shredded it,
and it settled like dust
all over me.
They laughed at me.
IS
I am lucky
I hope you are old enough to know that
I am lucky ‘cause I am old, and I am old ‘cause I am lucky.
IS
All Wild Me
Self love
is it the perfume I bought,
floral and spicy?
Or is it the massage I got,
after which I slept
like I hadn’t
in a long time?
Is it the three glasses
of orange juice
IS
The Bitch from Bidding
She is the bitch from bidding
Alone with your husband in his car
Driving through Friday darkness
On the sleepless roads of NCR
She feels entitled to dinner in some
Lovely quiet place,
To midnight calls and private pictures,
To slowly take up all the space.
But space does not disappear
It is cleared chair by chair
A husband moves his wife aside,
IS
What Is Life?
He looks at women
And sees pleasure,
Like cakes in a pastry shop.
Each one, to him, is another flavour
He feels entitled to taste.
He eats the cake and says,
What else is there to life?
I have the money.
I have the drive.
Why shouldn’t I have them all
While I am alive?
IS
In His Dreams
His impish smile,
the mischief in his eyes
the innocence of his questions,
the hunger to learn
my thousand quiet lessons.
I wonder if he knows I write,
if he dreams, as I do,
of slow, unhurried days
in a brown cabin
high in the blue mountains,
IS
Men Cheat Because They Can
Men cheat because they can.
It isn’t because she nags.
It isn’t because she is ugly.
It isn’t because she is loud.
It isn’t because she is quiet.
It isn’t because she hates her in-laws.
It isn’t because she earns.
It isn’t because she doesn’t.
It isn’t because she is hot.
IS
Because of You
I asked him
why he had lied
and not shared anything
about his sleazy tryst
with the secret little miss
from his office.
“I never could,”
he replied.
“I don’t share
my things
with you.”
IS
How a Child Sees
Father gave other women
his emotions and care,
dinners and dreams.
When he came home,
it was all spent,
and he was oblivious
to his wife’s silent screams.
It is so sad—
it is the mother who loses
when she breaks down
into a million pieces.
IS
The So-Called Loose Woman
The so-called loose woman
is more honest
than the honourable man—
the family man,
the provider.
People are quick
to slap a label,
too lazy to seek the truth,
too eager to feel good
by cutting down
the easier one.
IS
My Mother Ganga
Wet sand, red and beige,
sinking beneath my feet,
my heart bursting with joy
at the sight of her rushing by.
There she was, emerald green,
and this is the colour I like on her.
Maybe she has others,
better than green,
but them I have not yet seen.
I stand at the edge
IS
The Golden Hour
He took her to Eleved
at the golden hour.
The lamps glowed dim,
and the crowd thinned.
He reached his hand
across her thigh.
“Oh God, oh God,
I am hard.
My penis is pushing
against my trousers
IS
A House in the Hills
IS
My Home
IS