Charcoal

Barbaric actions do gravely wound
Sometimes the body. Sometimes the soul.
Scars to the carcass, gagged and bound
Is often one more story told.
Why carcass? You may ask
Look at her, her gashes screamed.
The Relic of a lost battle
Smothered. Dragged. Decayed.
Followed behind, one left alive
His marionette. A Repercussion.
Imagined euthanasia. Or an uproot.
A Phoenix rose instead.
He never knew what Charcoal was
Not even close.
But now he knows asphyxiation
And now he knows Burns.
Humanity faulted Her heinous act
Media ripped her grace.
She reduced herself to ashes
                                                                          To rise again another day.
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                                                                          -The Violet Woman
                                                                           Fragments #10
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Chef

A bit more salt.
And a dash of pepper.
Perfect.
I smiled in satisfaction. Mother reached up from behind me, and kissed me lightly on the cheeks. Father tasted my ‘kurma’ and looked at me in mock contempt.
“Cooking, my son, is for females.”
Do I look like I care? Nope.
“No field should be restricted to just one gender alone.” I said, smirking.
“He is cooking for someone special today.”, my mother said, playfully ruffling my hair.
“Really? A girl? I thought you might go for ‘sanyas’.”, he added, smiling.
“A woman. And no, I am not interested in penance.”
Hearing that, dad whispered lewd things in my ear which set us both guffawing on the floor.
Damayanthi. The one I was cooking for, was no ordinary woman. When Hamsam managed to pacify my bereft heart, intriguing me of her beauty and grace, I was interested.
But I never expected much. After all, how beautiful can a damsel be, so beautiful that she manages to capture a man’s heart at first sight?
I was in for a surprise. One look at her, and my body went stark crazy. My heart ran a race, sweat dripped down my forehead and I was concerned about my looks.
She was no ordinary woman. She was... What were those women called at Devalok?
‘Apsara’.
And then and there, I was taken.
So you can’t blame me if I try and cook something delicious for her, right?
.
.
.
Lost.
Everything was lost.
My looks. My kingdom. My wife.
I abandoned her in the forest.
What type of a man does that make me? My virtue. The one that was appreciated even in Devalok. Where had it gone now?
I thought she would be safe if I left her alone.
I prayed to the God’s to keep her safe. Please don’t make her suffer. Please give her strength.
Please deliver me from my sins.
Oh God, How will I ever get her back?
I have changed beyond recognition.
Even Mother doesn’t recognize me now.
Bahukan. That’s who I am now.
May the Gods be merciful.
.
.
.
A bit more salt.
And a dash of pepper.
Perfect.
I smiled in satisfaction. My actions were muddled, all thanks to Kali, living inside me now. Our conversations were minimal. He tries his best to agitate me, and I agitate him with my silence.
Today’s cooking was for her. My love. My wife.
Cooked by an ugly dwarf. Prepared in love.
My curse never affected my love towards her. Thank heavens.
I still intend to strangle Kali though.
I hope she likes it.
.
.
.
I served the ‘kurma’ and took a deep breath. Waited.
With utmost grace, she began to dip the ‘naan’ into my dish.
Tear. Dip. Eat. Tear. Dip. Eat.
And then she froze.
Her eyes filled up.
I panicked.
Salt? Check.
Spice? She loves it.
Consistency? I thought it was perfect.
Then what the hell went wrong?
She slowly raised her grief stricken visage to face me. Got up.
Walked towards me.
And just like how a mother would hold a new born baby, she cradled my face, looked deep into my eyes, as if searching for answers to my soul’s dilemma, and asked:
“Nala? Is it you?”
I died a thousand deaths then.
And death was good.

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-The Violet Woman
Lilliput #3
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Drifter

She was a drifter.
Blending was what she did.
Her laughter gave hope to the miserable crowd.
Solitude defined her.
Attachments were complicated.
Freedom was what she sought.
Love was what she desired.
Yes, She was a drifter.
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- The Violet Woman
Fragments #9
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Goddess

Pretty flowers don't show me weak.
I could be the strongest of winds, and fiercest of tides.
Mistake me not for a casual being.
For I knew how to devastate.
Power and impotence have flowed through my hands.
I could be a flower
Or a wild thorn.
But never underestimate my true worth.
For you are yet to know me.
And when I come, you would know
She was no ordinary flower.
She was a Goddess.
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-The Violet Woman
Fragments #8
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The Violet Woman

Why cage words in the labyrinth of your mind
When an infinity is spread out, for them to drift free?
Why hold on to raw emotions 
When a plethora of them were left to be discovered?
Why fake purity when you know for sure you are stained permanently?
After all, one life, one You.
So Why restrict poetry and writings when they erupt out in desperation?
Your words are a part of your soul, waiting to be discovered.
So Why won't You let them be?
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-The Violet Woman ;)
(About Me)
Fragments #7
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Transcendence

Tranquility comes in conditioned terms
Only to those who believe.
Religions had misinterpreted norms
Whereas Earth learnt to grieve.
Generations taught generations Faith
As selfishness doused love.
None saw through all the Hate
Ignorant minds rule now.
I raise hands to a Patient Being
Beautiful. Wise. Omnipotent.
Purity determined a Greater Calling
That willingly chose to lie latent.
Silence slashed deeper than words
Actions saved brutal scarrings
Serenity played well with my chords
Transcendental were my unintended musings.
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-The Violet Woman
Fragments #6
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Alistonia

The damp terrace felt extremely good on our sunburnt tan backs.
My new found best friend raised herself up on her elbows and inquired the time.
1:42 am. Flaunted my digital watch.
We were supposed to be sleeping in our dorm rooms an hour back.
But when the forty degree atmosphere was rapidly drenched by rains and petrichor made itself known, who would sleep, inspite the time being this late.
We didn’t. Studies had taken a toll on our sanity and we planned to enjoy this “moon-bathing” quite well.
“Do you smell that?”, she asked. Noora was her name.
“What?”
She inhaled deep. Smiled. Waited.
I sniffed the air like a dog.
“Inhale, lady. Deep.”
So I did.
Some tree had blossomed in the middle of the night. And the fragrance was divine.
“Jasmine?”, she asked.
“Alla, Palapoo”, I replied in my mother tongue. Blank stare.
“Alistonia Scholaris. In Malayalam, it’s called 'Ezhilam Pala'. English, Indian Devil Tree. It’s fragrance is known for spooking the heck out of people.”, I explained.
“And why is that?”
“It ruled our 'Yakshi' stories. My mother used to scare me up pretty good when I was a kid. About how the fragrance lured lost men into the hands of extremely good looking female ghosts.” I said grinning.
She sat up straight. To add effects to my convincing story, nature sent a slow spine-chilling wind.
“They were vampires too.” I said, noticing how the goosebumps stood on her hand.
“I officially hate you now.” She said. And I laughed.
I laughed till suddenly I realized an eerie silence had engulfed the place.
She noticed my expression. Panicked.
And then the crickets started chirping again.
Both Noora and I sighed in relief.
“It’s funny how sometimes the crickets sound like 'chelanga'.” I continued, clearly enjoying her discomfort.
“Chela-what?”
“Anklets, in your language.”
“Maybe we should go sleep.”, she said rising.
I stretched and noticed that the sounds of my assumed 'chelanga' increased and then stopped suddenly.
Noora’s eyes drifted to my face. I stretched again suppressing a smile. I looked up at the stars and started counting them so as to not buckle in laughter.
Trouble started when she called my name in a trembling voice.
I turned to look and followed her shaking fingers pointing to something in the distance.
There, next to the Devil Tree, stood a figure draped in flowy white, hair so lusciously curly like serpent coils, staring at me.
I froze as fear crawled menacingly up my feet.
“Run Noora.”
I turned around to look for her. She stood at the end of the terrace. Draped in flowy white, hair so lusciously curly like serpent coils, staring at me.
It was she who smiled now.
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-The Violet Woman
Lilliput #2
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Naive

His knuckles were white from gripping the seat too long.
It was Mid-December. The rain splattering against the window shielded his face from prying eyes outside the minibus.
And he waited for her.
The bus rumbled with activity. A group of girls, "friends" she called them, talked about her when she wasn't around. She, totally ignorant to the fact that she was being back-stabbed, smiled the innocent smile that complimented her chubby face when she was with them. Her laughter was loud, contagious. They ridiculed her immaturity. She never bothered. Either that, or she was genuinely blind and didn't noticed the "really matured" vixen among unsuspecting sheep.
He didn't know her name though.
He wanted to. Sometimes this girl came in his dreams. Just the smile. Or the different varieties of her smile.
How can a person smile in so many different ways without intention?
The genuinely happy smile. The goofy grin. The slow shy smile that spread from one corner of her face to the other accompanied by a slight blush. The pig snort. The sad thoughts. He had seen it all.
Yet he didn't know her name.
How he wished it was a different story then.
How he wished he could be the reason behind her smile.

A year and six months later, after getting his wish granted an infinite times, the comparisons arose.
The other girl smiled better.
The other girl laughed modestly.
The other girl had a unique smile.

And he chose her over the girl with the million smiles.
He chose simplicity over wilderness.
The girl never knew what went wrong.
He left without a word.
She blamed herself. Blamed her smile.
Swore never to smile again.
And kept her vow she did.
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-The Violet Woman
Lilliput #1

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Vallée de la bête

I stand here alone and wonder why
I see lilies, bluebells and a butterfly
This barren land has changed now
But not the beast nor his nasty howl.

All night he cries, unbearable and shrill
His grief echoing throughout the hill
Colours and spring affect him not
Living with the shadows, death and rot.

Sun shone high and yet I see
His furry outline by the oak tree
The wind came along with his woeful moan
Wild agony that chilled the bone.

To kill the beast would prove no change
Beauty rested in suppressed rage
The valley bloomed when he was there
This living land, that was once bare.
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-The Violet Woman
Fragments #5
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White Lines

Half my life spent staring at the wall
Pushed me into endless chaos.
Every time I tried to smile
My face cracked from the cold.
Days are just long and tiresome.
Will it end? Or will it continue?
I’ll never know.

And here I stayed for so long
Days and months just withered on.
They came and stood by
But left in a moment’s time.
Life is near but way too far.
Will it end? Or will it continue?
I’ll never know.

Part of me wished it ended soon
Before the white lines formed.
I lay here waned and timeworn
Everything turned grey and cold.
Death seems to mock me now.
Will it end? Or will it continue?
I’ll never know.
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-The Violet Woman
Fragments #4
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Lullaby

Voices voices in my head
Unleashing latent chaos.
Millions at a battle of wits. Millions in silent protest.
Let them speak if you seek Hell.
Noise. Abuse. Violence. Is all you get.
Music drowned out most of them.
The muddled ones grew calm
But what about the mulish ones
And what do I do with them now?
Vaguely I remember a promise.
A lullaby offering sleep.
Sometimes a croon was all it took
To drive insanity away.
I reluctantly sought out my remedy.
Thrice rang a little phone
And a voice crooned welcome.
Redemption announced its arrival
And at the other side, someone kept a vow.
Mulish voices drifted away
Like tiny dust on a sunny day.
A lullaby like hallucinogen
And I hallucinated serenity.
Now I was dust on a sunny day.
Now I forgot who I am.
The voice knew I drifted. Sighed content.
Another smile earned tonight.
Another life saved.
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-The Violet Woman
Fragments #4

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Random Treasure

Two deep black-holes burnt with ambition.
Absorbed. Conquered. Reflected nothing.
Yet Moonlight stood guard, content and proud
At the windows that secretly divulged
Glimpses of a bereft soul.
Stumbling onto them, I espied
That our depths synced.
Identical.
Yet distinguished by differences.
None too prime. None too grave.
Our wars stultify. Silence follow.
Purgatory. That's where we stood now.
But the flame burnt still. Savage. Impassioned.
And awaited revelation.
Whether the fire would scald.
Or liberate chained souls.
The random treasure I stumbled onto
Had witnessed fiercer fires.
What made me any less different then?
What set me apart from the crowd?
My flame was lucid and refused to die.
I hid it now, fearing dismissal.
I knew those windows held me high.
But high wasn't high enough.
Someday I wish they would betray
What actually lay deep down.
Those two deep black-holes
That I'll deliberately stumble onto
Over and over again.
Yes, over and over again.

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-The Violet Woman
Fragments #2
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Incentive

Midnight finds me tucked in nice

Amongst comfortable sheets.
Exhaustion makes its arrogance known
Knees that once supported, now limp beneath shelter.
Eyes don't close, as they held dreams
Instead of the sleep I longed for throughout the day.
Tracing shapes. Chasing stars.
String of random thoughts.
I discover with a jolt
That I haven't written in a while.
Incentive. Where to find?
Asked my bereft mind.
Wasn't contentment motivating enough?
Why would I lie awake then?
Serenity?
Foreign language.
I greet Insomnia as a long lost friend.
So you found your incentive?
No. Insomnia is a side effect.
I seek the source.
Somewhere a shadow whispered.
Grief.
Grief is raw incentive.
Pure. Earth shattering.
It's what makes you write, Lady.
It's what keeps you awake.
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-The Violet Woman
Fragments #1
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