Confession 3: “But, I Love You”


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Dear Diwa,
Here is my confession (for him).

So I wanted to confess that,
It has been 16 months we have been in a relationship. Yes, I believe you love me. So do you. There was a time, not one time rather many times. When you seemed too desperate for satisfying your desires. You gave me foolish rules, restrictions, which I shall never forget. I still remember the day when I wanted your support, but you without doing that barged on me conditioning me to stop my social networking sites to gain your support. I thought you were cheap, you used me. Still I loved you through everything. Sometimes I wanted to just go away, but I couldn’t, since you were so important. Mostly, you hurted me that day when you complained about my figure, saying I was fat and ugly and not at all beautiful. At all times you have blamed me because I was not perfect like you, not a topper. Because you know? Everyone doesn’t have those “science” brains. I have for writing which you don’t have.

©Name Withheld

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“She”


She is a phenomenal woman by gender,
Society stands in her way to hinder
Still she fights and comes out an achiever
But even as strongest creation of God
She finds herself always in danger
She gives birth to man, she is also someone’s sister, wife and a daughter Men, the other gender,
Takes her as an object to treat her as his property to eve tease, rape and murder
They prove their weakness by doing so
But She is strong and not weak
She falls thousand times but pushes herself to get back on track and
She is yet again ready to go
A phenomenal woman that she is
Plays different roles of a mother, daughter, sister and wife
You are just incomplete men,
Without a loving woman in your life
She can be like Goddesses Laxmi, Saraswati but
When it is a limit to bear,
She can be like Goddesses Durga and Kali
So don’t you dare, All I want is
Treat woman with lots of love and care

–Ajna

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“Epigraph”


Excerpt from Meeya (Book One), now available at Amazon.com.
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It’s a tiring thing, this is;
The journey towards something—
Something far greater
Than little me.

Is it just me?
Or, does it encompass all
Of humanity?
Or, maybe, I’ll stop a bit, I think.

Not really to abandon the dream;
Never to say I’m quitting—
No, never that;
But only to tarry, mildly.

For, rest is for the weary, the lonely—
The ones, like me;
The princess, turned warrior—
The vagabond, actually.

Ever the wanderer—
No place to call my home, finally;
Tried my best to find some solace–
Anything, for me.

Maybe, that’s just me?
Perchance, this is all
Just theatrical seasoning;
Or, perhaps, the lucid mutterings
Of a soul that’s lost and free.

©Diwa

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