The girl who was never born.

When she was born , she was hailed as a prince

To rule over all that her eyes surveyed

But with what will she rule

When she herself was pervaded

With the shroud of a different identity!

The world expected her to be different!

She was named a boy.

Her curls fought every month to stop the scissor blades

From slicing them into pieces

And crumbling her dreams to nothing.

While she longed for a doll and dress

He clothes were utterly pressed

And she was sent forcibly to a boy’s school.

Come on , Boy’s don’t cry !

Boy’s don’t behave like girls

Boy’s don’t like colors.

Loving colors was a crime!

From the first days of childhood she was judged

Judged shunned and treated like an animal

An animal which is to be feared

Because it doesn’t conform to norms

Because it breaks all the myths and shatters all the barriers

Marked as an abomination of nature

She struggled

Struggled to prove that she was nature.

Just like a butterfly who needs a cocoon to transform

To transform from a caterpillar into a magnificent butterfly

Then came the day when finally everyone saw her as she was

A beautiful woman

Her dad loved her as a princess

Prince never-so-charming and charming to came to court her

Her life was like a bed of roses

Occasionally strewn with more than enough thorns

And too many rejections and scorns.

But she did not stop

She grew and grew

And out of her balcony flew into an era of freedom.

Freedom from all the confines and fears

And all the swords and spears of life.

-Soumita Das



My beloved Pandemonium

Colours strewn on the floor 
Pages left unturned 
Dust engulfs the furniture around 
Cigarette stubs lie burned. 
Smoke and stink fill the room 
Bed looks like a graveyard’s dome 
Donot try to clean the mess 
O mama i’m home. 

Food lies untouched on the table 
All covered in fungus and moss 
And cobwebes fill all nooks and corner 
Of the wooden emboss. 
Shrill cry of raven breaks the silence 
Which otherwise engulfs the dome 
Donot try to bring life back 
O mama i’m home. 

For ages it seems i haven’t budged 
From the site of my dilapidation 
I sighed and sighed but had no words 
To describe my frankenstenian creation 
O it may seem horrific to you 
For me it’s the heaven i prize 
Its a treasure of my heart which i endear 
Though it may be hell in your eyes. 
Each one in this Earth tries to create 
Though it maybe useful to none 
And though it maybe completely useless 
Nevertheless to the creator its his son 
So when u try to judge my heaven 
And try to clean my mess 
I recommend u to clean your beauty 
And donot take any stress. 
To u your beauty may be beautiful 
To me it looks like beast. 
So donot try to enforce your thoughts 
’cause i dont care atleast. 
For u the rules are necessary 
For me they’re useless to abide 
So keep your opinions to yourself 
And donot try to guide. 
I know your happy with your ‘yes’s 
And i am with my ‘not’s 
I donot want your room full of gifts 
Im happy with my “vacant lots”.