I am in the middle of this sentence

The pause takes your shape

Should I be grateful to you?

For misunderstanding me

In a way that made me look

for my  self ?

Guilty girl in the dungeon

She was sexy

She hated the fleshy outgrowths

On her body that converted friends

Brothers in to pure men

His stickiness between

Her shapely thighs

Too much human smell

Stifled in a struggle

Was that love or hate?

Was that duty or choice?

It felt like someone with insatiable hunger ate her up

If I have to teach one lesson

It would be never love ever again




It was a seminar on whether antidepressants had to be given or not to a suicidal person. I was tricked to attend it by a teacher who wanted to prove that I was suicidal. Was I? Nope. I was beginning to see that rage was deserved by others not me. All guilt was raped out of me. This teacher wanted to prove his innocence after using a group to flood me with reminders of trauma….He colluded with a hacker and was offended by an independent thinker struggling to retrieve a buried self , quietly writing at midnight amidst violent interrogations, unaware of Trojan Horse virus in the wires. What was more violent? Explicit interrogations or implicit mind meddling? Here I was, refusing to split Dr.Jekyll and Actor Hide…..


I was blindfolded

my hands were tied

I was twirled clock wise

anticlock wise

Then one hand touched me

Next another

Then one more

Tell me who am I ?

One man was using

many hands

Twirls left me imbalanced

I smelt a child , but he was a grown man

Hands in glove with others

The game was played against me

Sometimes suicidal threat

Othertimes homicidal threat

Finally they stopped playing

There was no one

Just the stench of foul play

Could it be a father ?

Could it be a brother ?

Could it be a friend ?

Hatred has more eyes

Love is blind.