How many pints of my blood for the dignity of one safe night?
The resistance is not always blazing guns and shouted slogans. Sometimes, the sight of a woman’s unchained breasts is enough to bring patriarchy to its knees.
We worship our daughters in India. We rape the daughters of others.
In different colors of the light, reflections change their hues. And reality once again gets repainted for the night.
Symbolism in life and death is an expression of the simplicity of blood– nothing more than a slave of our invisible life force.
Too tired to live, too scared to die…
We live a million lives in every byte of our social accounts. And with each new post, the older ones die, taking with themselves moments from our real, non-virtual minutes, which are finite, unlike the cloud.
Madness is nothing but the state of a mind unable to find its anchor. The schizophrenic simply sees more than she should.
There is no place for them, this side of the bars. And with them, the mother weeps in her humiliating captivity.
Men are communal, Lust is secular.
Utopia looks like a woman, smells of a jungle, and feels like the touch of cool rain on bare skin. She must be from the land of liberty because that is what pleasure looks like.
Abuse is not always packaged as harm. If pain is all that you have known, then you will seek refuge and find comfort in the familiarity of torment. Serenity is a function of familiarity. Peace is never subservient to uncertainty.