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You ignite me like the flame, Hurt me like the fire. You carved my defaced part, Left the shadow apart. You noticed my concealed soul, Never aware of the process to cure. Let go of…
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A man watching my ever inch of curve, piercing his eyes. He utters “Miss, your bra strip is giving me butterflies.” I replied, “Well, should I be disguised?” Shhhhhhhh…..speak low you are a woman he can give a call, He is a man and you must fall ! Wait, why should I fall ? why can’t I give a call ? Society is moulded with judgement afterall. A bra strip is sexualized, at the same time we don’t get god damn sexual rights! It’s been 73 years of independence, But still women are in fight, equality of gender have to put insight. My mother swears me to wear skirts less often, I know I am flaunting it, But at the same time I am risking it. Society gives a dress code thats for eternity, Uff!! but still there is a RAPE and it is still their gossips fraternity. DON’T, just don’t carve my body like a hour glass. And my bra as a calling for some love. But if a bra strip could talk, ” it would wonder why you would create such a scene, each time you see me or even get a slightest peak”. Well, thank you society , “Slutty” is such a an easy word for “easy girls” isn’t it ? It’s my business as your nose does not fit.
The Chair The old man sits in a chair by the door waiting for someone who’s been there before. His skin is as thin as rice paper page, drooping face speckled with spots of his…
I feel its not necessary, but how else do you show someone that you love them, if you are not even there by their side in happy/ sad moments? It is difficult to breathe at…
lost and alone I was content not searching for any soul to mess with my tings dem an only child use to my comfortable silence life lessons had helped me find that jelousy a disease…
A SOUND CONCESSION Words do not always look right. Their noises rattle on the page. Perhaps it’s fate I listen as I write, For joy’s horn, happiness’ flute . . . Read More.
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Empire of Shadows is the title poem of my collection published by Salmon Poetry (Cliffs of Moher, Ireland) in 2012
Having a crush is like living without any hope..❤️
This poem is about a person who saw the moonlight in a different color that crept in his room. I got inspired to write this after seeing the strawberry moon for myself last night and…
It’s about the formation of stars and its cycle of life and death.
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