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I’d rather write than speak
My pen is always responsive
My ink doesn’t judge my mistakes
My paper doesn’t argue
My lines never cross me
My sentences never disappoint
And my words will never leave me
 Feb 2018 Prakhar Khare
Vale Luna
(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.
Forward: from the victims perspective.
Backward: from the murderers perspective.

This TOOK ME FOREVER TO WRITE
 Feb 2018 Prakhar Khare
Jasmine
I don’t know how to write

I only know how to feel, how to bleed

The red seeps into the page

Then somehow sentences are formed

Someone finds it, in a dusty wooden chest

In the back of the room

It’s been hidden, untouched, for years, and I didn’t know there was anyone else left

Somehow my heart isn’t the only one beating
At age 7, I was guilty
when I accepted an invitation
to go into the apartment of a neighbor
He smelled of beer as he groped me.

At age 10, I was guilty
when I walked home too late
because I missed the train
He popped out of the bushes
exposing himself.

At age 12, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
tongue into my mouth
because I could not
get away.

At age 14, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
me to sit on his lap
while in my bathing suit
and I ran away from home.

At age 16, I was guilty
when my uncle convinced
everyone that I was a liar
and I quit school.

At age 18, I was guilty
when I gave birth to
my first child,
because I was ignorant.

At age 20, I was guilty
when I saw the cardiologist
in the reflection of a lamp
*******  and the
police laughed at my report.

At age 30, I was guilty
when my employer
trapped me in the elevator
to ***** me, because I
was his subserviant.

At age 36, I was guilty
when I earned jujitsu honors
but risked going to jail
for defending myself.

At age 70, I was guilty
when a neighbor brought
me fruit and grabbed my
breast, because I was alone.

At age 72, I am guilty
of being a ferule woman
for 50 years and for
NOT be silent!
How many times must a woman be guilty for her existence?
It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.
 Jan 2018 Prakhar Khare
Urmila
Within my soul I’ve found yours
Are they different?
They are one, they are one with the cosmos,
But our sub souls have a strong gravity acting on them,
A gravity unexplained by science,
A gravity we’ve chosen to name love,
Scientifically oxytocin creates this feeling, but oxytocin is a by product of this very gravity,
What we choose to believe is up to us
The sky is blue
Love is the fifth dimension
A day will come, far far away,
A collective surge of this gravity,
Will pull all creatures together,
There will be no anti love - no hunger no wars,
This dimension we only experienced in parts,
Will save us from our own destruction
Each secret inside is a life
Each life that gets pushed down
To fatall residence trapped inside
More thoughts will compensate
Enough of each life lost inside you
And secret’s glaze to death
Each fear emerges a reality
Each attack becomes a losing battle
Each cut translates a voice unheard
Each drop of blood a request for relief
Each tear shed at night is feeling none
Each long-sleeve shirt unknwn armor
Each hidden scar a failed escape
Each secret chained to a wall of fear
Each spoken secret is a translated scar
Each man with your secret is a gun to your thoughts
Each friend can never help enough
Each pain in your heart a black hole
Each secret only embargo, never die
Enough restriction and death emerges privilege
This is my perspective on self harm

— The End —