Brain Pain


Nourished and caressed his blood cells,

The tropical Sun’s ordeal,

From the Ganges, humid winds and moist spells,

His body, a mirror to his years,

While post-school, ceased ticking his brain,

At the epicenter of his central nervous system,

Evolved a tumor out of his skull’s membrane,

Only perpetual childhood now to nurture,

Cancelled were all his bookings to a manly future,

Cherish every second was what the docs prescribed,

Now he could be gone any moment, medication surrendered,

Thereafter, his parents gifted him a young bride,

The child locked in a man’s shell had to hear wedding bells,

Chucked out of his ancestral house, deserted to die,

He smiles in a squat on the floor of a mental facility,

Chuckles innocently, “I miss Mom, she used to play with me, sleep by my side,

I miss Dad; he saved me every night by sleeping with my angry wife”


(A Salute to sapiens that surround us…)



Image credits:

You can have him, Mom!


Mom and Dad

Sunlight caught the air nude,

Unravelled blemishes in it,

Dust and exhaust beamed in dots,

The night’s gone for good,

Pages of Sin turned over,

There was nothing that I would want to remember,

Except that dad was relaxed and satisfied,

Though I know mom must have been robbed of sleep,

Rolling restless, deprived and hungry, till late she must have cried,

Tells me that frown of strain amidst her closed eyes,

I hate to see her crave in despair,

I hate being her glossy alternative at home,

I hate to distract her man’s desire,

My time’s up , I’m well aware,

Mom, when you contaminate my food today,

Add a dash of poison,

I will grow grey, sick and dull, then quietly pass away,

An ailing end is what father would see and know,

Erase your man’s option mom, you know he loves it more,

Just keep my dad in spirits,

Light his flickering fire, now shall be starved of my youth,

Don’t have me sick and moan beside,

For pangs of your man’s lust slash me all the time,

Be there for each other in every clime,

Have me in your cherished frames from the past,

Let me sink into that big sleep divine…


(Voice of a Bangladeshi 15 year old girl, Orola, victim of a three-way marital arrangement.

Her father started sleeping with her by the time she was 15 for he preferred her over her mother. This is a fact that rendered her mother hurt and deprived to an extent that she started mixing wild herbs in her food to spoil her health for a few days, only for her chance to sleep with her husband, her love.

Inspired from the marieclaire article, “My Mom And I Share The Same Husband



Image from :

With You, For You, Always


Our Protectors?

Khaki clad Pillars of our Democracy?

Law and Order Monitors?

Look where do they come from?

Mark what have they read till this long?

Notice those outdated degrees that brought them so far?

Grown out of trash texts, and,

Female-shunned backgrounds,

What else can you expect?

A few hoarse animals fit for nothing else,

But to toil in those Easy Uniforms,

They’ll raise their manly hands on Women Protestors,

And, then they’ll swear to save our Women,

Laughable a breed, our Police,

Lodging an FIR isn’t important,

A 5 year-old’s Rape is tooooo Trivial, a matter,

The kid’s parents are Harassed,

Paid 40$ to keep Shut,

To stay away from the Media,

Forget their missing daughter, Flee the city, Instead,

Searching their premises Isn’t Important too,

Public servants? Our Protectors?

What Apathy!!! What Disrespect for our Women !!!

All you Rapists, and Female-Crushers,

Have a Blastttttttttttttttt in my City,

With You, For You Always is Delhi Police…



(An enraged expression from an Indian, a resident of Delhi.)

Based on the following events:

  • Delhi Police delayed lodging an FIR after the child went missing, failed to do a proper search of the building where the family lived and also allegedly gave Rs 2000 to the girl’s father asking him to stay away from the media. Later, the girl was found locked in a room of the ground floor of the building.
  • An Assistant Commissioner of Police, B S Ahlawat on Friday slapped a young girl at least four times, inside a hospital where she and others were protesting against the brutal rape of a five- year-old girl.
  • He was suspended, immediately. ( As if suspension works! He would be back to duty, sooner or later, the same Man.)
  • Be a little patient if you can, watch the incident LIVE…it’s in HINDI (the Indian national language, but it’s short, so do WATCH IT guys…



Images from :,

My City Dies

“…I’m sure there’ll be more to cry for,

There’ll be more for us to see…”

Courtesy: ” Disrespecting ‘Her’, the Indian way… ” (

And, here we are, with more to see…


One of the oldest civilizations,

Isn’t much civilized as yet,

Gone the heartless Nazis,

Gone a ruthless Somalia,

Gone a greedy Latin America,

Gone lethally blind, an unfortunate Syria,

Now, all set to go, India,

Barbaric lust molds savages in here,

Are these men? Are these human beings?

Do they belong to the same land of faith, bards and kings?


We’re growing vampires,

Did I not tell you?

There’ll be more of their victims,

More for us to lament on,

And, there you see,

How monstrous have they turned?

They Devoured a five-year old,

Dishonored her Fatally, out of Lust,

Tore her genitals apart,

Quenched their thirst for feminine meat,

Corked it with a little bottle and candles,

Left her to writhe in pain, and rot,

 They Devoured a five-year old,

Dishonored her Fatally, out of Lust…


Did that child know what happened?

Did she know why did they hurt her?

Did she know why did they bleed her?

Did she know the meaning of lust?

Did she know what being a woman, was all about?

Was she aware of a woman’s foremost duty?

Of a woman’s pricey obligation in this country?

Was she aware of the meaning of pleasure?

Or meaty gratification, whatsoever?

They Devoured a five-year old,

Dishonored her Fatally, out of Lust…


She follows her unsuccessful successor into the ICU,

My City Wept then,

Thereafter, My City Rebelled,

All futile, All useless, All hopeless,

We shall breathe in, breathe out, breathe on,

In this sea of Apathy,

We shall crave, beg for a drop of Humanity,

Wait and watch,

For now, we want to believe it or not,

We survive in a Dead Clime,

With each new dawn now,

We hear our girls and ladies cry,

As uniformed hooligans try burying sins,

Paint absolute anarchy,

They Devoured a five-year old,

Dishonored her Fatally, out of Lust,

Splashed at us, are buckets full of disgust,

Now soaked in filth,

We’ll watch with lame eyes,

As, robbed clean off its soul,

Shoved towards a shameful end,

Now, My City Dies…



(An enraged expression from an Indian, a resident of Delhi.)

For more on the heinous crime :

Rape of a five year old: Protests in Delhi again(

Protests build in New Delhi after child rape(

A Scary, and a Humiliating Fact:

336% rise in child rape cases in India since 2001(


Images from :,,,,

Nothing Else Matters


“Is anybody in?”                    

Rockets up her disgruntled scream,

Her winking eyes staring up, beating the Sun,

Crows were drooling on high branches till then, had their heads dripping,

Caught in the trance of that tranquil noon,

They awaken displeased, shocked, alert,

Flock away to a safer position for a better view, cautious on the mid-street wires,

Her shrill pitch jolts up the building, has its windows jerk open with a shudder,

Summons the healing cement and bricks,

Tweaks their basic motive to exist,

Fumes of wrath sink in the air, has it sullen and heavy,

Robs the day, bright till then, of its yellow order,

Culls down an entire slot of eyes,

Rocked out of precious hard-earned slumber,

Disturbed, curious at her loud emergency,

“I need help, I need mercy,

I stay in the shanty by your side, just adjacent,

A matter of less life, and much death it is,

I have a patient…”                 


Stitches on her face,

Bandaged sterilized destiny,

Bruises, cuts and blots,

Traces of fresh injuries,

Veiled her strong aura,

Labeled on it a leopard skinned future,

Together, they grabbed attention for her,

Got minds inside reeling,

Steering into varied lanes of assumed conclusions,

Leafing back their pages of experience,

The board on their entrance read, “Let No Addict Die”,

They decide to abide by, to let her in,

At least pull her soaring volume indoors,

Prevent neighbors from assuming,

It’s Showtime at the Madhouse…


Kicking slippers off her feet,

Unable to reply questioning male stares,

Low headed, she hurries into the empty office,

Collapsing on feeble plastic, she looks up at the gathering outside,

Gasping for breath, she rings aloud,

“I need some minutes with the owner, “

Her eyes drill into the void, her head hangs down,

Her gaze, fixed on her lap,

Unruffled by trickling droplets of sweat,

In confluence with narrow streams of tears,

Dripping from her nose tip,

Smudging her fate wet,

Her overworked sari…


The chief in frowns, steps in,

Slams the door behind,

Hints in gestures to his staff,

To be ready outside, stay close by,

Her sobs thwart out of the room,

Her cries and pleads clamor,

Another evening meant fresh wounds,

New sessions of beatings for her,

She was withering away under the brunt of violence,

Her husband’s penniless rage in his alcoholic haze,

Now, seemed ceaseless, murdered her spirit every day,

Strangled her slow and steady,

Robbed her off whatever she made sweeping houses,

Her tanned youth, her days green, her vitality,

But, she swore before God,

She would be with him forever,

For after him, she knew well,

The world could only sell her,

Present her in charity, an anonymous death …


All of a sudden,

Shrieks of the chief bullet out,

Instantly, overpowers her howl,

Chairs screech, the door flings open,

Terrorized he runs out,

Grabbing the stony stair railing,

Abuses his profession, his commitment towards a cause,

Orders fuming red, “I want this woman out, immediately, “

Her honor won’t do, are we that hungry?

That’s not our price for treating her husband,

How dare could she take me for a pimp?

Could she think so lowly of us?

How dare could she reach out for her blouse?

How dare could throw that bait, could she try undress?

I want her out now, all at once…”


The most aged of his staff,

Rides on his advantage, wraps the sari around her well,

Cautious to touch, he was scared,

She was still screaming for help,

Her blouse still pulled down, forgotten,

While, they joined him to drag away her rebelling feet,

Staggering behind, she was spitting out shame, helplessness, begging an answer from the chief,

Shoved outside now, she still sat clutching the grill,

Weeping in hauls, a dark shadow eclipsed the atmosphere,

Steps deserted the gate, shocked voices growled from the office room,

Soon, she was gone,

Only a crushed slip thrown inside,

It read in the native language,

“Honor is too little a price,

I loved him,

We swore to be there for each other,

I have no money, but I’ve my soul, my life,

Help me, rescue two lives,

We’re perishing alive…”






(A day of strange observations in the life of an addict, when under treatment in a rehabilitation center in India.)




Images from :,,

Repent, Rebel, Ring the Bell!!!


Screaming grey clouds, admonishing, posing black,

Gathering heavy, staring large to scare,

Growls echo the skies above,

The Sun, the Moon, their starry-eyed countless children,

Conquered, Shun shooed away to a pitchy night,

Packed away, concealed for a while,

Chiseled die rolls unfair, a sinned grim future smiles,

Hour of Nebula’s grief,

The haze emptied its lungs out,

Bereft lips chose to blow a gale,

Whimpering Shamans of mist blew horns of death,

Call of a tempestuous apocalypse,

Annihilation chants, prayers of destruction,

To mourn her bleeding weakness,

For injuries to His creation, divine,

For rupturing His celestial design,

Her tender twirls baked, dried, fried for a quick wither,

To crush, Adam simply wasn’t authorized,

He did violate for that privilege was never sanctioned,

While, only a part of an eternal plan, ethereal,

Sculpted at the ambrosial factory on the road from Hell to Heaven,

To co-exist, to complete,

Shield Eve’s hallowed mirage,

Her caretaker, to ensure she’s painted fresh pink, forever,

Guard her unsafe, low-walled warehouses of cascading maturity,

Shield her lockers choking affection, affliction, unconditional,

Safeguard her vow to inject life into lull,

Into this barren anemic atmosphere,

Saving it from eclipsing permanently comatose,

Firebolt shadows of the church, cross on the cobbled rocks,

On and off, lit and snubbed,

Weeping Holy bricks visible in sudden glares,

Heavens abuse, crackle, roaring curses follow,

Swaying church bells, clanging aloud,

Adam’s Call, hold the bell from the winds,

Ring the bell to realize,

Time for repentance,

Iron pangs of regret on his skin,

Only, hath he not tried editing the divine tale,

Sink in his lusty pangs, infected poison,

From death shrubs on both sides of the Indus River,

Penance awaits him now at the courts of hell, lightning strikes,

Chastisement wafers, castigation bread,

Tapes of her shrill shrieks, unheard wails,

Anguished bawls of pain,

Shall have Adam hypnotized,

Allured to the Altar of Retribution…



(Dedicated to “Ring the Bell“, the award winning global campaign, the crusade to launch action on violence against women.


Continued from :


Images used from :,, )