It’s the autumn of “love”. My hands unfold.
The surprise inside – it wraps and holds,
Bending the curve and style of your smile.
You gave me a meter… and I stole a mile.


by Radhika Ramana

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Who’s to Blame?

“…that would be like blaming the yummy ice cream for being so tasty that you had to eat it.” –Anonymous [On shifting responsibility for one’s actions.]

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Hierarchy of Desires

“One wants to be loved, in lack thereof admired, in lack thereof feared, in lack thereof loathed and despised. One wants to instill some sort of emotion in people. The soul trembles before emptiness and desires contact at any price.”

– From Doktor Glas by Söderberg


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In soap I use to wash my face
Is where they etched their fading trace.
My tainted hands, now clean and free-
I rubbed away their hold on me.

The dirt, it clings onto the soap,
And that is how I cut their rope.
Worn away with every layer
The lines are almost no-more there.


[But you, I see you, in the dark.
In stone, is where you left your mark.]

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Death by Rhyme

Dew drops beading on the stem.
Lemmings diving off the end.
Separating at the seams-
Like milk of youth, stripped of cream.

Fly entangled in my web-
Writhe and struggle. Soon you’re dead.
I really only liked your taste.
But couldn’t carry all your waste.

I see that look there on your face-
The way your eyes are changing pace.
Self-fulfilled abandonment.
Credits empty. Nearly spent.

Sink it right into my gut-
I’m tired of this endless rut.
Let me listen one more time?
Self-inflicted death by rhyme.


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I’ve found, from pain and ponders, long,
Words, seldom weak, are often strong.
They may, in certain situations,
Win her love, or crumble nations.

Sharpened arrows, scented flowers-
Two among their varied powers.
Mind your tongue’s end destination,
Cold or soothing end sensation.

Wisely use these lettered foes,
Or be they friends, if well it goes.
Say her name, but lie, do not.
Succeed in truth….. or don’t get caught.



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Her Wrath

She could feel the scarlet tinge consuming her pallid face and taste the bitter residue of disdain. Like a waif lost in winter’s icy palm, she shivered. Her scattered curls of raven’s breast shook first with frustration, then twice as liquid madness filled her veins.  And at last, her eyelids lifted, long lashes licking the sky, and all who stood within her magnificent gaze, were left a smoldering heap of ash.

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If you seek to take a peek

A pinhole you will find.

Within you’ll sneak the peek you seek

To see inside my mind.


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Why Are You So Afraid of Death?

I dreamt my family and a couple of close friends were dining at a vegetarian restaurant. The air was comfortably warm, the lighting soft, and various tantalizing aromas wafted about. You could hear the chatter of the patrons, busily socializing as they filled their bellies with food and drink.

There we met a beautiful woman from Europe. I don’t know exactly how she ended up at our table. She was tall and thin, with enchanting eyes and slender fingers. Everything about her was kind, delicate, and graceful. She charmingly engaged us for an hour or so with interesting facts about her origins, her pursuits, and even her worries. We learned she was touring America, tasting the mix of cultures. She planned on going to the movies next. “That’s where we’re going next,” I spoke up, “Would you like to join us?” Continue reading

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Filed under Dreams, Motherhood

Under the Influence

“When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part.”

– George Bernard Shaw


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