Unrest for death

The dream stretched on and on. I never knew where it ended, for it didn't seem to. Eternity came and went and I just sat there and played. Lost with my toys and colours. There was no care. What I'd give to be back there.

The unrest for death is nothing compared to the vacuum, to the sense of loss, the bewilderment of her departure. A clean slate. With her gone, my whole family has disappeared. A gust of wind on the dust of time passing by in the hourglass that pulverizes everything. She was all I returned for. A slight kiss on the cheek, a little nap on her lap, inhaling her clean antique scent. I sometimes emerge from my restless sleep to bold nightmares and night terrors woven of loneliness and disillusions.

I find myself beating at her door, longing for her voice and the warmth of her embrace. The sweet illusion of being back in my childhood home to the faint beat of her ancient heart. She still whispers in my ear a reassurance, like when I was a child, but it is a pitiful lie. Everything passes and everything dissolves. People, things, love and hope.

My Body Is A Prison - Zine

A zine by Varsha Panikar from their ongoing mixed-media series, Origami Folds, that employs dreams, memories, archive and photography to explore the human body, and uses it as a medium and metaphor for hopeless fragility and hardened impenetrability, from which emerges the themes of identity, dysphoria, commodification of the body, and denial and loss of autonomy as conditions of globalized society and cultures, through the lens of south-Asian, queer and marginalized bodies.

Trigger Warning : This piece deals with depression, anxiety, and body dysphoria.

Buy on Amazon Kindle below

https://www.amazon.in/dp/B09BXDWYPL

Giving Up The Ghost

From my series, Whispers To My Shadows.

You ever wish

That you could just rewind?

Go back in time,

And just turn out fine?

Well, I do,

I know that the chances are slim,

That we may not live it again,

But at least, we can imagine.

But when we aren't imagining,

We can't let it flash past again.

We’ve got to use our noses,

And smell the roses,

Take time to live it up.

And win it up,

And while you're at it, hell!

Even sin it up!

So here I am

Wishing and dreaming,

I could live it again.

As I lay here in my bed,

With the same old story in my head.

What could have been?

What would have been?

Or even what should have been?

A ghost,

A shadow,

A memory.

Not quite there,

Not quite clear,

Not quite worth the time.

So for my sake and yours

I think I’ll be finally giving up the ghost,

Because my body was nothing but another host,

I don’t wanna forget the past,

But I’d like to leave it behind.