Touch me not

Touch me not
for i shall sore away
with the winds of north
venture not to hold me
for i intend to flow
all the way from mountains to seas
discover every inch
of earth’s mystery

watch from a distance
for i shall dissipate soon
when our eyes cross
and your breathing does somersault
a mysterious force pulls you across
all in the name of nincompoop heart

Darling remember,
to Touch me not.

Holika Dahan

I saw the moon through the fire, and it shimmered, wavered, as a delicate painting, remembering the poem i first read this marvel in. While my father explained how this is due to different refractive index of air, cold and hot above the blazing fire. From which our attention was diverted to my sister’s constant foot tapping, for she wanted to go home and wash her funny coloured face( just holi things). Hence we moved towards home, before reaching encountered another story by my brother, that it is barred to go the basement of apartment building after 8’o clock. And a natural ‘why ‘ left my mouth, to which he revealed that there lives a ghost there- called momo. I wondered what was more funny, the ghost called momo or his belief on it.

Happy Holika Dahan or Choti Holi everyone.

To those who don’t know, Holika Dahan is an indian festival, marking the victory of belief in god, that one’s faith in the higher power prevails above all worldly powers. And evil burns itself in the pursuit of harming others. Happy Holika Dahan again!

Wardrobe-says-it-all

a woman confidently sporting her ripped jeans.

With daily movements, rallies and protests all to more or less extent screaming for equality, and ending discrimination based on race, religion, sex, sexual orientations and the list goes on. The swarming of social media with messages to not judge or discriminate on narrowly perceived identities or stereotypes and, how it is disastrous to a peaceful and inclusive society. still people, especially people in power keep on defining women based on their clothes.

I would quote Uttarakhand’s chief minister, today in a live, “what example they set up before their children and the society!”, talking about a woman wearing ripped jeans, walking with her two children, who runs a NGO. this woman’s ripped jeans apparently marked her unfit to manage her kids and work for a social cause in the eyes of our CM. *Issued in public safety, next time you are out on a walk with your kids and see a woman wearing a ripped jeans. ‘RUN, for they shall destroy ye’*. I didn’t want to say how ridiculous is the logic,as obvious, so i wrote a joke about it.

Was i shocked to hear a CM making such a statement? NO, because similar remarks have been continously made by people in power. there has been an age old nexus between women’s clothes and their sanskar(character,attitude or culture). Ranging from the time, when Hindu Mahasabha suggested to ban jeans for women, to justification of rape because of a women’s dress. what these all have in common is, they perpetuate the widely held beliefs about lack of agency, women’s body as dangerous, something to be covered and hidden, and the narrative of a “bad woman“.

There are plenty of feminist texts and readings on similar matters, if one cares to read, rather than pushing narrow nationalist agendas on the cost of women’s autonomy.

Conflux

Confluence of the old and new,
rejuvenated the perished
created the unheard
quenched the craving,


For the old aimed
and the new found
even different genre, sight
Conflux conferred each of their wants

A new lens?

A new lens

And it all seemed better if not beautiful
Once i changed the lens;


Before was all a hazy blur of despair, confusion and sense of loss. Which gave to a hope of solution, change and new.

If you are stuck in a spot, unable to change anything. Try changing your lens to the world. It would not vanish problems but definitely provide ways and a better understanding.

Keep questioning!🤗🙌

Canvas

Blues and hues
with yellow intact
In pools of black
That often turned red

Saw the rainbows and greys
All splashes of shades,
Aye dyed home in brown
when purple dreams beckoned,

A little orange mixed
In palette of green
Brushes and rushes
To repaint recolor

Still pink held the background
Loud and strong;
This is SHE
Her canvas said it all;


I always wanted to write a poem with a unified theme of metaphors, and this happened as a happy accident while describing a picture. You can see that picture on my IG here.

Hop hop

I hop hop hop
In the green ol valley
I hop hop hop
Mountains beside me

I hop hop hop
with the maroon beneath me
In search of something
To satisfy inner me

I reached the
last standing tree
And
Yet
I hop hop hop