The Things We do for Love.

As I dip the quill
In your blood,
Swirling the thick liquid
In circles.
Writing poetries,
That exist on the undertones of flesh.
Branding the heart,
Cushioned with the proddings of my pen.
In those fearfully bright lit eyes,
Which hold the abyss
And void with reflecting light.
I sway the rose,
The lilies,
And the wolfsbane
In your crimson fuel,
Ablaze.

I swirl and sway with the rhythm,
Of your still pumping heart
Which gives the music,
That once was the reason to breathe.
Now a necessity to live.

So I encase it
In a big black box,
With locks and keys guarded.
More strongly than
The heart of Davy Jones. 
Upon your fiery lips,
I place the cool petals,
That once were adored
By your kisses.

And mirrors in your bosom,
To hold me infinitely
There somewhere.
Where once a heart lied
Now lies a hollow socket,
Reeking of affection and adoration.

So that heart cased in cage,
And those lilies stand in a vase
Dripping drop by drop,
The tales of life.
Slowly unweaving the silk threads
That once bound you and me.

So the thick petals of roses,
Dipped in the elixir of your blood
Are now curled with heat of your cheeks.
They have lost their tenderness,
Changing to the hollow human
That you now are left.
So I place them upon your picture
Relishing the metaphor.

On the slaughter counter
Lies your pious body.
No longer the chest moves
Up and down.
No longer a fire burns in eyes
And the socket has lost a heart.
But still in those loathed images
You stand beautiful.
Oh so beautiful.
I stand back and look
At the masterpiece.
My Magnum opus.
You.
On the counter with the pale face reflected
In the blue lights of ovens flame.
Ready to embrace you,
Adore you in its flames. 
To hold you down,
To lull you to sleep.
A sleep where dreams
Are afraid to enter
In the fear of being marked forever.

So you my Masterpiece,
are like a lost painting of Picasso,
That I finally completed.

(c) Akanksha Krishnatre.

Heaven and Hell, Horatio.

The mosaic of moments
Wrapped in verdant,
Dance through the eternal 
muse of life.
So, Oh! Horatio.
There is no such thing
As happiness.
It’s a fleeting illusion
Created by a little less pain.
Ah! Take my words
My friend.
Suffering too isn’t real,
It is a choice between
Surviving with dignity
Or living with pain.
Who ever proclaim’d
life is easy,
Is a fool to be wary of.
For life is nothing
If not enough twisted
Into coils of wants and longing.
What is good with people
In this world
Oft gets incinerated
and what lives long
Is deeds that no corpse
Succumbs to have committed.
So Horatio, 
Heed my words my friend 
As I tell you to run,
Save your skin
While you truly can.
Because once you get
Embroiled in these endless
Threads of life.
Coming out unscathed
With no scars to tell your tale
Stand impossible.
So be saved my lord
While safety is possible.
So don’t survive,
Live my lord
While living isn’t a dream.
Ah! Love my lord
Until love isn’t tainted.
But heed my words
Don’t search for bliss
For it can’t be found.
And remember 
That world no longer
Is what it seems.
For there are more 
Things in heaven and hell 
Horatio
Then could ever be
Dreamt in your philosophy.

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.