Draupadi

Call me Draupadi,

Daughter of flames, 

born from the embers of Drupad's desire,

Whose steps echoed with,

the thunder of prophecy,

A woman bound to rewrite:

the threads of history.

Call me Panchali,

Bride of five, 

with warriors' blood in my veins,

My tears, like fire,

scorched the battlefield of Kurukshetra,

And my tattered cloth 

became the noose around the Kauravas' fate.

Call me Krishna,

The dark-skinned dreamer, 

carved from dusk and earth,

Who longed for a palace not of stone, 

but of freedom,

A palace that,

shimmered with envy in every eye,

Until the crown sat heavy upon my brow, 

and I ruled as queen.

Broken Petal

Beneath the moon's soft silver light,

A butterfly laments the night.

Her colors, once a vibrant flare,

Now fade to ash in the cool, still air.

Through twilight’s arms, she glides in pain,

Each fallen feather a silent stain.

Her heart, a wound that softly weeps,

For love now buried in shadowed deeps.

A hand, so cold, with cruel delight,

Stole her wings in the quiet night.

He wore her beauty, claimed her grace,

And left her broken in hollow space.

Yet in the dark, a spark takes flight—

Hope flickers faint beneath the blight.

For even shattered wings can rise,

To greet the dawn with fearless eyes.

Through tears, through loss, 

she’ll find her might,

Unfurling strength with each new flight.

A symbol born of grief and strife,

The butterfly reclaims her life.

Quill

O dear quill!

I lost you somewhere in the lane. 

I missed you with my heart. 

But, I never searched for you

As my heart was fogged in love, 

And the love was filled with duties.

But you spilled your thoughts in me, 

And thoughts need to crush my fingers

O dear quill! 

Now I lost myself in the lane. 

And you are pouring my heart with love.

Be loved

Be in kitchen 

And fill my appetite.

Be in bedroom 

And know my desire.

Be in guestroom 

And manage my prestige.

Be in graveyard 

And watch my smiles too.

Fear to bloom!

I blossomed witnessing the blood.

I withered witnessing the fire.

I warned my buds,

Not to bloom

To decorate the grave.

Differently Abled

They call me Abled!

But beautified it with difference.

They send me to a special school!

But protected me from special days.

They label me gift!

But failed to unwrap me 

They call me Heaven's child!

But always stare at me.

Nameless I

Fill my tummy with platters,
While my neighbour's tummy is filled with air.
Let me touch the sky,
When my knight's rook sank in the ocean.
Tune the melodies of celebration,
At the time of drought and sorrow.
And finally
Crown me as your Lord,
Who can never pause the riot
Nor end your miseries,
But,
Praise me with your cracked lips
Adorn me with buds bloomed in your graveyard