Forever

"Tread softly. Because you tread on my dreams."

Because someday,
you'll remember
that silence wasn't always there,
like a loyal dog
curled up at your feet.


Because someday,
you'll look for these words
that were never said
lowered carefully into graves
dug of indifference


Because someday,
this silence will be deafening
and you'll beg for a moment's sound
or even,
my symphony of madness


Because someday,
I'll run out of sleep
and you'll trip
on the last dream
spread beneath your feet


Because someday,
All the laughter in the world
Won't help you remember
What it felt like
to smile


And someday,
You'll learn 
that time does heal.

But scars?
They're forever.

Voices

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silences of our friends."

Lives are voices to me.

Words and wisdom

laughter and rage

cheers and songs

sobs and screams.

Sounds. 

All lives,

captured in sounds.

Except you.

You, to me,

are silence.

*Beep*
"Know that I loved you.

Forgive me someday, if you can."

Even in death, the writer in her refused to die.

Hands and hearts that shed blood,

you welcome with grace.

But the blood of generations drips from my womb

and you call me

unclean.

If today
I give you what you ask
Surrender.
Head bowed, eyes lowered
I give up.
All of me.

If today
I lose for eternity
Learn that foreign language
Defeat, is it called?
Croak on the unfamiliar sounds
Wrap my soul around
the guttural crunching syllables
Until I perfect it

If today
The beginning of forever
I smash the clocks
And pretend
That I never knew of time
Or tomorrow
Or hope

And if today
Choking on a foreign tongue
Bleeding into oblivion,
Stuck in an eternity of hopelessness
that will pass us by
even with broken clocks
I come to you,
Will you finally set me free?

Matters of Size : The Long and very Short of it

If the world media is to be believed, size matters. A little goes a long way. Littler goes even longer. In this world of super thin models photoshopped even further to body sizes that wouldn't look out of place on the cover of a magazine titled "Starvation - It Works!", here's the inside scoop on what it's really like to be little. With facial feature that are stuck on teenager mode, when you're well into your 20's. And thin. Also, short. With little feet. Naturally.

Disclaimer : I am 5 feet nothing, with a body weight in kilograms that can be calculated as follows : 50 - 10 x 1 ÷ 2 .


1. Buying clothes is basically a process of picking up something you like, admiring it for a moment, then scoffing at the thought of it ever being made in your size, placing it back, and walking to the young adult section.  

2. In the aforementioned young adult section, you pick up a shirt meant for 14 - 16 year olds, see that it's about 2 sizes bigger than you are, and rage "Which 16 year old did they measure this against?!"

3. Finding formal clothes that fit you, and that don't make you look like you borrowed your dad's clothes to dress as him for Halloween, is a harrowing experience.

4. No pants have ever made in your length. Ever. By the time you're done altering them, the leftover cloth could be used to make several handkerchiefs.

5. Speaking of length, other people your age's knee length skirts are your wraparound long matron skirts.

6. I, am XS. Your clothes, are NOT.

7. Real conversations I've had in the last 2 years :

Scene 1 : An airport
Characters : Sweet lady at the check in counter (SLATCIC), Me (Me)


SLATCIC (sweetly): Hello! Passport, please.
Me : Hello. (Hands over passport)

SLATCIC (sweetly) : Flying all alone?

Me : Yup

SLATCIC (sweetly) : How old are you?

Me (sweetly) : I'm 24

SLATCIC (traumatised) : Oh god ma'am, I am so sorry. I though you were 14...

Scene 2 : Backstage of a church play
Charactes : Random Man (RM), Me (Me)

RM : Hi, I just saw this girl in a nun's get up, is she for real?

Me : Haha, no, she's a 9th grader in XYZ School. It's just a costume.

RM (sweetly) : Oh really good job then. Are you also in the same school?

Me (sweetly) : Sure, but I'm 26 years old and a teacher there...

RM (traumatised) : Oh god ma'am, I am so sorry. I though you were 14...

8. Here's how we buy shoes : See pair we absolutely love, try them on and discover they look just as fabulous as hoped, ask for size 3.5, walk out crying.
While the store clerks try vainly to contain their disdain for an adult with size 3.5 feet.

9. "Why hasn't your parent signed your passport renewal form?"

Probably because I'm 22...

10. And finally, the real reason you encourage students to stay seated and raise their hands, so that you can walk over and clear their doubts, rather than have them walk up to you is, you're so little, the fact that kids 10 years younger than you have to bend over to talk to you gets very old, very fast.

Like so. I feel you, Phillip Lahm.

Midget,Chicken Little,Super Short Sherin, Little Hitler, Lilliput with eternal youth out. 
Until next crime.

I Will Not Bleed

I will not bleed.
I have perfected the art
So I can cut
again and again
swipe by slow, painful swipe
until I go just deep enough
to not bleed

These scars are my secret
Easily explained
When you don't bleed
No one looks any deeper
Just like the cuts you make
Searing enough to burn
Not deep enough to bleed

This one's for the time
I wish you understood
That one, faded now,
When I realised you wouldn't
There's always a reason
A story that's real
Maybe one day
You'll feel what you deal

But as for now
I will not bleed
I cut in silence
Cherish each new scar

Tiny, agonising victories
Until the day
When I really will bleed
Perhaps then,
You'll win.

Tiny Horror Tale

Every night, my phone doesn't ring.
But every morning, there's a missed call from him at 3.11 am.
The date he died.

If you could reach into my soul
You'd see these lines already scrawled there
Words are thoughts bled in ink, my friend
It simply comes down to how much you dare

For every dream you shot down mid flight
For every hope you let die with a shrug
For every pain you buried in bandages
For every cry whose grave you dug

This lives. Survives. Burnt into a corner of our soul
This storm, not even you could ride
And all your rage and pain and pleas
Lives in inkblood, long after you've died

We were brave once, you and I
In a distant past, where you dared
When I write these words out now
Can you still believe that you once cared?

That you dreamed, raged, swore
Played, laughed and even, lived?
Is there a part of me, somewhere,
somehow, where that person has survived?

Till the end, you promised me.
Together. My strength, you would give
Because you always told me,
everyone exists. You, must live.

You lied. You left. 
And as for what you'd promised me,
a fight, a war, no quarter given,
That, would never come to be

I did not know such agony was real
That you could feel such pain
For a memory is a searing flame
That can survive the heaviest rain

You always knew, I realise now
You did mean to be by my side 
You did love me, that's true too
Just that, this storm, you couldn't ride

You always knew that you would drown
You just hoped you'd done enough
And I would survive, tell this tale
After the storm, no matter how rough


You were wrong. You were me.
Without you, I cannot resist 
Watch now, as I drown too
And no longer live, just exist.