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fatpanda

India

i thrive on irony.

Message from Writer

mischief managed
https://www.instagram.com/thatkindofadoodle/

Published Work

inevitable #ghostlycontest

One day, when the Sun's heat is too much for us to bear,
The oceans will rise up and envelope us in their coolness
Saline water will will burn our eyes and choke our throats
And what's left of marine life
will punish us for destroying their homes.
Our waterproof electronics will find nooks and crannies to hide
to while away their time,
until a hand runs down their body lovingly again.
Mother Nature will work her wonder, and soon
the huge tide of azure will recede, leaving in it's wake
cool land, wild rain-forests, and a thriving ecosystem.
From the broken earthen pots and shattered terracotta statues
New four-legged forms will emerge,
And until the arch in their back doesn't disappear,
They'll be completely oblivious to the legacy we left behind.
A few hundred years later,
a curious hand will stumble upon an obsolescent glass screen,
and wonder why the sheen of it's cover doesn't talk to him,
why...

siren

"hold me close, don't let go,
even as inky truths begin to
spill from the cobwebs upon my arms
even as dust, filth, grime begin to
seep out of my pores. 

"hold my hand, fill me up
even as the illusion melts away
and the skin sags against my cheekbones.
even when i'm no longer
beauty and grace." 

and thus, he was brought under her spell, for she was a striking siren, a patch of dry land between vicious waves. he ventured too close, and her fingernails turned into talons, talons with which she ripped out his heart and feasted upon it.

the last thing he heard were his own agonized screams.

all of me belongs to everybody else

i met a stranger on the train
i shared with her a joke.
looked at her with expectant eyes,
glittering with anticipation.
she gave me her laugh.

i met a party animal
i could clearly see her
fake exuberance highlighted with
golden eye shadow.
she said that she didn't want to 
come out yet.
i carry with me her sorrow.

i held a debate with a misogynistic man
he countered my disagreements
with pompousness.
told me to not talk back to him,
that i didn't have the right.
his memory is a reminder of
this prejudiced world.

my friend and i lay upon 
a mat underneath a roof of stars.
the shadows of the chilly night had
whispered secrets in our ears.
that darkness lurks in my mind.

i once attended an event
too high for my standards.
a posse of dancers had littered onstage
awing me with their effortless movements.
i'll forever be mimicking their elegance.

our dining table...

don't talk to me

See my tears, look away 
bend your head, move on.
Hide my books, you can't handicap me
Call me weak, even at knifepoint.
Tell me to stay within my limits
(I don't have any) 
Hear saccharine words dripping 
from my velvety lips
Yell at me, play with me.

I don't want to be a toy.

toxic (ii)

blazing fire, too hot, too bright,
they were just another dying comet in the sky
the smoky tendrils wrapping 'round their pinkies
like a promise to be held
all the ash, a signature of this pact.

time heals all scars, as it did this one
he didn't realise that the slashes on her body
were his doing
for him, she was just a smell associated with
the reek of alcohol.

time heels all wounds, as it did this one
a rose grew from the ash,
dewdrops glistening upon it like diamonds
she made herself a crown out of those,
a rising phoenix.

carry on #psychological

The heat was like a plague, creeping in from all sides, invading him, until it consumed every single bit of his body, and left it to rot, weak.

The voice coming out of his mouth wasn't his, it was a bare croak, hardly recognisable, his throat a mere effigy of what it once was.

Water was scarce, every single drop of that precious liquid seemed to have been drained from his body, which was drenched in sweat.

Dried blood adorned the mosquito bites he had so viciously picked the previous night, which seemed to attract even more of those insolent little pests.

The harsh Sun showed no mercy, raining and raining it's wrath down upon his body, charring the inside as well as the outside.

His only salvation from this incessant torture was the liberating knowledge that his death was fast approaching, life quickly seeping away from him

His hopes? His hopes for his own survival had been squished out...

slow burn

"When I die, I want it to be over quickly," she says, lighting a cigarette.

wilted

the children hurry forward,
chubby little hands
drop marigolds delicately
upon her chest.

soon, stale nectar oozes out
of the open casket
a putrid stench wafts through the air

the withered flowers draw a pattern 
upon her body:
treachery, lies, and misgivings,
all outlined dangerously
against her porcelain skin.

the onlookers stare in horror
the daughter of a priest,
a denizen of the dark
victim to
failed attempts at amelioration
impure, defeated, lost.

the water flows into the
crevice decorating her neck.

crush

nine, the number of centimetres i had over you in the third grade, the cause of innumerable teasing jaunts and red-eyed tattling.

eight, the years i didn't see my best friend for, after your mother got a transfer. eight, the number of years i missed you like crazy, severely regretting how we ended our last goodbye with a fight.

seven, the time at which you sauntered into the classroom, my classroom, as if you owned it. your eyes passed right through me, but that carefully carried out act of nonchalance conveyed volumes. i grinned, and you couldn't help but smile back, even though it was at a wall, not me.

six, the number of hours we dodged each other for, neither knowing how to start a casual conversation after all this time. i religiously avoided your eyes, though i'll admit that my heart started hammering wildly against my chest whenever you passed through my periphery.

five, the measly number of...

dream

i.
My grandfather said,"Make me a cup of tea."
I was studying, so I said no.
He dragged me to the kitchen
and made me do it because
"You're a girl
and that's what girls do."

ii.
My husband came home from work
it was late.
I served him dinner, 
he spat it out.
Said it wasn't how he liked it.
He threw the plate on the floor
and me on it.

iii.
There's a punching bag
in my brother's room.
When nobody's home,
I sneak in and practise.
My mother caught me one day
She hit me with her slipper
I wasn't allowed to protect myself
even though I could.

iv.
When I was sixteen,
my parents married me off
to an illiterate man.
He's fourteen years older than me
He likes to get drunk.
He likes to get out of control.
He likes to force himself upon me,
make me do things.
Things I don't want to do. ...

society's walls

they painted the walls
with a baby pink shade--
soft, delicate. elegant,
everything, in their opinion,
she should have been.

they painted and painted
dreams, aspirations, goals
a medical degree, three kids (all boys),
a model husband.

and then, 
their daughter opened her eyes
for the first time

she loved her bedroom
awash with the promise of
an ideal future
a shared dream.

seventeen years later...

a rebellious teenage girl stood
in the middle of the room
buckets of white paint surrounding her.
she emptied them on the walls.

taking a brush,
she painted.

rugby scholarship, a beautiful girlfriend.
fiction books, a cottage by the sea.
two dogs (a girl and a boy).
and happiness-- lots of it.

her parents watched, horrified
but most of all, afraid.
'what will people say?'
'this isn't how it should be!'


but the strong woman walked away,
defiance reeking from her pores
ecstacy unbounded in her heart
a lone figure in the shadows.

 

her #fire

there's a dimple on your cheek
a bead of water is trapped in it
playfully, my finger finds it,
but it is quick to pull back

hot lava erupts among the water
the harsh sizzle evaporating wetness
i touch your cheek in shock
but when i pull back
your skin is attached to my hand.

then bubblegum layers peel away
revealing
scorching flames and wisps of darkness 
and somewhere, miraculously, 
a river of salty water flows in between
the searing lands of misery.

my hand finds your cheek again
the flames are cruel, at first
but now, just an endearing warmth remains.

and i watch, as my magic touch 
extinguishes your pain.

the rainbow of their lives #cliffhangerqueencontest

she sees red,
hot anger causing
salty tears to burst forth.

blue waters flow, 
arriving at a cesspool 
of guilt and suffering.

a girl arrives in 
the yellow sunshine.

she dips her bottle into the water
and sips.
poisoned, green foam forms at her mouth.

the harsh crow of the siren in the air
it is punctuated by raspy breaths
as the signal blares orange

under the violet sky.

she is taken to a room
antidote pumped through her veins
just in time.

eyes open to an indigo mess   
the girl who started it all
the one who's tears poisoned her.

a circle never ends

if only

If we all had mood-boards over our heads
mine would perpetually read 'lonely'
And then maybe you'd wrap your arms around
my shivering body

fallout #BleedingLove

a mere "hey"
reminiscent of the deep love
we once shared.
late night phone calls, 
ridiculous ripostes,
friendly punches, and
secretive glances
all conveyed
but 
not shared (anymore)
by a single syllable.

"hey."

the disbanded army #PlayTheGame

He played with hearts,
She with minds
Both ambitious and relentless
No mercy, no shame
Names were simply
Badges on their coats
An evil laugh, a sweet gloat.

Skilled troops invade territory
Resistance is shattered
Attacked and crumbled
Weak entities

An interesting scene,
That's for sure
Them kissing under mistletoe.
 

memories #tenwords

The camera film turned to smoke under your basilisk glare.

In the House

that kind of a demon

a still atmosphere
full of tension
yet
eerily calm.

she sits by the fire
knitting a sweater
humming a song
(the coast looks clear).

a small girl emerges
timid and scared
afraid she'll pull the trigger 
again

afraid the the 
"warm" milk
will scorch her tongue
again.

her mother seems so
peaceful
it's hard to believe
her skin is
a monster's graft.

a small heart thuds
as her mother turns around
to face her

velvety words pour out
laced with sugar
and the girl replies
happy, the monster is supresssed
but
worried that
it'll leap out again.

Why I Write

bleeding ink

i put my thoughts on paper
because
that's much easier than 
saying them out loud.

oh, the irony

Better than a medicine, she healed him, because that's what she did-- she fixed broken things. After that, he didn't need her anymore.
And that's what broke her.

mature now

And there, in all her imperfectness, she realized that she was perfect.

unveiled

She would be a Saturday, perpetually close to the end, but saving her work for later, again and again. 
Like the colour grey, she can be perceived as either a dull void, empty and unfeeling, or a delightful mix of black and white, of all the highs and lows of her life. 
Self-dependent, she motivates herself, striving to reach the end, persuading herself to hang on for just a little more time. And when she is driven, she succeeds. 
She would be a wolf, proud and strong, loyal to her pack, for she sees strength in numbers, after all, together we stand, divided we fall.
Like a grape, her shell is sour, and she pushes you away. But once you accept her, she is the sweetest fruit there is, for she is a perfect mix of light and dark. 

And she guides herself perfectly during her worst, for, at that time, she is at her strongest and weakest.

hope

She was his bright spot in the dark; his wave of hope in the lost sea
He had this aura, an aura of darkness around him, but that only seemed to allure her further.
She wanted to figure him out, to protect him from the dangerous dark
All he wanted was for her to stay out of the life he had chosen for himself.
The worlds of both, as diverse as East and West, collided.
He no longer spent time brooding, she no longer walked defeatedly
His previously flat grey eyes were bright, bright as they followed her lively step towards him
She had found him, and him, her in this great big unsolved jumble of life, and elated, they figured it out together.
 

dawn of realization

but lying here
in the darkness of my mind
and in all of my misery
i laugh
because

nobody cares.

let me go #contestfor69

Mom,

I'm a glass figure
surrounded by glass walls,
Wanting to break free
but afraid I may shatter myself instead.

I say, "Let me go,"
But you don't.
So, now, I let myself go.

You'll search for me
in your heart, in the world, in your mind, in your eyes.
I know you will.

But I don't want to be found.
Not before I find myself.

So, goodbye, mom
(though not for good).
Stay free, rest easy,
I'll come back to you.

I love you

and

I'm sorry for hurting you
but
staying meant

only hurting myself more.

 

it's all his fault #RefuseToSay

No matter what happens, I can't tell them. If they find out, it's over.

I stare at the mix of Halloween candy wrappers lying around me: Toblerones, Hershey's’, Cadburys, and other delights packed in layers of yumminess stare accusingly at me, as though mocking me for what I did. Oh God, why is this happening?

It’s all Sean Ambrose’s fault, of course. His stupid face, and stupid proposal.

If it weren’t for that blithering idiot, I wouldn’t have been in such a compromising position right now. He knew this would happen. He knew that I would eventually give in, that I had no self-control. How could that sadistic fool extract joy from my humiliation?

I had to hold out for a week. A week. No to candy, yes to other distracting food-stuff that were tasty but not nearly as tasty as Halloween candy. He knew that I wouldn't be able to control my temptation for long, ultimately seeking refuge in the...

it's clear #anhacontest

the raindrops are clear,
pure, before they hit the ground.

clear, like a child's love for his parents
clear, like the unconcealed hurt in his eyes
clear, like the water flowing between the rocks
clear, like the undiluted feelings we have.

then it hits the ground
soaking in its impure essence
every particle infiltrating its very being
 
it becomes dirty, impure.

impure, like the scary depths of his mind.
impure, like the uncontrollable power he hunts for.
impure, like the filth we gift the rivers each day.
impure,

how fast our feelings change,
harming us and those we love

forever.

uncomplicated feelings

he says he hates me, and i hate him for hating me.

loved, only not

of unseen tears and silent pleas for help
of words never spoken
she paints her canvas with her own blood.
trapped in her mind,
its survival
so difficult, so effortless, so intense.
everyday's a struggle.