when you hurt me

fat little raindrops fall from my soul,
and collect somewhere
in the the crevices
of your skin and flesh.

and you hit me last night,
hard and surreptitious
and i watched with awe
the cold silent fist
making contact with my virgin lips.

the puddle of my sadness
creeps through the floor i sit on.
and you sit closeby.
just as wet
just as hard
and i watch with awe.

The happy girl,
Bounces up and down.
The word is a blue ball.
The world is a red balloon.
The happy girl clowns around.
The world is a stage,
And the happy happy girl is a clown.

Happy girl has scars,
Old and new.
When she fell of her little clown bike,
When someone pulled her little clown nose.
But she doesn’t seem to mind.
And she bounces up and down.
Wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Picking herself up every time.
Saying, “That dint hurt”.

of little things

of little things i speak tonight
little delays on the rained road
traffic stops unexpected.
but life goes on in the city
so what if my heart refuses to.
this poem is not going to be about little heart aches.
its about other little things i speak of.
not death of trust,
a little less.
not heartbreak
a little less.
not of great deeds
or the underhanded ones,
not of love outside a marriage.
of friendships outside love
or of me outside the limits of faithfulness.
we will not talk of one night stands
or some such
but of smaller things,
of littler things.
and wait at the roadside
next to a busy junction and
watch the world go by,
little by little.

of old buildings and me

and slowly bitterness seeps with

like salt water within the walls of an old building,

its in shambles

so am i.

and bitterness seeps in

into my soul,

and contaminates everything,

and now all sweet memories

are mixed with whats not,

and i sit with pencil in hand

trying to get some of the salt water

spill

away away away away

from me.

noone

every night
just beyond twilight,
i change shape
and soul
with my other
and inspite of a promising day,
go to dream
holding noone's hand
noone's heart.

with you.

who will say otherwise
if i say i will change my skin tonight,
and will stop giving in
to the gluttony of my flesh.

who can say otherwise
if i become a man tonight
and live life the way
i was born to live,


with you.

what horror

the tiger

who says heartbreaks are not therapeutic? nobody i guess.
been reading Blake and Sylvia Plath the whole day.
ah! discontent.


Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?


And What shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake.

Never thought I would run out of things to say.

when we dont

It’s been said by wise women, usually our mothers and grandmothers and Oprah that we women are born with an acute sense of instinct. This instinct keeps us alive on many occasions. The time when we chose the most harmless looking auto driver, when we chose to trust this strange man over that, when we knew whom to scream back at and when just to run run run……..
Instinct doesn’t fail us, unless of course we decide to ignore it and be polite.
Politeness kills ladies and gentlemen
Next time we are going to diss a certain person and then we decide not to be rude and help him out….Stop.

Home truths – 4

What my mom thought 10 years ago – “Piya (me) never lies.”

What my mom thought 5 years ago – “Piya lies sometimes, I wish I knew what she is hiding from me.”

What my mom thinks now –“Piya lies sometimes, thank god I don’t know what she is hiding from me.”

pity party

I know I have not written in ages.
And the truth is that,
(But of course I never lie ……… hate myself)
I don’t know what to.
And I don’t necessarily want to
Unnecessarily waste blog space,
But I feel that
I wont be worth my sweatshirt (blogger),
If I don’t blog soon.

So as I was saying (or perhaps I was not saying, and now am starting a completely new topic)
What’s the big deal about honesty anyway?

We all have to survive
And do whatever in order to
Lying (or lets say not revealing the truth)
Is just another instinct right?
Right?

I am manipulative you know….
I already do all I can to survive,
With my weak heart
With my love for drama
With my complete lack of belief in my instincts
(Which I think is always right…ooof what a bundle of contradiction I am)

And you know what?
I don’t try to be cute.
I am…(hee hee)
And I love cute, adorable, affectionate people.
I don’t know why people don’t love me…

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh
Nobody loves me.
:(