Month: April 2015

L.I.F.E – Little poem #2


Life isn’t meant to be simply lived.
It needs to be experienced, felt, sensed,
breathed in and exhaled.

In a way that every cell of your body receieves not a just a whiff of oxygen but a breath of life.

And if circumstances do manage to knock you out and your lungs are filled with water,
the memory of that experience would guide you through!

– Fictionatrix


You are Art

They say Art is self expression. It is the way one expresses themselves.

When I look at you, I see art.
I see art in the way your hair flies with the wind. I see art in the way you helplessly try to tuck some behind your ear.


I see art in the way you align your books on the shelf, the way you arrange your plants. The way you dance in the rain. You are art in the way your single touch – drives me insane.

I see art in the way you disguise your fears, the way you hide your tears. The way you make your scars, the way you hide them, the way you revealed them to me that night.

I see art in the way your face lights up with the smallest gestures. The way you tip toe to whisper in my ears, sweet nothings which mean everything to me.
I see art in the way your eyes glitter,the way your laughter rings through my mind for days, like no music has ever done. You are art as your words are magic.

It is art the way you make my name sound, No one else ever could and never will. It is art the way your mere gaze opens doors into my soul. It is art how you make the broken pieces in me feel whole.


I see art in your messy wardrobe and your tidy desk. I see art in the everyday things you do.
It is you and your secret art that makes my heart flutter every time I hear your name.

You are the gallery and I am a foreign tourist with an all access pass.
You are an artpiece, to behold. To admire.

You are art for you stir in me, feelings I didn’t know existed. You are art in the way you blossomed into my life and I hardly remember what it felt like before “you” happened.

I constantly habour fears– I am scared that the day you leave, my canvas will be so full of your colours that no one would be able to repaint it. It would drip of you and rip them apart. They would claw at it in despair but the paint will always flake and reveal what you left.

You are art in the way you are. You are art in the way you changed me, you are art in the ways you reminded me of what I truly am. You are art in the way you unsettle me, the way you break me and then put back the pieces perfectly. You are art in yourself and an artist in the way you have painted my life in your colours. So beautiful and tranquil that I cannot imagine it without you.

You may not agree with what I feel, but if you ever saw yourself,through my eyes you would be dazzled.

– Fictionatrix

Absence-Spoken word

(This is a concept I got in mind while changing trains at a metro station. It is unpolished, and I wish it was a bit longer. I wrote it in a hurry, but spoken word poetry intrigues and I wish to improve upon it, and learn to write better in this genre. Hence I am posting it. Does it make sense? Creative criticism and tips are always welcome)

I am
Away from your life
Away from your world

Yet However
In the middle of the night
You imagine my body pressed tightly against yours.
It is my voice that you seek in the crowd.
It is my face you wish to see in the mornings.
It is my favourite song that plays on the radio.
It is only my specific ratio of coffee to milk that wakes you up.
It is my absence that wakes you up.

I may have left
But my Perfume lingers.
My memories haunt.
Wherever you go.

Reminding you of your sins.

Ravaged my heart
Ignored my Love
Tested my Patience
Mocked my Loyalty
Broke my Soul

Your continous consistent absence finaly broke the chains that bound me.
My sudden absence will bind you in chains you didnt know existed.

My love for you,
was self harm in disguise.
My absence will ravage your life.

– Fictionatrix

Lack Thereof

I have always felt that I was over burdened with emotion.
I would cry at sentimental songs, and craftly made advertisements.
But today I felt the Lack Thereof.
And it hurt as much.


Today, was my college farewell.
Three years of graduation, went away too soon.

When I was a fresher, I would hear my seniors sob, and relate tales of their antics. Their joys and sorrows. As a new initiate I wondered if I would ever have such friendships, such bonds and such memories.

Today, I am at the same threshold. And my lack thereof is pinching me a bit.
I wish my emotional responses were in sync with situation and society.
While my classmates hug each other, laugh,cry, relate their own stories, and make promises to stay in touch, I am sat here pretending to be ever busy, scrolling mindlessly through posts. My lack thereof of memories.

The Lack Thereof can be attributed to my childhood. For 12 years of school education, I have changed 10 schools! The nature of my dad’s profession required as many transfers.

I have always been therefore, labelled as the New ‘fat’ boring kid. It was hard trying to make space for myself in the already established social order of the classroom. The bullying continued and so did the burrowing. Recesses were spent in libraries, hiding from my bullies.  I grew distant to worlds and closer to words.

In every classroom I did find myself a little friend. Initial hellos were apprehensive, and the last goodbyes were tough. But the repetition of the process and the internalisation of the “Uprooting” again and again perhaps turned me a-social.

Little me felt that it was better to not make any friends than to leave beloved friends behind. I made walls around me long before I knew what the metaphor meant.

The problem, and the reason for this post is not the lack thereof emotion but the lack thereof of control.
I am an emotional person. I like to use my ability to empathise with and help the people I meet in this journey. Instead of fighting the black dog, I have petted it. But I tend to have no control over it. My responses are sporadic, inconsistent and sometimes pretty random.

All my life I tried to fit in. Be it literally due to size or mentally due to aptitude. I guess the lack thereof of a suitable response made me stand out yet again. And all I wanted was to perhaps fit in.
Its a strange battle, the one we fight with ourselves, there is no victory, there is no loss. I hope all I can do is learn from such instances, and learn to focus on the haves than the lacks.
Baby steps! 

– Fictionatrix



I see life
As a collection of memories.

My mind,
Is like a souvenir shop.
With rows and shelves,
With memories all lined up,
Of others or ourselves.

The memories,
Adorn every nook and corner.
Some are old and dusty,
Difficult to remember.
So I construct the details which I cannot see.

Some are new,
Their essence seems to linger
As they shine amongst their peers.
I stroll away and tinker,
Loosing myself, finding my fears.

I spend my days,
Roaming these halls.
Picking up every souvenir.
They take me far away,
They bring me near.

I know each curve,
each bend, each crevice.
I pass over every edge,
Until I find the one that cuts me,
And brings me back to reality.

Some memories lie in shadows,
As if to say
“Do not touch PLEASE”
Haphazardly,Cloaked under.
blotchy “Happy Memories”

These halls are my strength
Yet also my weakness
It is difficult to forget
I remember too much
There is only pain to get

It is ironical but,
It is true
The reason I want to remember.
And the reason I try to forget,
Is, You. . .

– Fictionatrix

Just Keep swimming


Maybe 6 feet
ain’t so far down
I want to keep swimming
But it seems easier to drown. . .

Maybe death
ain’t actually the end
I could just keep dreaming
So I dont have to pretend. . .

Maybe sadness
ain’t that deep
I could keep climbing
The slippery slope is steep. . .

Maybe Life
Is after all worth living

There will be light
At the end of my tunnel
If only I could
Just keep swimming!


– Fictionatrix