Shapes of release

I was in many shapes before I was released

First I thought I was the good dumb daughter my parents wished me to be.
Anger broke my boundaries... I realized I could never be that. I wanted to gather all the moss of a rolling stone. There couldn't have been any guarantees of only getting the goodness. I was open to all that I loved. Good or Bad or complicated.

Then I thought may be a good life,well lived would be a nice idea...
A handsome Goodlooking man for me, with a Big Car, and our goodlooking children playing in his garden. But something in me just wouldn't say yes to that...I wanted much more than a good life...I wanted to run naked in the streets...To feel the sun on my bare skin. To never be civilized out of my wildness. To be handsome and good-looking with a big car of my own!
It was a rude thing to do.Some times I think It happens to women who aren't born petite and dainty.

There were times I would shrink myself to fit the right size...It doesn't happen very often now.

Sometimes I think I am a ballet dancer inside. Who has ached in the nerves to find that balance. Standing on the tip of my thumb...stretched out to perfection...a shape just for its own sake..no one else matters in that dance.

Often I get lost among handsome faces and magical cunning shapes....but there is always a clock ticking away...it doesn't loose any second for anybody in the world...it just keeps ticking to the truth of its own time....

I find my shapes of release in forgetting the beauty I saw in your shape. The love was so short and the forgetting so long!

But it comes and I find my shapes of release.

You resembled my Mommy so much!

In that grey cotton shirt with cream flowers on it.

That cut of mars on your forehead.

In all the curd that you had with me for dinner.

All those stories of white butter that you stole..

The tardy slippers you wore to work.

That missing tooth hidden behind your half smile.

That sinus sitting over your head

That callousness of leaving me alone in a market.

The smell of soap coming from your skin and some left behind your ears!

That toenail that always grew inwards that you shredded when you were tired.

That creaking sound of your knuckles when you sat on the floor

The drones of tired fitful sleep of stress.

That sobbing that absolutely broke my heart.

Those big hands always bigger than mine.

That fast walk with long steps I could never keep pace with.

You had no buisness resembling my mother!

Salt~

If it doesnt taste sweet
If it doesnt change color
If it hasnt burnt to become something else
If it doesnt loose taste after all the warm concoctions and freezing indiffrences breathed into it
If it doesnt harm the insides after swallowing
If it tastes bitter compared to other things at your table
If it still sticks to your 'full hands'
If you cant take it back once you've given it
If nobody can buy it nothing can undo it
Its salt!
The little salt that turned into an earring from your hand into mine...

Sand in my bra

Sipping chai at lonely stations
Sleeping with lights on in sickly cold railway compartments
Passing by the lights of the cities which have been home once
Wearing salt earrings to not forget what I have taken from the world
Fulfilling the promises made to random gods
Smiling at strangers kinder than you
Squinting and looking hard
Passing thunder and lightening on the way
Remembering the life I had prayed for
Living the life I have been given
The sand in my bra singing as I run...

My Hands

These hands that will last a lifetime
Skin that has absorbed memories
Big not petite as would have made them pretty
Not a bit brittle these bones inside
Clenching
Approaching
Poking rudely
These silly hands..
With lying fraud lines
Stubborn
Slow
Senile
Strong
These hands that I live with

the colour purple

The color purple
indifference... distance...travel..loneliness...pride
purple..the colour of standing tall
the colour...my mother never wore
the colour...i grew in my veins slowly...painfully
the colour of my bald head
the colour of frozen gazes
the colour of no comfort
the colour of stubborn shamelesness
the colur of unapolgetic desires
the colour of angry prayers
the colour of prayers withdrawn
the colour purple of angry questions
the colour purple!

Mad woman

Am I mad because I dont fit in the plastic labels?
Am I mad if I cant help being young?
Am I mad if dont care about what tomorrow brings?
Am I mad if I am not scared of growing old?
AM I mad if I dont care a damn about how I look?
Am I mad if I dont belong to any place?
Am I mad if I tell you the truth about my life all the time?
Am I mad if I dont care a dime about editing my language?
Am I mad if I swear and shout?
Am I mad if I laugh out loud?
YES I AM MAD!!!
THANKS BUT NO THANKS!

ASSUME NOTHING!

YOU THINK I AM THAT!
like that?
really????
what makes you think like that?
what makes you so sure?
did i ever say that?
well i could have been kidding?
or who knows??? maybe evn i dont know...
just that I dont understand "this" in you ..
which makes you so sure about life...
should i call it arrogance?
or have you lived a long tiring life?
which has jaded you!
alas my friend ...no excuse is good enough!
all i have to say to you....
ASSUME NOTHING :)

if ???????????

if i could exist without taking space
if i keep quite everytime you hurt me
if i never notice the things that you do
if i never ask for anything
if i crouch everytime you are around
if i never question your motives
if i never asked any audacious questions
if i could help myself from being just another woman

would i be less offensive to you then?