dreams of dystopia

helpless and fragile

the shadows in my dreams,

and the people in my home,

their bodies – small and weak;

the captors of light

at large in the streets;

we rot in a catacomb,

nasty, derelict and meek.



they cage free souls

where there once was a park

bind them in locks

and bellow and hark;

there used to arrive

a singing skylark

and bright eyed girls in frocks;

the frocks now dark.



it has never been hard

to raise my ire,

when a dimwit casts

lousy verdicts in high towers;

but of jibes and slurs

I never quite tire,

it fills the void that lasts

for hours upon hours.



a pauper’s share

has never been much

but more it has been

than my paltry lot;

my twelve year eye

has never seen much

but more it has seen

than I care or ought.


A Measure of Hysteria

The room was choking, insufferably tight

A flash of light outside

Woke her up, drenched in sweat and the fleeting aftershock

Of another wretched nightmare

As it teetered at the precipices of her mind

Irrevocably dwindling and yet not,

Never releasing her from its ceaseless, haphazard vacillation

She has no sense, no memory of the hallowed reality

Forever out of her reach – sometimes it bothers to extend an arm;

A half-hearted offer, a dismal display of help

But just as soon withdraws it-

She is back in the pits and trenches

Of her demonic reminiscences

Yielded to these tricks of her mind

Accepted the widespread infamy, given her consent

To the office of derangement and sickly hysteria

At least it stops the flood of hows and whys

And the pities and sympathies she has no room for;

The room is insufferably tight.



The flash comes again and retreats

Designed to tempt her out of her stifling confines

She walks to the window, and is astounded

At the endless black of night

‘Slow, soothing, gentle,’

She gazes at it in awe, so different from her thundering heart

Oh! To be able to touch it!

The best of happiness lies in its outreach

Never does she wonder what augments her belief–

The allure of the night’s silence, the luxury of escape,

Or the tact and delicacy of the night,

The night that deigns to invite her

To an hour of violent abandon

A sarcastic offer;

Yet she indulges her naiveté

To clamber out of the recesses of her soundless hell

From all the indelible tortures, the asinine memories-

That claw at her skin and shrivel up the walls of her soul-

Bound to her like the night had decreed.



The wind howls at her, the trees shake their trunks

The sounds of the night rage at her folly,

Mock at her with all the sincerity

Of the disgust that follows her everywhere

She cannot escape – there is none

The implacable anguish – her constant companion

A guiltless soul mate

Till death do they part?

The epiphany of that moment is more pragmatic

Than romantic;

She devours that ephemeral consciousness

And in a quick bid to follow it,

Breaks her bones and cracks her veins

And rips apart the tyrannical shroud

Of godless and faithless remembrances;

Now the night stares, its sounds rendered speechless

As she spills blood on the frosty floor

A punishing red against hues of white

She becomes one with the night.