Ramayana as told by Mandodari.

Sita was born to my beloved,
when he sneezed, my Ravana.
Yet she destroyed him whom I loved.

I heard that she set up quite a mammoth task,
that Sita, for her prospective grooms.
For her future perils, such glory was a mere mask.

Ramayana as told by Luv-Kush.

She who was our mother, she was born 
from the womb of the Earth Mother.
And us, with her selfless love, she did adorn.

He who was our father, he who won many hearts,
he came almost as an afterthought…he won,
despite stiff competition, our mother’s heart.

Ramayana as told by Laxman.

She who I respected more than any other,
she was born in Mother Earth’s arm.
My Deity. The life, the wife of my brother.

As an onlooker, I watched with joy,
the holiest of all Unions as
my brother won over his Sita, oh boy!

Ramayana as told by Hanuman

Found in a furrow she was, my Goddess mother,
by the king, the man who craved a child,
and yet, the reason for her birth was another.

My Lord conquered the greatest jewel of all,
the most precious heart of my Goddess,
when the massive bow of Great Shiva, he did haul.

Sonnet - Now and Then.

In the midst of sunshine, grief gripped her heart,
Smiled outwardly but, silently cried.
For between the two she was torn apart,
to remain one’s lover or another’s bride?
One whom she had cared and loved so deeply,
Seen steady in life’s each stormy twister.
Now the passion, that once was so fiery,
was turning into a frigid blister.
For he did break her heart, time and again,
by the distant coldness of his absence.
And now stood another before her, plain,
simple, ring in hand, thus she began to tense.

  However, the distance ‘tween now and then
  was much too large to simply smile and end.

Tease.

She peeked out from behind a mish-mash 
of randomly arranged pictures,
Her voice echoed like a whiplash,
like a mother’s sharp-tongued strictures.
And yet suddenly, it was barely a whisper,
a whisper of forgotten promises…

She was hauntingly beautiful,
flowing around, smoke-like.
To his heat-filled gaze, like a crucible,
she was unyielding, precarious as a spike.
She gazed at him with wonder
and with a hint of a smirk, she was gone.

The Life That Was.

An image so subtle, almost indiscernible,
and yet, branded in my memory forever.
Clear like a scene from reality,
hazy like the uncertainty of a dream…

The swirling splashes of colour,
The breeze that felt almost real
The wings that were my flight
The music that was my heart
And the face that was comfort.
It was fantasy… my fantasy
Abstract to the artist’s brush
Filled with lines for God’s pen.

The Sin.

Icy mists obscured me from the world, from myself
I still walked on the road I knew not the destination of
The winds that came in blew away my restlessness
Yet, all I could see was emptiness swirling around me…
Was the world reflecting my heart?

It felt so wrong…like running away from a place like Guelph
My every possession was a reminder of the sin I was guilty of
I had taken what was not mine to take…oh, the recklessness!
I could have had her; her love …all I did was make her flee…
She was the fragile paper I shamelessly tore apart.

The Secret Meet.

She ran away to meet him on the sly,
Heat on her body, twinkle in her eye.
He pulled her gently towards him,
She came even closer, on a whim.

His gaze locked with hers, 
reflecting his intentions to err.
She wanted to tear away,
But she couldn’t…in his arms she lay.

He tucked away the hair framing her face,
Every action, an attempt to win this one-man race!
She came closer, softly grazing his cheek,
Blown away, like jelly he became weak.

Sexual Harrasement

You took advantage of my loneliness with your lustful knife.
You touched me such, even your handshake seemed slimy.
And then you whispered in my ear, said “try me”

My screams that night were shriller than a fife
But that wasn’t enough for them to see red
or to stop you from pulling me to your bed.

Lemon.

Going away was never easy,
It was never bright & breezy.
Any contrary illusions were in vain,
as each step away was a pain.

But there was something now,
hanging in the air like a bough.
Something that seemed crazy,
and yet was intangibly hazy.
Something that urged me to walk,
run or skip, away from the stalk.

Must Be Hard

Must be hard. To watch from afar, cloaked in the oppressive shadows of silence, forced to support. To watch as silent tears rolled down your cheeks, the emptiness of your eyes revealing more than words ever could. Must be hard to keep secret your pain from the world, as under the guise of patriotism, your young ones would go to fight. To fight a battle not theirs, to slay an enemy faceless. Only he has a face, a mirror of theirs. And while those back home rejoice in the cosy comfort of their homes, reducing your pain to sheer numbers, you pray for mercy, hoping your own will not become another statistical point, another name on a list, another stone in a graveyard.

Must be hard to see the passion in their eyes, and sometimes the weary emptiness of a soul grown old. 

"The Last Copy"

Jules looked up. Her glasses seemed like they were contemplating suicide off her cliff nose. 
‘What?’
I shuffled nearer, making my best puppy-dog expression. She must have gotten used to it by now, though, because she immediately went back to her register, making those little ticks against the book names. I hopped onto the table, sitting right opposite her. There was no way she could pretend to ignore me now. I was in her face. Literally.

She didn’t look up. Her eyes narrowing with every sentence she read, I was surprised she could make out anything more than a blur. Finally, she shut the register and looked up. 
She sighed as she stared at me. Then, she sighed some more. 

‘Why do you do keep doing this? Every single time. You know how much it hurts me right?’
‘Look, I love you but I can’t change who I am. You know that better than anyone. You know that and yet, every time you try for a different outcome.’
‘Yeah, I know. It’s just well, you know you’re my favorite. I don’t have anyone else to turn to. So, I keep hoping that something might change this time.’
‘We’ve had this talk some 2000 times. I’ve grown old. I’m tired. I’m not the bright, shiny thing I used to be. You have to give me a break here. I cannot keep having the same discussion every time.’
‘Fine. I guess I should look for someone else. If you can’t change, then maybe I should. Maybe, I should look for something with more spice, more mystery, more adventure. You’re, you’re too old for me.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine.’ 

Flash Fiction

Joan pushed me in, her hands trembling ever so slightly. She was new at this, you see. I wasn’t her first, but still, she was new at this. Perhaps that explained her short attention span, at least towards me. I didn’t mind though. I liked watching her as she deliberated between the various ideas going on in her head, while I did my business. Every once in a while, she would pause to note down something in her shiny, new notebook. 
She was weird that way.
But then she would return to me, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead as she screwed up her rather symmetrical eyes in concentration. 

Sometimes when the day was hot, and our heat got too much for her, she would stop to switch on the fan. I know what you’re thinking, but hey, I liked her quirkiness.

"The Trap"

Splashing water roughly on her face, Jahzara looked into the mirror. Her eyes travelled over the bloodshot eyes, the mismatched cheeks, one scratched beyond recognition and the other flaming red from the many blows, and the cut lip. All covered with little droplets of water. All a testament to the acute horribleness of the recent past, to her terrible ordeal. 

Shivering uncontrollably at the memory, she staggered out of the dirty, unkempt bathroom, her foot slipping slightly at the threshold. She unsteadily grabbed at the nearest thing – her coat, now covered in blood and dirt, it’s originally blue colour no longer discernible. Putting it back on its peg, she collapsed on the floor, her eyes already wet. Brushing away the tears impatiently, she pulled her knees towards her. Putting her head on them, she gasped as the fresh cut on her cheek came in contact with her knee. Crying bitterly, she sat up, staring into space.

"The Day it Came to Her"

She awoke with a start. Disoriented, she looked around, trying to get a sense of her bearings. She was huddled at her desk, her laptop open in front of her, supporting her arms. She had been so tired she’d gone to sleep on her laptop! 

She sat up, trying to motivate herself to finish her work. But she was distracted, and thirsty…she got up to get herself a glass of water. Standing at the windowsill, she looked out into the inky blackness, letting the freshness of the liquid cool her aching throat. How late was it? She wondered. She glanced at her watch but was too tired to register the lateness of the hour. She looked out again, this time with a bit of clarity.