The Wrinkled True Love

To all the parents growing old and to the grandparents preparing to be born again. Coz well !  I believe in reincarnation.

“Let me take your wrinkled hands ,
To see the sands of time settled in those crevices,

Let me wipe the corner of your eyes ,
that ooze the light that has long shone over the horizon,

Let me tell you the end of every story you have ever told me
    “There is no better teacher than time
      And no better lesson than failure”

And also let me plead with my little hands ,
DON’T LET YOUR LESSONS BECOME MY COMMANDMENTS ”

©Athena

Why I Left The Officer's Training Academy Despite An AIR 2nd In 1st Attempt ?

http://wp.me/s6fAtP-336

Homes Like Ghettos

In the entire seasons that I spent amidst people called home, most of the times there was silence around the house. Not the peaceful, tranquil quiet but an eerie silence. You see the difference... quietness is just slowing down the fast pace of life , being at peace , and silence is dead... it is like crumbling up on a dark room holding back all the edges of your existence and ur clothes... even the curl of ur toes.

Silence of the ghettos where I could hear the clock ticking and my own hissing heartbeats .

And then there were times, terrible times when the floor of the house smelled of land mines , mines stuffed and your one footstep, ur one utterance of a word would blast the mine ... wounding you and the others in a deep cut... oozing tears of blood , again followed by the silence of the cemetery, where lay buried the happiness, the fluttering giggles of children that usually occupy a home . The happy faces.
And in those days I walked , very carefully ... not wanting  to leave my footprints . I walked on my toes fearing that I may not stir the air , the poisonous air that floated through that concentration camp . Fearing that I may not get strangled and choked on my own tears .

-Athena
#childabuse

Reclaim spaces

http://wp.me/p6fAtP-4I

Spirit of kasol

www.tripoto.com/trip/58938

Magical Kasol

.I wrote this poem while sitting at the MoonDance cafe on Kasol in the late evening , listening to the sounds of the flowing Parvati river 

The roaring river … roar like the anguish of  a long lost love,
The pain of unrequited love so vibrant in its roars,
The cry so vibrant ,so shrieking as if calling the rest of its soul, gushing downstream… running, cutting across the so called stony sledges, wrecking them , burning there arrogance down over the years,
That’s the mighty river Parvati behind me…
Ironical it sounds … why they call it Parvati, its forgiveness us like Durga , the dark moonlight night makes it glow like Kali,
In the backdrop of this goddess we sit, huddled across in the chill of the valley, taking in what was so dear to parvati’s consort …
Shiva , another god that is as simple, as innocent as the child in you ,
Touching your deepest , purest corners of heart,
Oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the maddening crowd,
Two birds, to proclaim , no , reclaim their lost freedom ,
Spread their wings, melting the inhibitions, killing the selves, perpetuating oneness, offering their prayers on this magical land, to Shiva himself,
Far from the norms of right and wrong… the bird tells his other half
” far from the norms of right and Wrong,
Far from the clear lines of black and white,
Far from the crowds that know our faces but not our souls,
O my friend lets meet there,
Lets fly there,
Lets soar there,
Lets love there, ”

Ambika/Athena

They Say Men Are Simple Creatures, Yet Why Have They Made Me A Complicated Woman?

As far as I can remember and as far as we all have been told , they say,”Men are simple creatures.” Simple creatures with no complicated heads, with simple well defined DESIRES of mind and of body. I am writing this running the risk of being misunderstood but understanding is not my duty, its expressing. If any weak, faint fabric of a human is hurt then sorry but, no sorry.

So men ! Not all men but the men in general , the men that we have raised from little boys who were TOLD TO ENJOY hardcore raw , rough MANLY games. From the mud of the streets and fields their hands might have now moved to the touchscreen phones, fingers frantically tossing and tapping the X BOX games and hurling abuses thriving in utter denial of surroundings, getting all turned on by the violent porn, their phones a nest of nudity and yet their brains covered in tethered remains of the pungent smelling shreds of these thoughts and rotten ideas. Those men thinking of that girl at work making love to themselves and their hands. That’s simplicity? Is it?

A very cold relationship with my father has meant a constant quest to know what goes in a man’s head.  If a guy allowed me into the inner sanctum of their social circle I would feel a rush of triumph. That approval for me is comforting, all-consuming, highly addictive and, as it turns out, extremely dangerous.

All my life I have listened to how they talk about their women when they are with their friends

-“She wants to get married.”
-“I can’t come out tonight because her in-laws are coming over and she’ll give me hassle if I miss it.”
-“Look at that hot little thing over there, I’d bang that. Bet she fucks like a pro instead of the sack of potatoes I’ve been sticking my dick in for the last ten years.”
-“She wants kids.”
-“I can’t come to your stag party , she wants a new kitchen.”

I listened intently, noticing how they never referred to their partner by her name. I knew full well that it was how my father would refer to my mother despite my mother being nothing like the woman he would have them believe. Nevertheless I found myself resenting what females had done, the mess they had made. They had created an intolerable, generic mould that I couldn’t fit into and I was on a one-woman crusade to prove that we were not all the same.

While I don’t know how the man with whom I am in a relationship right now (I am wondering why didn’t I write the man whom I love) addresses me in his circles I do secretly wish that he proudly calls out my name… out of love and more importantly out of respect. Ii have loved before, broken before  recollected the pieces, learnt my lessons and moved on with no baggage and yet never gave up on love. Loved this man with utmost sincerity and intensity but somewhere deep down you know in those little things that you have finally decided to keep quite over that its just you alone walking the road.

Its just like loving a sponge who absorbs all that you can give him including your anger and tantrums but never reciprocate anything… neither the love that flows through souls and nor the tears , the anguish that exist in pain. Its like loving a corpse… A COLD CORPSE. Maybe or  maybe not its time to part ways for there are no words left to be said. With no mistakes of him or anyone, its probably his misfortune like everyone else’s …”To Fall In Love With The Right Woman… TheKind That Seeks More Than Money, Sex , Gifts And Cuddles”

maybe its the reality… things grow stale and so do relations. Or may be just maybe …

“The Men In My Life Have Complicated Me With Their Simplicity”

-Ambika (Athena)