• First : Caged voice of a Rape victim • Second : Caged voice of a grandma who couldn't read because of early marriage • Third : Caged voice of a wife burdened with chores and "gifted" with bruises at night.
~ Trusted people who exhibited sympathy when I was at my most vulnerable phase.
~ Sticking to the norms and trying to meet the expectations of people, being the "good girl". I failed to live my life to the fullest. Being the good girl i failed to remember that this soul needs some fun and relaxation too, in order to have companions and well wishers with whom we can goof around and also share our deepest secrets and tears with
~ Always believing that family and blood relation was everything and that they would always stand by me no matter what. But, i was wrong.
My m̶i̶ (stakes)
• "We are in the ocean of love, with each one of us being mere anchovies envisaging prodigious cachet of a foreign fisherman's reward woefully ending up at the dinner table" When a blanket of winter's fog suffocated my illuminating sky deluging my empyrean viridescent meadows with maroon gore. I lurked alongside my shadow enumerating blobs of unswerving tears. And when the sky rained stars ensuing after a thousand epoch, rousing me from a perdurable slumber, like a child among the fallen leaves my hands knitted utopic dreams. Little did i knew, the sonnets i weave from silence were a pitch of fantasy in a glass full of reality. Everything comes with a price. My feet unaquainted with the waves of the sea, espoused the terra firma as an epitome of Nirvana. His love was the bud, I bloomed pain and bliss together
• "Depths of an ocean, a skeleton sunken city, a sulfer bottom whale perched on a throne. Life- eternal and endless, superiority embellished on its flippers, a heart weighing 400 pounds derelict, devoid of any companion." Head full of fire flies, tender fingers adhered to praxis of mensuration nodus, swallowing catamenial pangs. My little frame burgeoned stacking regimen laid out by stern pedagogues, praised for my well bred demeanor by elders. However, when the solemn skies depeleted of azure, I found myself surrounded by desolation. Was I enough alone?
• "An ataraxic moana, appeasing countless fishes, under the sole shelter, birthing in cognated animalia but is kinship just about blood?" The scars and burnt marks on the fingers of my mother's brittle hands, narrated to me with tacit silence, the mephitic paramountcy of men in a family pursuing patriarchy. When each time,a gallant lassie was labelled "Vile" and her coexisting brother termed "Manly". The moment childhood ended, I cognized multitudinous wolves in sheepskin through the mist, under the shelter of the same ancestry, veins carrying homogeneous blood.
The shabby toys and plushies in my cupboard reposes stashing a handful of anamnesis in derisory spaces of the shelf. Where credulous silence often plays hide and seek with transient kalopsia The sofa sets in the living room are adorned with carmine Threadbare covers tacked meticulously by mother's delicate hands I often asked her about the innumerable scars on her palms and the ones that purloined the pink tint in her fingers. And secured with a bright smile, she'd decode it as years of her alliance with the kitchen knives and Ladles since juvenescent days.
The sewing machine, roughly three decades old, but closer than an inch to her heart, embraces the rust on its tear stained cheeks . Lingering on the same corner of the spare room fixing a mirthful grin across its face during the day And grieving one thousand pieces of elegies when the sun departs for a ~ s i e s t a ~
The vacant side of my father's queen sized bed permeates a concoction of odour reverberating her untimely demise and a fragrance spritzing her fabricated existence And few romantic novels stacked on a tiny shelf of my drawer, half read, inflict frowns each time I open it by mistake For love had retired bit by bit like changing hues of the leaves, since the moment my fingers placed white flowers on her grave and my weak moth-screams bid a farewell to August