Colours of Pain

What is the colour of pain?
Some say it is a searing white light
That flashes before your eyes only for a second
Before you are stripped of vision and
Numbness hits your body like a shot of vodka,
Travelling through every cell, fibre and limb
Until you are intoxicated with an amnesia
Of a previous life.
Others say it is pitch black;
The colour of night
That shrouds you and me like a deathly blanket,
Serving as a constant reminder of the pain.
The colour of the space that we withdraw into
To escape this madness.
But I feel differently.
Pain is colourful
Like a rainbow.
For some, pain is yellow;
A happy pill essential for survival.
For others, pain is blue;
Mild and soothing
Yet powerful enough to envelop them for days.
But for a few,
Though made of white light
Pain is a spectrum of different shades and hues;
So colourful
And, oh so beautiful!



Why are you afraid of the dark?
It is when the creators come alive
To paint the skies in the colour of their soul
And their words in the colours of a rainbow.
It is during the dark,
Tears of unrequited love, broken dreams and lost hope
Melt away into the stars
And they shine the brightest
Maybe, because they listened to our stories.
During the dark,
People are not afraid to be themselves.
The moon does not chastise anyone
For drinking away into the night
Because she knows we intoxicate ourselves
To let go of a loved one.
The constellations do not care
About the many lips you have kissed
Because they have seen your infinite deaths
Before you found love that ignites you.
In the dark,
Conversations are the realest.
Love is the purest
And people are without inhibitions.
I still wonder
Why you are afraid of the dark.
Isn’t it the light
You are supposed to fear?


What lies in the spaces between words?
Yes, in the spaces.
Maybe, this tiny space
Contains emotions so overwhelming
That puts a writer to shame
For failing to conceive them into words.
How does something so vast
Fit into such a small entity?
They don’t.
They choke, stutter and gasp
And sever parts of themselves
To squeeze in.
Some of them survive,
While others ebb away slowly
And their remains are buried
Between the words.

How do I know this?
Oh, it’s no big secret!
Just like those emotions,
Sometimes people, who are pure but for a few blemishes
And cannot be defined by you and me or anybody,
Suffocate as the walls close in
And are found buried in the least cared for spaces;
Sometimes alive
And sometimes dead.


I sit with my pen and paper,
Conscious not to spill any tears
And blot the words
That find themselves on paper
After much struggle.

Write, they said.
It would be cathartic, they said.
Then why does it feel as if
A thousand knives
Are being plunged into my heart?
It bleeds and I writhe in pain
But I do not stop
Because my pen does not
Run in blue or black ink
But in red;
The colour of blood,
My blood.

Once I am done
Emptying myself on paper,
They read what I have written
And are full of praises.
But I do not hear them
Just like how they choose not to see
That what they had merely skimmed through,
Is a part of my soul
Slowly ebbing into oblivion.
Those very words that left them in ‘raptures’
Are fragments of a dying mortal.

If a part of me dies
Every time I write,
Why do I not put my pen down?
Because every time
I do not let these words
Rip my body and make their way out,
I die a greater death
From harbouring
Too many cadavers inside.
While a part of me dies,
Another part of me comes alive;
A part I never knew existed.

They think I am intoxicated
To make such mad claims.
Yes, they are right!
My intoxication is not opium or vodka
But the paradox
Of living a little and dying a little at the same time.

Your Fight Song

You are weary of nursing
All the wounds on your back
From the incessant stabbing
And your own thoughts, sometimes
Renders you sleepless.
But do not give in, my girl
For you are made of sterner stuff
Like the ravaging seas;
Deep enough to swallow cities
And it’s petty mortals.
You are like the volcanoes;
That can burn not just flesh
But souls too.
You have the power to wreak havoc
But are wise to remain quiet.

The world will tie you down
With chains of self-doubt, insecurity
And most importantly, love.
Break them, darling!
They may tear your skin,
Break your bones
But your soul cannot be touched.
Because these creatures
Do not care to see
Beyond your swollen eyes
That has spilt many a tear
For the undeserving
And your cracked lips
That has not curved into a smile
For a long time now.
And the love these beings
So abundantly shower on you
Is a mere embellishment
To hide their decaying souls
Diseased with selfishness and vanity.
Do not be fooled, love!

You will find yourself
Locked up in a tower
And guarded by ferocious demons.
Do not wait for Prince Charming
To come to your rescue
Or the King
Who locked you up
To keep you safe not sane;
To free you.
Wield your own sword, my girl
And defeat the demons,
Not just the ones outside the tower
But those in your mind, too.

So when you are tired
But unable to sleep,
Do not listen to a lullaby
About mothers rocking their babies
To deep slumber,
For you are not a regular girl.
You are a warrior
Fighting battles for survival
That nobody knows about.
In the quiet of the night
Listen to your own heartbeat
And you will hear a song,
A fight song.
Your fight song.

The Last Words of a Goat

Bound by tight ropes,
I say good bye to all my hopes
Of making it through the night.
But I am not going down without a fight!
My time on earth,
Is drawing to a close
And there is no time for farewell or tears.

Shaken awake from my sleep
I am dragged by two strong hands,
Away from my family
And into the stands
Where my murder will unfold,
As people watch without any pity.

I scream and shout
And kick and struggle
But nobody seemed to care.
Except for a girl who stood out
From the rest of the crowd.
She could not bear
The thought of me being killed
Before her eyes.

I give one final try
And shake my head
To say no.
But the executioner did not care and
Raised his sharpened weapon.
Before it landed on my neck
And blood spattered everywhere
I saw the human
Amongst the other ‘humans’.
Fighting back her tears
And whispering a soft apology
For the crimes of her species.

These silly humans
Pray to their gods and offer my flesh
Before devouring it.
I do not know if god
Accepted my flesh in offering
Or answered the prayers
Of these flawed beings
But he certainly did not answer mine.

I was on the verge of witnessing an animal sacrifice some time back but luckily I managed to slip out of it. Though I did not see it happening, it created some disturbing images in my mind. I gave up meat four years back after seeing the final moments of a fish on the road. Coming from a family where meat is considered essential for survival, I was subjected to ridicule for being such a big softie! But there is not one day I have regretted my decision to stop eating meat. Being an animal lover, I believe that all animal lives matter and not just the lives of the ‘jallikattu kaalai’ or the tiger or the stray puppies. So if you know a person who has given up meat for the same reason as this, do not try persuading them or play the ‘plants are living beings too’ card. Instead, sit with them and hear them out because it takes a big heart to give up something someone loves just to save a few five sensed animals or birds.