Stretch marks!

Like the beautiful pattern woven by nature on the crevices of the wall.

White lines run against the background of wheatish skin adorning my breasts,

Step leader embossed by Zeus.

A tawny lotus blossoms

Just above my pubes

A memoir of the life, behind it witnessed grew.

To you it must be offing

To see them on my calves

For you fancy silky skin

Not a dappled one with scars.

I do not paint em with colours

To hide them under layers

But just let it be!

I am more than the body

More than what you see.

© Wordpolitics

Things to do before you sleep tonight

Cup your hands in an inverted heart around the resilience that flickers in the night breeze.
Let the heavy robe of conformity slip off your bare shoulders with an ease.
Scrape off the layers of paint
that make you beautiful
the pallor looks equally alive.
Draw a bath with few drops of lavender
and immerse all your limiting beliefs
in the hot tub,
deep cleansing your pores of all dirt.
Pour a glass of Red and swirl it around,
gulp down the days criticism
with each sip.
exhale the clutter that’s been clogging your vision.
Pat your skin dry,
let the towel soak in the dregs of exhaustion.
Take a book and bury yourself
under the foliage
seeking refuge in the world of metaphors.
As the words work their magic
seeping through the irises
lulling your senses,
watch your wakefulness
melt in the quicksand of time.
Till the lady of the dark
pulls you over to the otherside.

© Wordpolitics

An Atheist in Love

A committed atheist,
I prowl the realm of mortals
wearing a robe of snobbery
sceptre of rationale
held close to heart,
head unbowed to any form of divinity.
Brandishing words
peering through the faces of ignorant fools,
smirked at their lugubrity.
Until one day,
sauntering down the path
strewn with cherry blossoms
I came across an old novitiate.
The beauty of the flower
still floating in my eyes,
my thoughts distracted
by the fairest maiden
I ever beheld.
was the word that slipped my tongue.
Cursed be the lips that spake thus,
a fallen angel doesn’t speak of God.
A sudden force possessed me
clouding my reason
a discourse between my heart and mind.
Her eyes met mine,
which read of innocence
the sweetest rhyme.
She kissed the rosary,
and chanting her lords name
turned away.
Her black habit fading from my sight
helpless, I was left
in front of his might.

© Wordpolitics


Exotic flora
hidden in the deep wilderness
sheathed from the prying eyes.
Diffusest sweet hypnotic fumes
enticing the eyes that pass by.
Caress her with the sight
but taint her not
for she’s a child of the dusk
nurtured by sharp winds
and dense fog,
often fatal to a mortal touch.

© Wordpolitics

Stardust and magic

He sprinkled stardust, moonshine and magical things in the rustic decanter
and filled my cup.
I, like an ignorant child
lulled by the bling of the fairy lights
lost in his eyes
sipped the red.
As the wine played it’s magic
he appeared more enigmatic
as I lay there, eyes rolled
ready for the sweet surrender.
His fingers worked through my body
each stroke like soft breeze
carrying April showers.
He held me close
like a thing divine
searching for the rings of Saturn
within my eyes.
The dulcet flow of his voice
close to my ear, seeped through my skin
tingling my bones.
Love or lust?
Don’t wanna call it either and set parameters.
For this,
A cosmic union
When he enters my soul.

© Wordpolitics

A poem on Independence

My nation sings a mellifluous song
reminiscing the years bygone
she unties her locks and swivels around
brimming with ecstasy and joy.
She bathes herself
in the heat of the South,
the sun bounteous on her tawny skin.
She treads the woods,the Sunderbans
her garrulous childlike laughs
echoing the serenity.
She sits by the Ganges
hands crossed into a knot
melancholia seeps in
bringing with it
a wave of ‘inqulabs’
unwavering and assertive
as the Himalayas standing tall.
The sky weeps tears of joy and grief
the undaunted souls who gave up their breath,
embracing the soil
painting it red.
She hums in reverie
a note of thanks,
the widow’s, the old and the dead.
She casts aside,the robe she wore
the tricolour cloth she drapes.
The saffron of valour
the chaste white
and the lushness of green she wears.
With head held high
an air of prowess
I am an Indian
Say I .

© Wordpolitics

I wish to dim the voices in my head

I wish to dim the voices in my head
Turn the knob and watch it die
As daylight fades my conscience dreads.

As I warmly snug myself in bed
The faceless voices come alive
I wish to dim the voices in my head.

After years of clutter I’ve been fed
The day or date, know not since when
As daylight fades my conscience dreads.

It oft intrudes at night, sodden wings spread
Shrouds me, I choke, I hyperventilate
I wish to dim the voices in my head.

This isn’t the path I’d wish to tread
My heart, my soul, my body aches
As daylight fades my conscience dreads.

By and by erodes the sanity thread
For it may snap and haul me to despair
I wish to dim the voices in my head
As daylight fades my conscience dreads.

© Wordpolitics

( Villanelle for the first time )

It’s okay if you’re not okay sometimes!

You wake up
Head hammered
Under the weight of the night
Wasted in self loathing.
Slog yourself to the day
Your face in the mirror
Dull, tired and bloated.
You nibble on the slice of bread
And down it with a glass of juice.
Your tongue still tastes bitter.
You can sense it coming to possess you – something dark , nauseating and unwanted.

You rise up and dress yourself for work.
Dab some colours to silent the exhaustion your face screams.
Go out to face the world,
Meet some dozen faces
Put up a false show.
The faceless energy still lingers an arms distance wriggling its slimy tentacles to reach you.

You engage with the people
Trying hard to distract your mind.
Your limbs go numb.
The more you resist the more it grips you from the leg upward.

You run to the restroom with uneven steps
You feel choked on your own breath.
Detachment from reality seeps in,
You flounder.

Drop the mask!
It’s okay if you’re not okay sometimes.