Baccara

BaccaraThose who noticed, saw her beautiful hands
fingers long and supple
As brush, waiting for paints
Most didn’t see beyond eyes
cloud of messy hair
or misty coy glasses

Loneliness will become your problem, girl
said her mirror every day and
the fluffy rag doll-
that grew up with her;
she would look at it, tug it
but not play anymore

She drowned herself in music, adrift
never hum or tap her feet
to beats of her favourite songs,
No one could ever know she was singing inside
whenever she let out a silly blush,
They read shyness

No one heard her raise voice, let alone speak
Yet she SCREAMED
Deep within the chastity of agony,
deflowered at an age before boys
could bring her roses

Loneliness is the least of my problems‘,
she said to the mirror and the doll
every day,
before donning her mask –
Yet very few
Would see through through her semblance…


  • Joining Dversepoets Poetics after a long time where KB has us create persona. Join us to read some wonderful poetry.
  • Black Baccara is a wonderful and highly fragrant rose, chosen for its unique colour.
  • Illustration by Partha Mukherjee.

The Mane

Sheep underneath the skin of a lion
Yet, we wear an aura of conceit
Around our neck,
Like mane, and think
We’re royals.

We carry armaments in vigour
Deltoids broaden, biceps puff up
From vanity
Than strength,
It’s our jungle to rule, after all.

We have sharp claws and
We wear a shimmering grin,
That suits us
As kings,
We like to believe.

We set out for a kill
Target easy preys
Nails come out from
Hidden claws,
From the joy of pounding on soft flesh.

Free spirit are to be tamed,
Squashed at our feet, and
As we write our rules,
Like that parting of hair on their forehead
Of whom, we set out to conquer
And our mane flutters in soft wind.


When I was coming back from London last night in a train, a discarded evening newspaper caught my attention. There was a big news where a renowned British photographer Hazel Thompson has revealed after a decade of research that in Mumbai how girls from 11 years of age are locked up in cages without food, water or light, till they break and open up to prostitution. The actual article can be found here online.

I am a proud father of a beautiful girl now. My sister is entering the new phase of marital bliss tomorrow. I don’t know where to hide my face today. This is my small note to the cruel world in protest and shame. I am linking this poem to dversepoets OpenLinkNight 126 so that my word of protest reaches a wider audience.

From the newspaper

From the newspaper