I’m trapped in myself,

And there’s no way out.

For no one listens,

Even though I shout.

I have lost the path,

I can’t find the light.

I search for the day,

In an endless night.

Trapped in my body,

And trapped in my mind,

I search for myself,

But I cannot find.

I’m in a prison,

I don’t want to be,

Would someone come here

And then set me free.

30 January. 2015oppressed-women



So You Don't Have To

It is in France, 1931, when a cartoonist Alvert Dubout published a satirical image of a furious-looking ‘savage’ black man scowling at the viewers. Dubout catapults his sense of biting humor at everyone but most particularly- in the era of freak shows and human zoos- the wrath of his wit is centered on those who stand inside cages instead of the awestruck white viewer outside the bars.

Dubout- just like the his other contemporary peers- I’m certain, would insist that the satire had a context and a thoughtful message for civil society to ruminate over, and that his art was not racially-motivated malice at all but “fearless criticism and observation” of an equal “everyone.” Dubout and his modern-day companions forget that “everyone” does not include the Other. 

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If love is in the air, so will  you love again?

Do you miss love’s pleasure and is love worth the pain?

Those sleepless nights in bed, when mind is full of fears,

The heart is filled with pain and eyes are full of tears.

When one name is on lips and one face in the eyes,

A glance can give him life; you look away, he dies.

You need to see that face, you need to hear that voice,

And then your day will start and then you will rejoice.

You stand at the crossroads, for love is in the air,

You turn and walk away for love is just a snare.

snare 1