You are your own.

In a crowd as you sit silent,
Looking back at a thousand memories
Of people that no longer have a part
That no longer have a hold
Over what you do
Over what you say.
As you sit musing
Amidst chaos,
Amidst laughter,
Your cacophonous thoughts,
Your thousand smiles,
Your million twinkles,
And infinite stories.
All that you have
Contained in small bits and pieces
Among yourself.

As you put back the puzzle
That you never knew existed.
Then today,
You decided
A thousand times over,
A million breaths after,
Infinite memories later,
To abandon
To leave
To erase 
To evade
All that they were
All that they had become.

Because you learnt,
Today
How in these countless days
You are your own.
You mean the world.
You live and you love.
But before anyone
You are your own.
Your own demon
Your own angel.
Your mistakes and
Your corrections.
You responsibilities and
Your faults.
They all belong to you.

And the people
Once you called your own.
Erase them.
The souls nurtured in need.
Leave them.
The smiles of wants.
Defy them.
They don’t deserve you.
You are above their truth.
Because in a million lives over
They would leave you alone.

And the best part.
You will win all the battles
You want.
You will have victory over your
Own demons.
You will dig graves for those,
Who deserve to be buried.
You will come victorious when 
Only deafeat was possible.
You will survive when life
Will assure you with paths to die.
You learn about the truth of people
When you were going to trust.
So before you are broken
A million ways will tell you
To patch yourself up together.
Because there are people
Out there who actually
Are waiting a thousand breaths
To just know that you are there.

So a thousand times over
Remember when life tries 
To pull you down.
Before anything else.
Before anyone else
You sweetheart,
You are your own.


Akanksha Krishnatre

World no longer a stage.

Oh! Thou Sir need to understand.
World is no longer a stage,
No longer people come
Simply to play their part.
Birth and death,
Remain no longer personified.
Oh Sir! It breaks the heart
Of a poor lady like me.
To beware Thou 
Of the honourless deeds
And changes that now have striv’d.
World is a ball, Sir
A giant masquerade ball.
Thrown by the people
whether nobler by fate
Or inhumane by deeds
Who am I to presume or judge?
Ah! Such a magnificent feast
They promote
I wonder what beast do they serve
What elagance in the menu,
Whether it is loathing or greed.

Sir! In this ball
Entrances aren’t birth
And slayings do not mean exile.
The permit to enter
Has now criteria forlorn
It depends
Sometimes on skin,
Ah! Sometimes on land
And the worst,
That a illiterate lady
From the times of yore
Condemns the most,
Is permit based on gender.

The people with 
Fate aiding them
Enter in this feast
Flairing and floundering
Their Etravagant carriages
Fit for a royal deport.

Sir! Good lord! 
I am eternaly grateful
That royalty no longer
Runs in the blood.
Or take my words
Every man would be macbeth
Playing with a never ending tempest.
But the fire
The longing
The unyielding lust
For gold remain unscathed.

And so in these masquerades
People come adorned in masks.
Masks with frills and lace 
Caressing their plummy cheeks
And golden threads keeping
Their lies together.

Sir! World is ball
Where people come to dance
Entrance isn’t easy
But exits are forced upon.
Ah! Thou would find the world 
Tragic to the bones.
So people pair up quickly
With no parts to play
Just a partner to twirl around.
No Romeo is found
And Iago fills its part.
Sir, love no longer nourishes the soul
But now is an emotion
So abstract,
So hollow,
So shallow in nature,
That I a poor, poor lady
Would have theQueen’s jewels 
More easily found.

Ah! The summers joy
Has lost its warmth.
Winters are colder
In this place with,
Hearts adorned with ice
And laced with shards.

But in this Ball
The reality My Sir is this;
There are 7 Billion faces,
7 Billion dancers
But 14 Billion masks and
14 Billion dances.

(c) Akanksha Krishnatre.

Yes, I am ashamed.

I am ashamed
for the satire that is Humanity.
You claim to care
You claim to love
You claim to respect.
But it all ends in tumbled mess
Of broken promises.
The country where each religion
Worships A goddess.
The world where Durga and Mary
Hold their dignified stature.
The universe where bows
To touch their feet.
Crosses their hearts
By their name,
And echos in their blessing.

Yes I am ashamed,
A girl of mere sixteen.
Still unable to comprehend,
That how in this world?
That how in her country? 
Is a girl molested.
How the demons of humanity
Do not feel ashamed
Touching her, abusing her, molesting her.
Do they forget
By their each breath of pleasure
That they too have a sister.
That they were nurtured in the womb of a female,
Their dignified mother.
How can they forget?
That a time will come,
When they will father a pearl of a daughter.

I am ashamed of politicians,
When they question
The very story of the victim.
And then with burning face 
And fiery eyes I ask them
Would they have dare question
If it was their daughter, their sister
Who was unmasked out of her dignity.

I a girl far away,
Am shameful of these people.
How come you forget,
That the girl you are looking at
Is a sister for a brother
Is a precious daughter to her father.
She is a mother 
of the generation to come.
How come you omit this
Reality from your heart is above me.
How come your hands don’t tremble
And you not feel guilty
When such thoughts
Merely cross your mind.
You demons, are above me.

Being a girl even I am shameful.
How come tears don’t prickle your eyes?
The innocent girl in her zenith,
Robbed of her modesty,
Humiliated for the mere fun of it.
Shame on you,
For not bring petrified.

I am adored, from the moment,
when I was born,
For my father I am his life.
I am the colour of my brothers canvas.
Just like me
Just like every girl for her family.
The girl you commented on,
The girl you molested
Too is the life of her family
She is the rainbow
For her siblings.
How dare you
Take away her colours?
How dare you extinguish,
The flame, that was her?

I feel ashamed for the society,
Which is all about power,
Domination and position.
In this hell of a world 
The devils crawl like mouses in the sewer,
Too much and filthy,
Carraying plague of their mentality and broken morals.

Hey girl! I do not feel pity for you.
For I know like a phoenix
You will rise ,
From the ashes of your past. 
The scars will be a reminder,
Of the stories to come
Of your survival, your victory 
And remember
the battle has just begun.

Akanksha Krishnatre

On the shameful act of mass molestation on the eve of new year in bengalore.  

Cosmos 

The cosmos

Is a livid reflection

Of a child just born.

With its unearthly beauty

reflected in the orbs,

Of the untainted.


The gleaming stars,

In the blaze of dusky twilight

Are like the light,

reflecting in the eyes.

Vividly bent and twisted

A mosaic of time.


It is humongous ,

yet so small.

It has the shine

Of the toothless smile,

With moist pink lips

And plummy cheeks of child.


The cosmos

Is a wreaking vortex 

Like the child grown up

With tantrums in beauty

And a denial  

For a tranquil limit.


It is the turmoil of change,

Moving on its own accord

Answerable to none.

It resonates,

When the resonance can’t be heard

And shouts shattering silence.


It is passionate,

The milky galaxy of allure .

Like the salvation 

Of an artist young.

The one with a gaping hole

And nothing to fill the void.


The cosmos

But in reality is the old man,

Lounging in the wooden chair.

Talking of things,

He has survived

And the apocalypse seen.


It is the serenity of white 

The hair on the head half bald.

As he talks of the mistakes he saw

And the one he made.

Like the galaxy narrating

Of asteroids and the breaking shade.


It is in the wisdom

That the years had to offer,

No one has survived the cosmos

as no saw the old man,

From birth to death

Each counting last breath.

Akanksha Krishnatre 

The real tragedy.

A child can be forgiven
As he crouches in a corner
Afraid of blinding darkness.       It has the age                                   and the pure sacred innocence 
To be afraid ,
To dream the dreams of monsters
With bared fangs and gleaming eyes
Waiting in the murky shadows
To pounce upon his little self.


Unknown to the rituals of the world

He is allowed to cry
As tears fall without light 
and fear sets in his eyes.


But the real tragedy 

Of the world so vast 
Is when men are afraid of the gloom
Known to the illusion of beasts
And the writer of such stories.
They cower with fear tucked inside.

A twisted metaphor
The irony burning bright
When the musicians of screams
Get deaf with yodelling noise.


The tragic tale of sapiens 

bruised in heart and mind.
Planting the little seeds
That one day will grow
To cover the sky.
And then when blaze won’t be seen
And warmth not felt.
Then the people in streets
Lounging in bliss
Will then together say
They are afraid without light. 

The children are forgiven
for they are innocent in motive
unknown to the cruelty
the gloaming has to offer.
The terror among hearts,
Like beautiful playgrounds in the dark
with blood and gore
flesh and bones
guns and death
that symbolise the inequity
As the blazing bloom of black.

As one prefers to say 
The dark as a criminal mark
It is like a twisted form of truth 
For now the devils are afraid of the dark.

My guide

Dearest Papa

Where shall I begin? Why not from the beginning. From the exact moment of time my conscience kicked into action and I can remember,  I know and I am aware of the fact that I was and I am proud to have you as my father. You know how to laugh insanely with me at my not-so-funny incidents , and you also are aware of the way to control the rage that I have , fueled directly from hell.

You , being the bibliophile you are , casted the precious ailment to me and made me a bookworm too. I cannot thank you enough for showing me the path to living different lives over and over again through words encrypted upon pages. Good lord! Now that I think about it , you were the one who always made sure that I was never short on classic novels.

You spoile me in an educational manner, in a way that I now can hold my ground and not let anyone trample upon my works. You make me confident of my potential to achieve. You made sure that my world was not only based upon books but I also had a firm grasp of school. Due to you today I even hold a  good result and abundance of knowledge, which when compared to you is still very less.

You remind me that I am a leader at heart. A teenager with enough courage to give her thoughts a strong voice , and I am grateful for that reminder. You were the reason I stood for the selection of House captain at my school ,and as you had foretold I became one. You know my future more than I have planned it.

Sometimes through the years I have heard you say ,that in me you see your own reflection. And take note of my words dear Dad ,that at that moment I could not be more proud of myself.

You , due to your drive towards history and literature,  often write and you were the first person to push me in the field of blank pages, pen, Ink and ideas . And now that through years I have grown and hold a much better understanding of the concept of writing , I remember that you were the one to hear my first work of poetry and with uncontained joy proclaimed that I could be a very strong and powerful poet. I know from looking back that my first poem was quite childish with attempted rhyme scenes ,written in the age of 9, yet you showed belief in me from the start.

Papa, for being my ideal, the person I believe in, the one I aspire to be like, whose dream I strive to fulfill. I would just simply like to thank you for everything. Be it the late night debates on writers or the heated discussion regarding economy or simply a combined view regarding politics or two different thoughts about a story. Whatever be it , you helped me grow in to the person that I today am.

You helped me develop in fields once beyond my comprehension, like a knowledgeable citizen of a developing country . You dear Dad, made me more of an individual than a person. So simply Thank you .

Your bibliophile little daughter
Akanksha Krishnatre