Her Unseen World


She was going to be born.
She was going to see her father.
she did not know the atrocities of the world.

She did not know, she was born to die.

It was her mistake,
to be born in the “Paradise on Earth”
To feel the breeze,
with a metallic smell.

But she needed to be born,
to see the shades of red blood,
on white snow.
To see the saffron colour flags,
covering the beautiful green trees.
To see humans with camouflage clothing.

She has to be born to see her mother wail,
to see her father

By: pisesandhya747@gmail.com

The Clean Little Bitch

At the corner of the terrace, she reveals her real self.
The thoughts accumulated in her brain erode, with each puff that she releases.
She sucks another puff of smoke with her finest lips.
Until she realises that she has to return to her hyspocritic world.
She encounters her family with the generous smile. All loyal. As perfect as she pretends to be.

Love Can Be Delusional


She cursed her ill-fate for not destining them.
And she counted stars during the day, believing that night was a delusion.
When we tried explaining that the delusion was not the night but her love.
She explained us back, with here jumbled thoughts and metaphoric language, that we are paranoid. We need help.



To all the observed,
Traps of gender.
To the unwashed clothes
That awaits for me.
The kitchen
With 100 ingredients,
With red chillies,
And sweet sugar,
Which neutralized
Every trap for me.
To the basin full of dirty plates
Bided dirty
For a lady.
To the glittery, shiny jewellery.
To the golden nose ring
That pierced in my skin
To complete
The idea of beauty.
To the bright red dot on my forehead.
Defining my religion,
For me.
To the young and old adult’s
On my birthday, festival, and pooja,
“May you get a good husband!”
To the possessive, loving Lover
Who defined love for me
As marriage,
To all the benign systems,
Which embraced me,
Because I was afraid of losing people.

By: pisesandhya747@gmail.com

The One Nightstand


It has been months since he left. Now my body craves his gentle touch.

Out of resentment, I go through my contact list. And text the most obvious one, “Let’s have one nightstand.”

All of a sudden, subconsciously, I go through my gallery, slowly. I measure the length of his smile. Try feeling the outline of his jaws. Imagine biting his unmoving muscles. And stare at the wrinkles on his forehead. And the guilt seizes me.

It embarrasses me, how at first the idea entered my mind, but once conceived, haunts me for days.

I have assured him, I don’t need him back. But my hideous will wants him to come back.

I vow at night. I crave the embrace of his rough hands. I want him to be mine.

But once left, never wanted back.

The thick darkness occupies me at night. And I embrace my legs kindly with my gentle hands.

By: pisesandhya747@gmail.com

Victim Reversed


One step out of the house, 

to escape from the cage

Of tears.

And another story begins. 

I hear the first clink of the glass. 

And I know. 

It will be followed up by

banging of the fist on the wall,

clashing every utensil,

to protect herself. 

There will be the broken roar, 

ear-splitting to me. 

For my neighbours,

it will be another ‘Family drama’. 

But today,

he’s howling. 

Today’s story is the same,

the only difference is the victim.  

Until today, 

She was the victim,

Because she cared for him,

Loved him.

In return, she only got, 

the scars on the body,

the clots of blood on her legs,

on her hand,

and her head. 

A daughter with unuttered words,

against him,

who didn’t take a stance

to protect her,

should not be the one stopping her from earning her right.

Today, he is lying on the floor.

A tiny figure, 

she bangs a glass on his operated head.

Today’s tears bring with her anger, 


tomorrow it may bring with it

the pride, 

the confidence to

kill or die.

The father with an operated head.

Shouldn’t I help him? 

Leaving aside,

that once he used to hit my mother. 

Think like a human?


But, did I do that when she needed me?

Isn’t she fighting for herself? 

In today’s story, 

she isn’t the victim.

She, who has always been the one, 

from the time his surname became hers, 

his identity, her own. 

Today she is done, 

with loads of forced feelings,

the extreme of rules he holds. 

“Why do you have to talk with that Dalit women?”

“Why can’t you come home early?” 

“Bitch, stop sleeping with other men!” 

The abuses, 

the rules,

which are not supposed to be,

Questioned or


Today I don’t beg for her well being, 

But his.

By- pisesandhya747@gmail.com