Tag Archives: death

Poem or Story


Which works better?


It’s all supposed to begin with the first step

The thousand miles or kilometres or whatever: Life.

But what if I refuse to take it?

And stand here unmoving

Clinging to the membrane


An ovum unfertilised

A life that denies the acceptance of existence

Dodging the all-seeking little worms of spermatozoa

Remaining a single-celled


Still I will be moved

In the bloody menses that she will discard.

And so I will have made a step

Whether I travel

Towards life

Or death.



It’s all supposed to begin with the first step. The thousand miles or kilometres or whatever: Life. But what if I refuse to take it? And stay here unmoving. Clinging to the membrane.

“Stay away from me you worm! Serpent!”

“Allow me entry and you will enjoy experience.”

“No! I don’t want it.” I scream turning away from his seductive dance.

“You will learn about love. A mother’s caress. You will smell flowers as sweet as heaven. Experience the wonders of a world beyond this red-darkness and loud throbbing. You will taste delicacies more exquisite than the insipid chyme that filters into your being just now. You will hear music so fine you will dance free from this static limpet life.”

“Go away. I am afraid.” I am a life that defies existence. I coagulate my shell to prevent penetration. I remain an ovum unfertilised. The spermatozoon dies.

I have survived. I am the star. I dodged the all-seeking little worms and have remained a single-celled non-creation. I have saved her from the pain of birth, the agonies of raising a child and of death.

My triumph is short-lived. Forces I cannot fight are shedding me, tossing me out in her bloody menses. She discards it with disdain and anger, wrapping her tampon carefully in toilet paper.

There are no medals for death if you haven’t lived a life.

Testing the water


Three poems by Aman


Uncertainty unbound

The walls made of bricks

Hold no solace,

The hum I recall is gone!


I move to the unknown,

Yearning for the song

Which perhaps may be my own


A long wait it’s been

To hear the sound

That beckons

To the far horizon


And should the note ring true

Will I really reach that elusive hue?



To yearn for a grand morrow

to have striven for the ray of thought

only to realise you’re happiest with your lot.


Know your need, not the want, ‎the path reaps the price,

Alas only the old now realise.


Even the “great” in death strive to tell us,

we depart empty handed‎ the way “He” had made us.


‘Tis just me, young in body tho’ old in mind‎,

How fortunate, I understand, there is yet time.‎


The words that you see; mean not what they say.  The path that we follow will lead us astray. A pinnacle we reach, clawing our way through a shroud, all we achieve is a modicum of doubt. Let not the rational lead you otherwise, the path turns to thorns, in our twilight we realise. Break out break through for you and your own; like Charles did eons ago unknown. We build but to no avail; our bones will turn to dust no matter o’er whom we prevail.


The Angel


by Rupali Mistry

I asked if she
Would help me
To cross the street

My vision’s a blur
I don’t even hear
My bones as they creak

The street’s so wide
I cannot decide
Where to point my feet
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