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  • servingsofmania 5w

    for you, i exist.


  • servingsofmania 6w

    When the leaves turn brown,
    when my eyes, in a sea of tears, drown,
    when this body, that has weathered a storm,
    gives up its shape and form,

    let go of me, my love.


  • servingsofmania 8w

    skin slick with sweat,
    clinging to you,
    the space between us filled with hot breaths and sweet whispers,
    lover of mine,
    dip into your passion and
    paint me with your desire.


  • servingsofmania 9w

    'Mother' ------
    her body pushed it out.
    bloody, blackened with the saline water injected into her, for her it was just a piece of flesh.

    'It' ------
    it's body was pushed out.
    bloody, blackened with the saline water injected into it, for it, she was the only shelter it ever knew.


  • servingsofmania 9w

    I am your mother
    and your sister
    I am your daughter
    and your girlfriend
    I am your wife
    and the mother of your child
    I am the goddess you worship
    I am woman
    so think of all of them
    before you think of ruining my body


  • servingsofmania 9w

    I missed @miraquill but even with a writer's block I attempted today's challenge just because I miss writing.

    #autobiography #wod #pod #writersnetwork @miraquill @writersnetwork #shortstories

    I lie here in the drain, surrounded by the filth of the city. The rats gnaw on parts of me at night but fail to make headway. What a contrast to my life of a few days ago when I was revered, loved and worshipped! It hurts to think that once upon a time I was actually happy. But today I am forgotten, abandoned. Today I am trash. No one's treasure.

    They saw me at the mall. Hanging from a display rack. Shiny and clean and dazzling. The child reached out her hands to me and looked at her father with a smile that would melt the moon. Her mother tried to explain that she did not need another one. But her father melted and said it's okay, this is the last one.

    I was kissed and caressed and hugged on the way home. Taken out of my plastic cover, I was shown off to friends. Decorated with her mother's jewellery, bindi and bangles. Ribbons and laces and new clothes were hurriedly stitched and the child slept at night, contentedly buried in me.

    Months passed wherein I travelled with her to malls, other cities, her ancestral village and school. Once when I fell down on a muddy road, she cried and the entire household got together to wash me clean.

    Gradually however the magic faded. There were others after me. Just like there were others before. I fell down in the mud a few more times. Once from an eight storey building. Once from the car window. Once to my horror I was taken away by a dog and almost bitten to death. The child wailed and the dog ran away when hit with a stone, but with a part of me in its mouth. They found it and joined me together but the scar remained.

    Beauty fades with time they say but does love too fade? Where once I was kunjammoo (Little Ammu) now I was just 'that old thing'.
    I longed to smell the child's soap, hear her giggles, and feel her sweet breath on me while she kissed my head. But now I was no longer her favorite. I stayed awake at nights, expecting to hear her mumble in her sleep asking for me. But no one called out my name.
    Gradually I was forgotten.

    I lay for many days at a time, in a pile of discarded things. Somedays she would glance at me and call my name and hug me to her heart, oh, how I cried! But then as suddenly as I was remembered, I was tossed aside while she found someone else.

    A few weeks ago, I was scooped up into a big sack along with other things and given to the man with a pair of weighing scales. I travelled halfway across the city to end up on this landfill. Kids run across me. Sometimes they pick me up but toss me away. I am no longer pretty. I am the one eyed ugly doll that no one wants.


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    Short story

  • servingsofmania 11w

    'tell me about yourself you say over the phone
    'where do I start and where do I end, what do you want to know?'
    'anything, I want to listen to you' you reply

    should I tell you about how I m so spontaneous I broke an anthill one day without thinking of the consequences because I was watching ants carrying their eggs and wanted to see where they were storing them and I got bitten all over so i rolled in the mud and jumped into our family pond
    I was eight but I did not cry

    maybe I could tell of how on summer nights when the balmy wind carries the scent of jasmine from my balcony garden I awaken and sit near the blooming creeper inhaling the fragrance like it is my last day on earth and one day when I was a little girl someone told me to sit on his lap and it hurt
    I was four but I did not cry

    should I tell you that they call me 'the slightly happier version of Sylvia Plath' for the depressing stuff I write but every other idiot is writing of pink teddies and red hearts and handholding and frankly I think the whole idea is boring

    should I tell you how I have to count the bogies of a passing train like it is an OCD thing,
    actually it is, it IS OCD because I also go crazy if the bristles on my toothbrush are wet in the morning
    and sometimes I use a soap for bathing because I can't stand the squeaky squeak of the shower gel container and the soap has to be handmade
    and sometimes I will buy a local cheap thirty bucks nail polish on a whim because I like the colour

    should I tell you that I don't drink milk sold loose because it smells of cowdung or that I can hold a goat by its hind legs and milk it or that I know everything about farming and running a rubber estate and I can actually drive a tractor and a combine harvester

    I can't tell you about anyone else except me you see
    because no one was there to listen
    and now I can't seem to shut up
    I could tell you things about me the whole day until you drowned in them
    and finally asked me to stop talking for God's sake
    You see there is only so much you can take in
    before you also get fed up of
    me being too much.


  • servingsofmania 11w

    These feet wandered
    all over the earth
    and through the wind
    and the sea
    and the sky
    until they came to rest
    where you were standing.
    'Come' you said
    and they followed
    without a pause
    they followed
    until you were no more to be seen
    and now they trudge through the mud
    and slush
    and swamp
    until they come to rest again where you will be standing.


  • servingsofmania 11w

    when did I grow so large that now
    there is no space for me in the crowded rooms of your crowded mind?
    and when I do find myself in that house of yours
    I can never find a place, a nook,
    to pause and collect myself?

    all these ghosts from your past
    who go in and out of these rooms
    and linger in the hallways
    and whisper in the corridors
    and you tell them hush, now, she comes,
    and they all turn and smirk.

    since when did I become so unwelcome
    so as to make you come running all the way to the front door whispering 'not now, my dear, there is a party going on'

    once upon a TIME
    it was just me
    in the whole wide world
    that is the inside of your head
    but now I am left jostling for space
    trying to carve out my initials
    like lovers do on rocks and tree trunks
    and random places in streets
    so I sit at the foyer by the shoerack
    till you call me in.


  • servingsofmania 11w

    As a child I was often scared of the tumultous big dark clouds that came flapping into the clear blue skies like screaming banshees without warning.

    Terrified that the lightning would split me into halves I often sat in the innermost corners of rooms gaping wide-eyed at the havoc outside.

    It was only years later I realised that my terror was misfounded.

    That the clouds were screaming and running in terror from the rage of the thunder and the whiplashes of lightning that dispersed them into millions of fluff;

    That the clouds were in pain, trying to save themselves, fleeing for their lives, gathering as much as they could of themselves, holding onto themselves;

    Until desparate with the loss of their own selves, they finally broke down, into tears, unable to hold sorrow anymore within them any longer.

    Just like me.