Of bickering, beating and buttering

This post is inspired by an episode on the new favourite show (not mine) on T.V. - Satyameva Jayate. This episode entered the dark silent world of domestic violence. Wives narrated incidents of their husbands beating them and how they suffered through it in silence. 

Silent words

“This seems just like a movie set!” she exclaimed.

He laughed. Thinking how even little things excited her. It was one of the qualities he loved in her. 

But he wouldn’t tell her that. As always.

This world

This world,
Where nightmares are sold,
Dreams put on hold.
Stories of death told,
poems of birth unheard.
This world,
Where despair flutters frantic,
Hope fights still,
Smiles hide secrets,
Tears leave a trail,
In this world.
I live.

And it was called yellow...

Image source

“There is an excess of yellow in the world,” he said.

“Huh? What? "she asked

“I think that the colour yellow is in abundance in the world. It is dominant,” he said.

“And why do you say that?” she asked, while dusting the sand off her kurta.

“Look around and tell me in how many places do you see the colour yellow?” he asked while taking her hand.
                   

Behind the veil

Behind the veil lay darkness,
an abyss, a vacuum.
Behind the veil lay time,
infinite and eternal,
Behind the veil lay dreams,
broken and shattered.
Behind the veil lay a soul,
lifeless and time hating.

The Dreamer's city

In the city of seven islands,

that which never slept,

but still managed to dream.

That which worked like a man,

but was beautiful like a woman.

That which the sea protected,

But could also destroy.

The city that moulded into you,

But made you like her.

The city which she loved,

But he never met.

In this city of seven islands,

At the place where land and sea met,

She waited,

For him, who had left,

For the dreams that set.

She waited

P.S- This poem was written on a serene evening at Marine Drive,with nothing to do except let the words fill my mind.